Short Film Shows What Happens When a Letter from World War II Finally Gets Delivered 69 Years Later

A few years ago, I stum­bled upon a nev­er-sent let­ter writ­ten to a friend when we were both in col­lege. The con­tents weren’t heavy. Dis­or­ga­ni­za­tion is the most like­ly expla­na­tion for why it nev­er went in the mail. I cracked the enve­lope and had a look.

It was a time cap­sule, for sure, a cringe-induc­ing one. It was­n’t so much the life I was report­ing on as how I framed it, self-aggran­dize­ment strain­ing to pass as non­cha­lance. For­tu­nate­ly, an artist acquain­tance hap­pened to be run­ning a project— send her your shred­d­a­ble doc­u­ments, and even­tu­al­ly, she’d send you a few sheets of hand­made paper in which your mulched data min­gled with that of oth­ers. Tru­ly a beau­ti­ful way to dis­pose of the evi­dence.

But what hap­pens when nei­ther the writer, nor the intend­ed recip­i­ent, is the find­er of the lost let­ter? In Feb­ru­ary 2013, some mail post­ed by Lt. Joseph O. Matthews, a sol­dier sta­tioned at a mil­i­tary train­ing facil­i­ty in Jack­sonville, North Car­oli­na, found its way to Abbi Jacob­son, an actress (and col­or­ing book author!) rent­ing an apart­ment on Mac­Dou­gal Street in New York City. Addressed to Matthew’s wife, the can­cel­la­tion mark was dat­ed Decem­ber 2, 1944.

Jacob­son opened the let­ter, the con­di­tion of the enve­lope hav­ing sug­gest­ed that she would not be the first to breach its con­tents dur­ing the 69 years it had spent wan­der­ing in the wilder­ness. The words inside were roman­tic, a young offi­cer inform­ing the bride he’d left back home that he’d soon be ship­ping out to Oki­nawa. Eager to pull an Amélie by reunit­ing the let­ter with those to whom it would mean the most, Jacob­son enlist­ed the help of her friend, doc­u­men­tary film­mak­er Todd Bieber. Togeth­er they searched records at City Hall, look­ing for clues. When that approach proved fruit­less, they cre­at­ed the Lost Let­ter Project, a web por­tal that invit­ed the pub­lic to join in the search.

An avalanche of tweets, Face­book updates, and human inter­est pieces ensued. In no time at all, they had their man, or rather his descen­dants, Lt. Matthews hav­ing passed away in 1999, crush­ing Jacob­son’s dreams of hand deliv­er­ing the let­ter to “a lit­tle old man and a lit­tle old lady.” (I’m will­ing to bet Jacob­son will one day wish there was a giant blender capa­ble of turn­ing dig­i­tal state­ments like how cute would that be, my god, right? I love old peo­ple into hand­made paper.)

Bieber’s video reveals what became of Lt. Matthews and his wife. Even more inter­est­ing is how the let­ter res­onates with his grown chil­dren, par­tic­u­lar­ly a cer­tain the­o­log­i­cal ref­er­ence at odds with the man they thought they knew.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

In Touch­ing Video, Artist Mari­na Abramović & For­mer Lover Ulay Reunite After 22 Years Apart

“Noth­ing Good Gets Away”: John Stein­beck Offers Love Advice in a Let­ter to His Son (1958)

Stephen King Writes A Let­ter to His 16-Year-Old Self: “Stay Away from Recre­ation­al Drugs”

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is all for stuff­ing your stock­ing with a hol­i­day gift sub­scrip­tion to the East Vil­lage Inky, her award win­ning hand-illus­trat­ed zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Hand-Colored Photographs of 19th Century Japan

hand colored japanese photos

This week, The Pub­lic Domain Review (PDR) post­ed a series hand-col­ored albu­mine prints (“a process which used the albu­men found in egg whites to bind the pho­to­graph­ic chem­i­cals to the paper) from 19th cen­tu­ry Japan. They date back to 1880.

Some of the prints, like the one below, cer­tain­ly have a for­eign qual­i­ty to them. They feel far away in terms of time and place. But oth­ers (like the shot above) feel remark­ably close, some­thing we can all relate to today.

Hand coloured photographs of 19th century Japan

Accord­ing to the PDR, the pic­tures came to reside in the Dutch Nation­al Archive as a result of the cen­turies-long com­mer­cial rela­tion­ship between the Dutch and the Japan­ese. More vin­tage pix can be viewed here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Old­est Col­or Movies Bring Sun­flow­ers, Exot­ic Birds and Gold­fish Back to Life (1902)

One of the Ear­li­est Known Pho­tos of Guys Sit­ting Around and Drink­ing Beer (Cir­ca 1845)

1922 Pho­to: Claude Mon­et Stands on the Japan­ese Foot­bridge He Paint­ed Through the Years

Morgan Freeman Masterfully Recites Nelson Mandela’s Favorite Poem, “Invictus”

Nel­son Man­dela, who died on Decem­ber 5, 2013, had spent more than a quar­ter of his life serv­ing time in var­i­ous jails. While behind bars for the 18-year peri­od between 1962 and 1980, the anti-apartheid rev­o­lu­tion­ary edu­cat­ed both him­self and oth­ers to pre­pare for the advent of mul­tira­cial equal­i­ty in South Africa. Dur­ing his con­fine­ment at the Robben Island prison, Man­dela stud­ied law by cor­re­spon­dence at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Lon­don, learned Afrikaans to fos­ter a rap­port with jail­house war­dens, and was instru­men­tal in launch­ing the “Uni­ver­si­ty of Robben Island”, where pris­on­ers pos­sess­ing exper­tise in par­tic­u­lar fields pre­sent­ed lec­tures to their fel­low inmates.

Mandela’s stay, how­ev­er, was fre­quent­ly marred by demean­ing and deplorable treat­ment. Ini­tial­ly, black pris­on­ers were humil­i­at­ed by being giv­en shorts, com­mon­ly worn by chil­dren, rather than full-length pants as uni­forms. Man­dela was also for­bid­den from wear­ing sun­glass­es when forced to labor at a lime­stone quar­ry, and the harsh reflec­tions from the rocks dam­aged his vision. The quar­ry dust also dam­aged his tear ducts, which made it impos­si­ble for him to cry until receiv­ing cor­rec­tive surgery in 1994. Per­haps the most painful moments arrived in the late 1960s, when Man­dela lost his moth­er and first­born son, and was denied per­mis­sion to attend their funer­als.

In spite of these ordeals, Man­dela per­se­vered. In an inter­view with Char­lie Rose, above, Mor­gan Free­man dis­cuss­es Mandela’s reliance on William Ernest Henley’s 1875 poem, “Invic­tus,” to keep his hope alive:

“That poem was his favorite… When he lost courage, when he felt like just giv­ing up — just lie down and not get up again — he would recite it. And it would give him what he need­ed to keep going.”

Free­man, who played Man­dela in the 2009 film Invic­tus, also pro­vides a solemn and dig­ni­fied recita­tion of the poem begin­ning at 3:51. Although the poem is best known for pro­vid­ing suc­cour to Man­dela in times of despair, its words of courage have served as inspi­ra­tion to count­less oth­ers. Famous fig­ures who have drawn hope from “Invic­tus” include the father of Burmese oppo­si­tion leader Aung San Suu Kyi dur­ing his strug­gle for Burmese inde­pen­dence and ten­nis cham­pi­on Andre Agas­si. Rumor has it that U.S. Pres­i­dent Franklin D. Roo­sevelt was also quite fond of it. We’ve includ­ed the full text for “Invic­tus” below:

Out of the night that cov­ers me,

Black as the Pit from pole to pole,

I thank what­ev­er gods may be

For my uncon­quer­able soul.

In the fell clutch of cir­cum­stance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the blud­geon­ings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Hor­ror of the shade,

And yet the men­ace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It mat­ters not how strait the gate,

How charged with pun­ish­ments the scroll.

I am the mas­ter of my fate:

I am the cap­tain of my soul.

H/T to Bruno, one of our read­ers, for send­ing this video our way.

Ilia Blin­d­er­man is a Mon­tre­al-based cul­ture and sci­ence writer. Fol­low him at @iliablinderman.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Nel­son Mandela’s First-Ever TV Inter­view (1961)

U2 Releas­es a Nel­son Man­dela-Inspired Song, “Ordi­nary Love”

Nel­son Man­dela Archive Goes Online

Find “Invic­tus” in our Free Audio Books and Free eBooks col­lec­tions.

Studs Terkel Interviews Bob Dylan, Shel Silverstein, Maya Angelou & More in New Audio Trove

The recent­ly-launched dig­i­ti­za­tion project Pop­Up Archive hosts a great selec­tion of Studs Terkel audio. The site’s archive of inter­views comes from Terkel’s 1952–1997 radio show, “The Studs Terkel Pro­gram,” on the Chica­go sta­tion WFMT.

While Terkel is famous for inter­view­ing every­day peo­ple for his oral his­to­ries of the Depres­sion, work, and World War II, and his radio show fea­tured its fair share of stu­dents, domes­tic work­ers, and vet­er­ans, this par­tic­u­lar archive is full of big names: Actress and come­di­an Lily Tom­lin. Lit­er­ary the­o­rist Edward Said. Actor and activist Sid­ney Poiti­er.

A short trip into the inter­views reveals Shel Sil­ver­stein telling Terkel the sto­ry of his as-yet-unpub­lished book Laf­ca­dio, The Lion Who Shot Back, in a rapid-fire Chica­go accent. Terkel inter­views the pho­tog­ra­ph­er Diane Arbus about the Depres­sion, try­ing in vain to elic­it any mem­o­ries at all per­tain­ing to finan­cial stress. (Even Terkel couldn’t win them all.) And an inter­view with James Bald­win is punc­tu­at­ed by the unmis­tak­able sound of a Zip­po lighter in use.

Cur­rent­ly, there are about twen­ty audio files avail­able, and the archive promis­es more to come, pend­ing dig­i­ti­za­tion and the clear­ing of rights. (Let’s hope they hur­ry up! Some of the place­hold­er entries for not-yet-avail­able interviews—Buckminster Fuller, Mar­garet Mead, Arthur C. Clarke—are most tan­ta­liz­ing.)

The one down­side to this archive is that you can’t down­load the interviews—a poten­tial draw­back for addict­ed pod­cast fans. How­ev­er, if you have a smart­phone and a good data con­nec­tion, it’s sim­ple enough to lis­ten to the files straight from your phone’s Chrome brows­er.

Above you can lis­ten to Terkel inter­view a young Bob Dylan in 1963. The remain­ing parts of the inter­view can be found here. Note: The Dylan inter­view isn’t actu­al­ly in the Pop Up archive. But it is anoth­er one of Terkel’s leg­endary inter­views. So we want­ed to add it to the mix.

Rebec­ca Onion is a writer and aca­d­e­m­ic liv­ing in Philadel­phia. She runs Slate.com’s his­to­ry blog, The Vault. Fol­low her on Twit­ter: @rebeccaonion.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Studs Terkel Reads Poem “Blessed Be The Nation”

Voic­es from the Depres­sion: Studs Terkel Inter­views

Two Leg­ends Togeth­er: A Young Bob Dylan Talks and Plays on the Studs Terkel Pro­gram, 1963

Mike Tyson Lists the Philosophy & History Books He’s Reading These Days

Mike_Tyson_Portrait

Last year, Mike Tyson staged a one-man Broad­way show, direct­ed by Spike Lee, called â€śMike Tyson: The Undis­put­ed Truth.” In Novem­ber, the box­ing leg­end pub­lished an auto­bi­og­ra­phy by the same title. And now comes this: a short let­ter in The Wall Street Jour­nal where Iron Mike lists the phi­los­o­phy and his­to­ry texts he’s read­ing these days. The list includes:

  • The Quotable Kierkegaard, edit­ed by Gor­don Mari­no, “a col­lec­tion of awe­some quotes from that great Dan­ish philoso­pher.”

[Note: Niet­zsche is his favorite philoso­pher. Says Tyson, “He’s just insane. You have to have an IQ of at least 300 to tru­ly under­stand him.”

Why? Because “Alexan­der kept push­ing for­ward. He did­n’t want to have to go home and be dom­i­nat­ed by his moth­er.” The same impulse drove Tyson to box his way out of Brownsville, Brook­lyn. That’s all cov­ered in his auto­bi­og­ra­phy.

What else is Tyson read­ing? Love let­ters. He men­tions Napoleon’s love let­ters to Josephine, and Vir­ginia Woolf’s let­ter to her hus­band before com­mit­ting sui­cide. Tyson then quips “I don’t real­ly do any light read­ing, just deep, deep stuff. I’m not a light kind of guy.”

Get more at The Wall Street Jour­nal.

H/T Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Iron Mike Tyson Sings “The Girl From Ipane­ma”

The Phi­los­o­phy of Kierkegaard, the First Exis­ten­tial­ist Philoso­pher, Revis­it­ed in 1984 Doc­u­men­tary

Wal­ter Kaufmann’s Clas­sic Lec­tures on Niet­zsche, Kierkegaard and Sartre (1960)

Down­load 90 Free Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es and Start Liv­ing the Exam­ined Life

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In 1900, Ladies’ Home Journal Publishes 28 Predictions for the Year 2000

Ladies Home Journal Dec 1900 paleofuture paleo-future

At least since that 17th cen­tu­ry archi­tect of the sci­en­tif­ic rev­o­lu­tion, Sir Fran­cis Bacon (who was most­ly right), peo­ple have been mak­ing pre­dic­tions about the tech­nolo­gies and social advance­ments of the future. And since Bacon, sci­en­tists and futur­is­tic writ­ers have been espe­cial­ly in demand dur­ing times of great change and uncer­tain­ty, such as at the turn of the last cen­tu­ry. In 1900, civ­il engi­neer John Elfreth Watkins, Jr. in Ladies’ Home Jour­nal claimed to have sur­veyed “the most learned and con­ser­v­a­tive minds in Amer­i­ca… the wis­est and most care­ful men in our great­est insti­tu­tions of sci­ence and learn­ing.”

Spec­i­fy­ing advances like­ly to occur 100 years thence, “before the dawn of 2001,” Watkins culled 28 pre­dic­tions about such things as trav­el and the trans­mis­sion of infor­ma­tion over great dis­tances, bio­log­i­cal and genet­ic muta­tions, and the domes­tic com­forts of the aver­age con­sumer. Sev­er­al of the pre­dic­tions are very Bacon­ian indeed—as per the strange list at the end of Bacon’s sci­ence fic­tion frag­ment New Atlantis, a text obsessed with alter­ing the appear­ance of the nat­ur­al world for no par­tic­u­lar rea­son oth­er than that it could be done. Watkins’ list includes such pre­dic­tions as “Peas as Large as Beets,” “Black, Blue, and Green Ros­es,” and “Straw­ber­ries as Large as Apples.” Some are Bacon­ian in more sin­is­ter ways, and these are also a bit more accu­rate. Take the below, for exam­ple:

There will be No Wild Ani­mals except in menageries. Rats and mice will have been exter­mi­nat­ed. The horse will have become prac­ti­cal­ly extinct. A few of high breed will be kept by the rich for rac­ing, hunt­ing and exer­cise. The auto­mo­bile will have dri­ven out the horse. Cat­tle and sheep will have no horns. They will be unable to run faster than the fat­tened hog of to-day. A cen­tu­ry ago the wild hog could out­run a horse. Food ani­mals will be bred to expend prac­ti­cal­ly all of their life ener­gy in pro­duc­ing meat, milk, wool and oth­er by-prod­ucts. Horns, bones, mus­cles and lungs will have been neglect­ed.

I would defer to ecol­o­gists and meat indus­try watch­dogs to con­firm my intu­itions, but it does seem that some of this, except­ing the exter­mi­na­tion of ver­min and horns, has come to pass or is very like­ly in regard to sev­er­al species. Anoth­er pre­dic­tion, this one about our own species, is laugh­ably opti­mistic:

Every­body will Walk Ten Miles. Gym­nas­tics will begin in the nurs­ery, where toys and games will be designed to strength­en the mus­cles. Exer­cise will be com­pul­so­ry in the schools. Every school, col­lege and com­mu­ni­ty will have a com­plete gym­na­si­um. All cities will have pub­lic gym­na­si­ums. A man or woman unable to walk ten miles at a stretch will be regard­ed as a weak­ling.

We’re much clos­er to the future of Pixar’s Wall‑E than any­thing resem­bling this sce­nario (unless you live in the world of Cross­fit). Anoth­er pre­dic­tion is both dead on and dead wrong at once. Claim­ing that there will be “from 350,000,000 to 500,000,000 peo­ple in the Amer­i­c­as and its pos­ses­sions by the lapse of anoth­er cen­tu­ry” did in fact turn out to be almost uncan­ni­ly accurate—current esti­mates are some­where around 300,000,000. The “pos­ses­sions” allud­ed to, how­ev­er, dis­play the atti­tude of blithe Mon­roe doc­trine expan­sion­ism that held the nation in its sway at the turn of the cen­tu­ry. The pre­dic­tion goes on to say that most of the “South and Cen­tral Amer­i­can republics would be vot­ed into the Union by their own peo­ple.” A few more of Watkins’ pre­dic­tions, some pre­scient, some pre­pos­ter­ous:

Tele­phones Around the World. Wire­less tele­phone and tele­graph cir­cuits will span the world.

Store Pur­chas­es by Tube. Pneu­mat­ic tubes instead of store wag­ons, will deliv­er pack­ages and bun­dles.

Hot and Cold Air from Spig­ots. Ris­ing ear­ly to build the fur­nace fire will be a task of the old­en times.

Ready-Cooked Meals will be Bought from estab­lish­ments sim­i­lar to our bak­eries of to-day [see the above Wall‑E ref­er­ence]

There will be No C, X, or Q in our every-day alpha­bet. They will be aban­doned because unnec­es­sary.

Aeriel War-Ships and Forts on Wheels. Giant guns will shoot twen­ty-five miles or more, and will hurl any­where with­in such a radius shells explod­ing and destroy­ing whole cities.

How Chil­dren will be Taught. A uni­ver­si­ty edu­ca­tion will be free to every man and woman.

Ah, if only that last one had come true! To read all of Watkins pre­dic­tions in detail, click on the image above for a larg­er, read­able, ver­sion of the full arti­cle.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Isaac Asimov’s 1964 Pre­dic­tions About What the World Will Look 50 Years Lat­er — in 2014

Arthur C. Clarke Pre­dicts the Future in 1964 … And Kind of Nails It

1930s Fash­ion Design­ers Imag­ine How Peo­ple Would Dress in the Year 2000

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Oxford University Presents the 550-Year-Old Gutenberg Bible in Spectacular, High-Res Detail

The great British empiri­cist Fran­cis Bacon once remarked that Johannes Gutenberg’s print­ing press â€śchanged the whole face and state of the world.” Although Guten­berg did not inde­pen­dent­ly devise the press, he invent­ed a mass-pro­duc­tion process of move­able type and con­coct­ed an oil-based ink which, when com­bined with the wood­en press, rev­o­lu­tion­ized the flow of infor­ma­tion. Books could now be pub­lished in vast quan­ti­ties, at only a frac­tion of the time required pre­vi­ous­ly.

For his first sem­i­nal print­ing, Guten­berg picked the Bible — an obvi­ous choice for a Chris­t­ian, and in ret­ro­spect, per­haps the only book whose his­tor­i­cal sig­nif­i­cance rivals that of Gutenberg’s inven­tion. Pro­duced in 1454 or 1455, the few sur­viv­ing copies of Gutenberg’s Bible remain exem­plars of the printer’s fore­thought and crafts­man­ship;  the page dimen­sions, it is believed, were  devised by Guten­berg to echo the gold­en ratio of Greek aes­thet­ics. The first page appears above.

This Tues­day, The Polon­sy Foun­da­tion Dig­i­ti­za­tion Project, which aims to dig­i­tize the col­lec­tions of Oxford’s Bodleian Libraries and the Vatican’s Bib­liote­ca Apos­toli­ca, made a vir­tu­al ver­sion of the Guten­berg Bible avail­able online. Read­ers flu­ent in vul­gate can now put down their dog-eared bibles and enter the infor­ma­tion age with this fright­en­ing­ly high-res­o­lu­tion cov­er-to-cov­er scan of Gutenberg’s orig­i­nal print­ing. In addi­tion to exam­in­ing its fine­ly drawn ini­tials and curlicues, you can also browse oth­er ear­ly bibles, includ­ing a beau­ti­ful­ly col­ored 13th cen­tu­ry Hebrew tome, and the del­i­cate illus­tra­tions with­in a 10th cen­tu­ry Greek vol­ume. We’ve includ­ed two images below:

Bible image 1
Bible image 2
View the first por­tion of the dig­i­tized col­lec­tions here.

via Hyper­al­ler­gic

Ilia Blin­d­er­man is a Mon­tre­al-based cul­ture and sci­ence writer. Fol­low him at @iliablinderman.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

See How The Guten­berg Press Worked: Demon­stra­tion Shows the Old­est Func­tion­ing Guten­berg Press in Action

Google Puts The Dead Sea Scrolls Online (in Super High Res­o­lu­tion)

Take First-Class Phi­los­o­phy Lec­tures Any­where with Free Oxford Pod­casts

Dis­cov­er Thomas Jefferson’s Cut-and-Paste Ver­sion of the Bible, and Read the Curi­ous Edi­tion Online

How the King James Bible For­ev­er Changed Eng­lish: 400th Anniver­sary Cel­e­brat­ed with Fun Videos

Errol Morris Meditates on the Meaning and History of Abraham Lincoln’s Last Photograph

LincolnRetouched

I believe it was Jacques Der­ri­da, though I don’t recall exact­ly where, who said that some of the most reveal­ing text of any work can be found in the foot­notes. In doc­u­men­tar­i­an Errol Mor­ris’ recent pho­to-essay series on Lin­coln for The New York Times, foot­notes, chronolo­gies, snip­pets of inter­view, and end­less­ly recur­sive ref­er­ences con­tin­u­ous­ly intrude on the sto­ries he tells. In this way, the series, called “The Inter­minable, Ever­last­ing Lin­colns,” enacts the ten­sion Mor­ris iden­ti­fies as “the push-pull of his­to­ry,” a con­test between sev­er­al ways of approach­ing the past: “Facts vs. beliefs. Our desire to know the ori­gins of things vs. our desire to rework, to recon­fig­ure the past to suit our own beliefs and predilec­tions. Per­haps noth­ing bet­ter illus­trates this than two rad­i­cal­ly dif­fer­ent pre­dis­po­si­tions to objects—the sto­ry­teller vs. the col­lec­tor.”

The way sto­ry after sto­ry inevitably nests with­in each his­tor­i­cal arti­fact seems to be Mor­ris’ over­ar­ch­ing theme as he charts the his­to­ry of Lin­coln iconog­ra­phy by ref­er­ence to a sin­gle image, a pho­to of Lin­coln by Alexan­der Gard­ner that exists in only one known orig­i­nal print, called O‑118 after col­lec­tor of Lin­coln pho­tog­ra­phy Lloyd Osten­dorf (see the retouched ver­sion above, the orig­i­nal print below). This print, along with 13 oth­ers, was made either four or five days before Lincoln’s assas­si­na­tion.

LincolnCracked

Mor­ris’ fas­ci­na­tion with this pho­to­graph is as var­i­ous­ly moti­vat­ed as the num­ber of dif­fer­ent views he adopts in exam­in­ing its prove­nance, its his­to­ry, and its mean­ing. For one thing, O‑118 is sup­pos­ed­ly the last pho­to­graph tak­en of Lin­coln alive. In 1922, The New York Times pub­lished the orig­i­nal print (above) with text by James Young, who wrote:

Prob­a­bly no oth­er pho­to­graph of Lin­coln con­veys more clear­ly the abid­ing sad­ness of the face. The lines of time and care are deeply etched, and he has the look of a man bor­der­ing upon old age, though he was only 56. Proof that the cam­era was but a few feet away may be found by scruti­ny of the pic­ture…. The print has been untouched, and this pic­ture is an exact like­ness of the Pres­i­dent as he looked in the week of his death.

The photo’s cap­tion also includ­ed infor­ma­tion that Mor­ris makes a great deal of: “The Cracked Neg­a­tive Caused it To Be Dis­card­ed. It Has Only Once Before Been Pub­lished, and Then in a Retouched Form.” For one thing, Mor­ris seems to asso­ciate the pho­to­graph with what Wal­ter Ben­jamin called “aura”; The print, it seems, was the only one Gard­ner was able to make before the cracked neg­a­tive became use­less and mass pro­duc­tion from the source impos­si­ble. Un-retouched, the print shows a “frac­ture cut­ting through the top of Lincoln’s head.” For the sto­ry­teller, writes Mor­ris, “the crack is the begin­ning of a legend—the leg­end of a death fore­told. The crack seems to antic­i­pate the bul­let fired into the back of Lincoln’s head at Ford’s The­ater on Good Fri­day, April 14, 1865.” Using the rhetor­i­cal term for “a fig­ure of antic­i­pa­tion,” a nar­ra­tive fea­ture that fore­shad­ows, fore­tells, or proph­e­sies, Mor­ris calls this “the pro­lep­tic crack.”

His wind­ing nar­ra­tive, replete with the anti­quar­i­an minu­ti­ae of col­lec­tors, moves from the day—February 5, 1865—that Lin­coln and his son Tad walked to Gardner’s stu­dio on 7th Street in Wash­ing­ton, DC for the pho­to ses­sion, through the use of pho­tog­ra­phy as an aid to Lin­coln painters and sculp­tors, to the mean­ing of Lin­coln for such diverse peo­ple as Leo Tol­stoy, Mar­i­lyn Mon­roe, and our cur­rent Pres­i­dent. Mor­ris’ series ranges far and wide, vis­it­ing with his­to­ri­ans and col­lec­tors along the way, and telling many a sto­ry, some freely spec­u­la­tive, some wist­ful, some trag­ic, and all some­how cir­cling back to O‑118. Like much of Mor­ris’ doc­u­men­tary work, it’s an exer­cise in collage—of the meth­ods of the schol­ar, the essay­ist, and the archivist—and like its sub­ject, it’s a frac­tured, but ever­last­ing­ly fas­ci­nat­ing med­i­ta­tion. Fol­low Mor­ris’ entire series below.

Pro­logue: Pre­mo­ni­tions

Part 1: Feb­ru­ary 5, 1865

Part 2: The Pro­lep­tic Crack

Part 3: In the Cau­ca­sus

Relat­ed Con­tent:

New Errol Mor­ris Film Asks Whether We Will Ever Know the Truth About the Kennedy Assas­si­na­tion

The Last Sur­viv­ing Wit­ness of the Lin­coln Assas­si­na­tion

Visu­al­iz­ing Slav­ery: The Map Abra­ham Lin­coln Spent Hours Study­ing Dur­ing the Civ­il War

The Poet­ry of Abra­ham Lin­coln

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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