Alan Lomax’s Music Archive Houses Over 17,400 Folk Recordings From 1946 to the 1990s

The work of folk­lorists and musi­col­o­gists like Alan Lomax, Stet­son Kennedy, and Har­ry Smith has long been revered in coun­ter­cul­tur­al com­mu­ni­ties and libraries; and it occa­sion­al­ly reach­es main­stream audi­ences in, for exam­ple, the Coen Brother’s 2000 film Oh Broth­er, Where Art Thou? and its atten­dant sound­track, or the playlists of purists on col­lege radio and NPR. But their record­ings are much more than his­tor­i­cal nov­el­ties.

Archives like Lomax’s Asso­ci­a­tion for Cul­tur­al Equi­ty—which we’ve fea­tured before—help remind us of our ori­gins as much as bot­tom-up accounts like Howard Zinn’s A People’s His­to­ry of the Unit­ed States. Lomax and his col­leagues believed that folk art and music infuse and renew “high” art and pro­vide bul­warks against the cyn­i­cal des­ti­tu­tion of mass-mar­ket com­mer­cial media that can seem so dead­en­ing and inescapable.

That is not to say that notions of authen­tic­i­ty aren’t fraught with their own prob­lems of exploita­tion. Approach­ing folk art as tourists, we can demean it and our­selves. But the prob­lem is less, I think, one of gen­tri­fi­ca­tion than of neglect: it’s sim­ply far too easy to lose touch, a much-remarked-upon irony of the age of social net­work­ing. Lomax under­stood this. He found­ed ACE “to explore and pre­serve the world’s expres­sive tra­di­tions with human­is­tic com­mit­ment and sci­en­tif­ic engage­ment.” The orga­ni­za­tion resides at NYC’s Hunter Col­lege and, since Lomax’s retire­ment in 1996, has been over­seen by his daugh­ter, Anna Lomax Wood. Through an arrange­ment with the Library of Con­gress, which hous­es the orig­i­nals, ACE has access to all of Lomax’s col­lec­tion of field record­ings and can dis­sem­i­nate them online to the pub­lic. Lomax’s asso­ci­a­tion has also long been active in repa­tri­at­ing record­ed arti­facts to libraries and archives in their places of ori­gin, giv­ing local com­mu­ni­ties access to cul­tur­al his­to­ries that may oth­er­wise be lost to them.

Lomax under­scored the sig­nif­i­cance of his organization’s name in a 1972 essay enti­tled “An Appeal for Cul­tur­al Equi­ty,” in which he lays out the impor­tance of pre­serv­ing cul­tur­al diver­si­ty against the “oppres­sive dull­ness and psy­chic dis­tress” imposed upon “those areas where cen­tral­ized music indus­tries, exploit­ing the star sys­tem and con­trol­ling the com­mu­ni­ca­tion sys­tem, put the local musi­cian out of work and silence folk song.” Are we any more improved forty years lat­er for the shock­ing monop­o­liza­tion of mass media in the hands of a few con­glom­er­ates? I’d answer unequiv­o­cal­ly no but for one impor­tant qual­i­fi­ca­tion: mass media in the form of open online archives allows us unprece­dent­ed access to, for exam­ple, the awe­some late-sev­en­ties film of R.L. Burn­side (top), who like many Mis­sis­sip­pi Delta blues­men before him, would only achieve recog­ni­tion much lat­er in life. Or we can see native North Car­olin­ian Cas Wallin (above) sing a ver­sion of folk song “Pret­ty Saro” in 1982, a song Bob Dylan record­ed and only recent­ly released. Then there’s one of my favorites, “Make Me A Pal­let On Your Floor,” picked and sung below by Mis­sis­sip­pi­an Sam Chatmon—a song played and record­ed by count­less black and white blues and coun­try artists like Mis­sis­sip­pi John Hurt and Gillian Welch.

These and thou­sands of oth­er exam­ples from the ACE archive bring musi­col­o­gists, his­to­ri­ans, folk­lorists, activists, edu­ca­tors, and every­one else clos­er to Lomax’s ideal—that we “learn how we can put our mag­nif­i­cent mass com­mu­ni­ca­tions tech­nol­o­gy at the ser­vice of each and every branch of the human fam­i­ly.” The ACE cat­a­log con­tains over 17,400 dig­i­tal files, begin­ning with Lomax’s first tape record­ings in 1946, to his dig­i­tal work in the 90s. The archive includes songs, sto­ries, jokes, ser­mons, inter­views and oth­er audio arti­facts from the Amer­i­can South, Appalachia, the Caribbean, and many more locales. The archive fea­tures record­ings from famous names like Woody Guthrie and Lead Bel­ly but pri­mar­i­ly con­sists of folk music from anony­mous folk, rep­re­sent­ing a vari­ety of lan­guages and eth­nic­i­ties. And the archive is ever-expand­ing as it con­tin­ues to dig­i­tize rare record­ings, and to upload vin­tage film, like the videos above, to its YouTube chan­nel.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Leg­endary Folk­lorist Alan Lomax: ‘The Land Where the Blues Began’

Woody Guthrie at 100: Cel­e­brate His Amaz­ing Life with a BBC Film

Hear Zora Neale Hurston Sing the Bawdy Prison Blues Song “Uncle Bud” (1940)

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

Watch Dating Dos and Don’ts: An Old-School Instructional Guide to Teenage Romance (1949)

From the mid-1940s to the mid-1970s, Coro­net Instruc­tion­al Media, that for­mi­da­ble fac­to­ry of class­room edu­ca­tion­al films, taught Amer­i­ca’s school­child­ren how to study, how to land a job, how to per­form their soci­etal and fil­ial duties, how to bathe. Cer­tain gen­er­a­tions no doubt retain vivid mem­o­ries, fond or oth­er­wise, of such 16-mil­lime­ter stand­bys as Good Eat­ing HabitsJoan Avoids a ColdAre You Pop­u­lar? and Com­mu­nism. In 1949, Coro­net came up with a short sub­ject rather clos­er to the eter­nal inter­ests of the teenag­er: Dat­ing: Do’s and Don’ts. This twelve-minute film, direct­ed Gilbert Altschul with the assis­tance of Reuben Hill, Research Pro­fes­sor of Fam­i­ly Life at the Uni­ver­si­ty of North Car­oli­na, nav­i­gates the gar­den of fork­ing paths formed by all the choic­es, from ide­al­ly gen­tle­man-like to poten­tial­ly dis­as­trous, that con­front young Woody on his very first date.

Who, for instance, should Woody ask to join him at Cen­tral High­’s Hi-Teen Car­ni­val? “Whose com­pa­ny would you enjoy?” asks the voice-of-mid­cen­tu­ry-author­i­ty nar­ra­tor.” “Well, one thing you can con­sid­er is looks. Woody thought of Jan­ice, and how good-look­ing she was. He real­ly had to rate to date some­body like her.” Still: “It’s too bad Jan­ice always acts so supe­ri­or and bored. She’d make a fel­low feel awk­ward and infe­ri­or.” Per­haps the more ground­ed Bet­ty? “And yet, it just does­n’t seem as if she’d be much fun. What about Anne? She knows how to have a good time.” Even 64 years on, I dare­say fel­lows would still do well to cleave to the Annes of the world. But giv­en how far the pen­du­lum of sex­u­al pol­i­tics has swung since Coro­net’s hey­day, oth­er pieces of of Dat­ing: Do’s and Don’ts advice seems more quaint than cur­rent. For a more mod­ern per­spec­tive, see also How to Be a “Mr. Good-Date,” a Looney Tunes par­o­dy star­ring Bugs Bun­ny as the hope­ful suit­or Reg­gie Geran­de­vu and Elmer Fudd as the pro­tec­tive home­own­er of whom he runs afoul.

When you’re done watch­ing Dat­ing: Do’s and Don’ts, don’t miss Coro­net’s 1951 sequel of sorts “Going Steady.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Sto­ry Of Men­stru­a­tion: Walt Disney’s Sex Ed Film from 1946

Duck and Cov­er, or: How I Learned to Elude the Bomb

How to Spot a Com­mu­nist Using Lit­er­ary Crit­i­cism: A 1955 Man­u­al from the U.S. Mil­i­tary

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­lesA Los Ange­les PrimerFol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

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

TJ Bible 2

Had he lived dur­ing the Inqui­si­tionThomas Jef­fer­son would have been burned at the stake. His ideas about Jesus and Chris­tian­i­ty were far from ortho­dox. A prod­uct of the Enlight­en­ment, Jef­fer­son believed that every­thing, includ­ing reli­gion, should be exam­ined in the light of rea­son.

When Jef­fer­son exam­ined the Gospels he came away with a strong­ly divid­ed opin­ion. “I find many pas­sages of fine imag­i­na­tion, cor­rect moral­i­ty, and of the most love­ly benev­o­lence,” he wrote in an 1820 let­ter to William Short, “and oth­ers again of so much igno­rance, so much absur­di­ty, so much untruth, char­la­tanism, and impos­ture, as to pro­nounce it impos­si­ble that such con­tra­dic­tions should have pro­ceed­ed from the same being.”

As ear­ly as 1804, when he was still pres­i­dent, Jef­fer­son began sep­a­rat­ing “the dia­mond from the dunghill,” as he lat­er put it, to assem­ble his own ver­sion of the Bible. He con­tin­ued the project in earnest dur­ing his lat­er years at Mon­ti­cel­lo, por­ing over var­i­ous edi­tions in Greek, Latin, French and King James Eng­lish. He clipped the pas­sages he thought were gen­uine teach­ings of Jesus and past­ed them, in the four lan­guages side by side, onto pages.

In 1820 — six years before his death at the age of 83 — Jef­fer­son pro­duced a leather-bound, 84-page vol­ume titled The Life and Morals of Jesus of Nazareth, Extract­ed Tex­tu­al­ly From the Gospels in Greek, Latin, French & Eng­lish. Jef­fer­son elim­i­nat­ed every­thing in the Bible con­cern­ing mir­a­cles. He end­ed the Gospel sto­ry with the exe­cu­tion and bur­ial of Jesus, omit­ting the res­ur­rec­tion. The retained pas­sages, Jef­fer­son explained in an 1813 let­ter to John Adams, con­tain “the most sub­lime and benev­o­lent code of morals which has ever been offered to man.”

You can exam­ine and read Jef­fer­son­’s com­plete 1820 Bible online by vis­it­ing the Smith­son­ian Insti­tu­tion’s inter­ac­tive Web dis­play.

Repro­duc­tions of Jef­fer­son­’s Bible can be pur­chased online.

The images above come cour­tesy of The Smith­son­ian.

Sci-Fi Writer Robert Heinlein Imagines the Year 2000 in 1949, and Gets it Mostly Wrong

Image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Two giants of 20th cen­tu­ry sci­ence fic­tion: Robert Hein­lein and Isaac Asi­mov (see them togeth­er above, with L. Sprague de Camp in-between). Like every young sci-fi geek, I read them both assid­u­ous­ly, got lost in their dizzy­ing uni­vers­es that stretched across nov­els and sig­nif­i­cant teenage mile­stones. Even as an awk­ward kid, I could clear­ly iden­ti­fy an essen­tial dif­fer­ence in tone between their fore­casts of the future. Hein­lein, the Navy man forcibly retired from ser­vice by tuber­cu­lo­sis, had the dark­er vision, in which the brute force of mass mil­i­tarism con­tin­ued to thrive and hero­ic men of action car­ried the day. Asi­mov, the prac­tic­ing scientist—whose “Nor­by” series of kids books might be the cutest intro­duc­tion to sci-fi ever writ­ten by an American—favored a future that, if still quite dan­ger­ous, was man­aged by robots and their cre­ators, the tech­nocrats.

As we can plain­ly see, we are no less a bel­li­cose species than when these two authors wrote of the future, but Asi­mov seems to have had it right. The tech­nocrats came out on top; too many bat­tles are fought not by massed bat­tal­ions but by dead­ly fly­ing robots mak­ing (so we’re told) “sur­gi­cal” strikes. A few weeks ago, we brought you a series of tech­no­crat­ic pre­dic­tions of the year 2014 from Asi­mov, many of them sur­pris­ing­ly accu­rate. Today, we have a list of pre­dic­tions from Hein­lein, this time of the year 2000, and writ­ten in 1949 and pub­lished in 1952 in Galaxy mag­a­zine. How does his pre­dic­tive abil­i­ty stack up against his con­tem­po­rary? Well, I’d say that 2 (stripped of some exag­ger­a­tion), 8, and 11 either hit the mark or come pret­ty damn close. 19 is self-evi­dent­ly true, and 15 is arguably not ter­ri­bly far away, though it may not have seemed so in 2000. 4 is painful­ly iron­ic. The rest? Eh, not so much. Take a look and try to imag­ine your­self in Heinlein’s shoes in 1949. Not an easy task? Try to imag­ine what the world will look like in 2063. Which ver­sion of IOS will you be run­ning then?

1. Inter­plan­e­tary trav­el is wait­ing at your front door — C.O.D. It’s yours when you pay for it.

2. Con­tra­cep­tion and con­trol of dis­ease is revis­ing rela­tions between the sex­es to an extent that will change our entire social and eco­nom­ic struc­ture.

3. The most impor­tant mil­i­tary fact of this cen­tu­ry is that there is no way to repel an attack from out­er space.

4. It is utter­ly impos­si­ble that the Unit­ed States will start a “pre­ven­tive war.” We will fight when attacked, either direct­ly or in a ter­ri­to­ry we have guar­an­teed to defend.

5. In fif­teen years the hous­ing short­age will be solved by a “break­through” into new tech­nolo­gies which will make every house now stand­ing as obso­lete as priv­ies.

6. We’ll all be get­ting a lit­tle hun­gry by and by.

7. The cult of the pho­ny in art will dis­ap­pear. So-called “mod­ern art” will be dis­cussed only by psy­chi­a­trists.

8. Freud will be classed as a pre-sci­en­tif­ic, intu­itive pio­neer and psy­cho­analy­sis will be replaced by a grow­ing, chang­ing “oper­a­tional psy­chol­o­gy” based on mea­sure­ment and pre­dic­tion.

9. Can­cer, the com­mon cold, and tooth decay will all be con­quered; the rev­o­lu­tion­ary new prob­lem in med­ical research will be to accom­plish “regen­er­a­tion,” i.e., to enable a man to grow a new leg, rather than fit him with an arti­fi­cial limb.

10. By the end of this cen­tu­ry mankind will have explored this solar sys­tem, and the first ship intend­ed to reach the near­est star will be a‑building.

11. Your per­son­al tele­phone will be small enough to car­ry in your hand­bag. Your house tele­phone will record mes­sages, answer sim­ple inquiries, and trans­mit vision.

12. Intel­li­gent life will be found on Mars.

13. A thou­sand miles an hour at a cent a mile will be com­mon­place; short hauls will be made in evac­u­at­ed sub­ways at extreme speed.

14. A major objec­tive of applied physics will be to con­trol grav­i­ty.

15. We will not achieve a “World State” in the pre­dictable future. Nev­er­the­less, Com­mu­nism will van­ish from this plan­et.

16. Increas­ing mobil­i­ty will dis­en­fran­chise a major­i­ty of the pop­u­la­tion. About 1990 a con­sti­tu­tion­al amend­ment will do away with state lines while retain­ing the sem­blance.

17. All air­craft will be con­trolled by a giant radar net run on a con­ti­nent-wide basis by a mul­ti­ple elec­tron­ic “brain.”

18. Fish and yeast will become our prin­ci­pal sources of pro­teins. Beef will be a lux­u­ry; lamb and mut­ton will dis­ap­pear.

19. Mankind will not destroy itself, nor will “Civ­i­liza­tion” be destroyed.

Here are things we won’t get soon, if ever:

– Trav­el through time

– Trav­el faster than the speed of light

– “Radio” trans­mis­sion of mat­ter.

– Man­like robots with man­like reac­tions

– Lab­o­ra­to­ry cre­ation of life

– Real under­stand­ing of what “thought” is and how it is relat­ed to mat­ter.

– Sci­en­tif­ic proof of per­son­al sur­vival after death.

– Nor a per­ma­nent end to war.

Curi­ous­ly, nei­ther Hein­lein nor Asi­mov fore­saw that most ter­ri­bly banal and ubiq­ui­tous phe­nom­e­non of real­i­ty TV, but real­ly, what kind of mon­ster could have imag­ined such a thing?

via Lists of Note/i09

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

Wal­ter Cronkite Imag­ines the Home of the 21st Cen­tu­ry … Back in 1967

Mar­shall McLuhan Announces That The World is a Glob­al Vil­lage

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

The Art of Handwriting as Practiced by Famous Artists: Georgia O’Keeffe, Jackson Pollock, Marcel Duchamp, Willem de Kooning & More

OKeeffeHand

Click each image for a larg­er ver­sion

Did­n’t we used to hear all sorts of grum­bling about the dis­ap­pear­ance of the hand­writ­ten let­ter? What a relief those com­plaints seem now to have sub­sided, leav­ing us in peace to effi­cient­ly type to one anoth­er about how we find pieces of long­hand cor­re­spon­dence fas­ci­nat­ing pure­ly as arti­facts of our favorite his­tor­i­cal fig­ures. If you share that fas­ci­na­tion, have a look at The Art of Hand­writ­ing, an exhib­it from the Smith­so­ni­an’s Archives of Amer­i­can Art now on dis­play through Octo­ber 27 at Wash­ing­ton D.C.‘s Lawrence A. Fleis­chman gallery, which show­cas­es not only the artis­tic aspects of hand­writ­ing, but the hand­writ­ing of actu­al artists. “An artist might put pen to paper just as he or she would apply a line to a draw­ing,” says the exhi­bi­tion’s site. “For each artist, a lead­ing author­i­ty inter­prets how the pres­sure of line and sense of rhythm speak to that artist’s sig­na­ture style. And ques­tions of biog­ra­phy arise: does the hand­writ­ing con­firm assump­tions about the artist, or does it sug­gest a new under­stand­ing?” Plus, we have here the ide­al test of those hand­writ­ing analy­sis booths at coun­ty fairs — could they detect these artis­tic per­son­al­i­ties?

deKooningHand

Just above, we have a page of abstract expres­sion­ist painter Willem de Koon­ing’s mis­sive in light-blue ink of March 28, 1966 to friend and fel­low abstract expres­sion­ist Michael Loew. (They’ve even includ­ed the enve­lope.) At the top of the post, you’ll find a page anoth­er painter, the famous­ly blos­som-focused Geor­gia O’Ke­effe, wrote to New Mex­i­co mod­ernist Cady Wells in 1939. The sub­ject of the let­ter? “O’Ke­effe wor­ries that Wells does­n’t like a paint­ing she has bought and sug­gests replace­ments; and describes an argu­ment she had with a friend.” That descrip­tion comes from the Smith­so­ni­an’s cat­a­log, as does this one: “[Jack­son] Pol­lock writes with descrip­tions of his new home in Springs, on Long Island, and dis­cuss­es his work and that of oth­er artists.” You can also view both pages of that evi­dent­ly unscan­dalous piece of com­mu­ni­ca­tion on the site. They’ve even got let­ters com­posed by hand in oth­er lan­guages, such as Mar­cel Duchamp writ­ing to his sis­ter Suzanne (below) on Jan­u­ary 15, 1916. Don’t wor­ry if you can’t read French, or if you think you can’t con­tex­tu­al­ize the per­son­al con­tent of any of the let­ters at all; focus on, as the Archives of Amer­i­can Art sug­gests, how “every mes­sage brims with the per­son­al­i­ty of the writer at the moment of inter­play between hand, eye, mind, pen, and paper.” That, and the that hope school­child­ren won’t have to endure cur­sive lessons many gen­er­a­tions longer.

DuchampHand

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Vir­ginia Woolf’s Hand­writ­ten Sui­cide Note: A Painful and Poignant Farewell (1941)

Font Based on Sig­mund Freud’s Hand­writ­ing Com­ing Cour­tesy of Suc­cess­ful Kick­starter Cam­paign

Fran­cis Ford Coppola’s Hand­writ­ten Cast­ing Notes for The God­fa­ther

See F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Hand­writ­ten Man­u­scripts for The Great Gats­by, This Side of Par­adise & More

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­lesA Los Ange­les PrimerFol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

What Shakespeare’s Handwriting Looked Like

Last week, we post­ed on how schol­ars have tried to recov­er the orig­i­nal pro­nun­ci­a­tions of Shakespeare’s plays and poems when per­formed on the stage. Today, we bring you the bard’s orig­i­nal hand­writ­ing. Shakespeare’s hand­writ­ing has recent­ly become the focus of a new arti­cle by Pro­fes­sor Dou­glas Bruster at UT Austin, who is using an analy­sis of the playwright’s quirky spellings and pen­man­ship to solve a very old ques­tion of author­ship. The page of hand­writ­ing you see above is a frag­ment of a lost play called Sir Thomas More and it goes by the name of “Hand D” (click the image above, and then the image that appears — for a much larg­er ver­sion).

Bruster’s short essay, pub­lished this month in the Oxford jour­nal Notes & Queries, is far too inside base­ball for any­one but hard­core tex­tu­al schol­ars to make much sense of, but this New York Times arti­cle does a good job of dis­till­ing the fin­er points. Suf­fice it to say that thanks to Bruster’s painstak­ing analy­sis of Shakespeare’s dis­tinc­tive hand­writ­ing, we can be fair­ly cer­tain that a 1602 revi­sion of Thomas Kyd’s enor­mous­ly pop­u­lar Renais­sance play The Span­ish Tragedy—in the words of Shake­speare schol­ar Eric Ras­mussen—has the bard’s “fin­ger­prints all over it.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

What Shake­speare Sound­ed Like to Shake­speare: Recon­struct­ing the Bard’s Orig­i­nal Pro­nun­ci­a­tion

A Sur­vey of Shakespeare’s Plays (Free Course)

Pink Floyd’s David Gilmour Sings Shakespeare’s Son­net 18

Shakespeare’s Satir­i­cal Son­net 130, As Read By Stephen Fry

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

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

Emancipation_proclamation

If you look close­ly at Fran­cis Bick­nell Car­pen­ter’s 1864 paint­ing “First Read­ing of the Eman­ci­pa­tion Procla­ma­tion by Pres­i­dent Lin­coln” (see above — click image for a larg­er ver­sion) you will notice a map in the low­er right-hand cor­ner, next to the group that includes Lin­coln and his cab­i­net.

The map in the paint­ing was a doc­u­ment Lin­coln con­sult­ed often dur­ing the Civ­il War. It was cre­at­ed by the Unit­ed States Coast Sur­vey using data from the 1860 Cen­sus to show the geo­graph­ic dis­tri­b­u­tion of the South’s vast slave pop­u­la­tion.

Car­pen­ter lived in the White House for six months while work­ing on his paint­ing, and accord­ing to his­to­ri­an Susan Schul­ten, author of Map­ping the Nation: His­to­ry and Car­tog­ra­phy in 19th Cen­tu­ry Amer­i­ca, the artist encoun­tered Lin­coln por­ing over the map on more than one occa­sion.

SlaveryMap

The map (click it to see a larg­er ver­sion) is an ear­ly exam­ple of sta­tis­ti­cal car­tog­ra­phy. The slave pop­u­la­tion of each coun­ty is rep­re­sent­ed numer­i­cal­ly and through a grad­ed scale of shad­ing. The high­er the num­ber of slaves, the dark­er the shade. In a 2010 piece in the New York Times “Opin­ion­a­tor” blog, Schul­ten writes:

The map reaf­firmed the belief of many in the Union that seces­sion was dri­ven not by a notion of “state rights,” but by the defense of a labor sys­tem. A table at the low­er edge of the map mea­sured each state’s slave pop­u­la­tion, and con­tem­po­raries would have imme­di­ate­ly noticed that this cor­re­spond­ed close­ly to the order of seces­sion. South Car­oli­na, which led the rebel­lion, was one of two states which enslaved a major­i­ty of its pop­u­la­tion, a fact stark­ly rep­re­sent­ed on the map.

The map helped Lin­coln visu­al­ize what he was up against. Areas along the Atlantic coast and Mis­sis­sip­pi Riv­er, for exam­ple, are dark­ly shad­ed. The white pop­u­lace in those areas was fanat­i­cal­ly resis­tant to eman­ci­pa­tion. “Con­verse­ly,” writes Schul­ten, “the map illus­trat­ed the degree to which entire regions — like east­ern Ten­nessee and west­ern Vir­ginia — were vir­tu­al­ly devoid of slav­ery, and thus poten­tial sources of resis­tance to seces­sion. Such a map might have rein­forced Pres­i­dent Abra­ham Lin­col­n’s belief that seces­sion was ani­mat­ed by a minor­i­ty and could be reversed if South­ern Union­ists were giv­en suf­fi­cient time and sup­port.”

For more on Lin­col­n’s map, vis­it Rebec­ca Onion’s post at Slate.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

“Ask a Slave” by Azie Dungey Sets the His­tor­i­cal Record Straight in a New Web Series

The Civ­il War and Recon­struc­tion: A Free Course

The Poet­ry of Abra­ham Lin­coln

The Last Sur­viv­ing Wit­ness of the Lin­coln Assas­si­na­tion

African-Amer­i­can His­to­ry: Mod­ern Free­dom Strug­gle YouTubeiTunes – Clay Car­son, Stan­ford  (in our col­lec­tion of 750 Free Online Cours­es)

“Ask a Slave” by Azie Dungey Sets the Historical Record Straight in a New Web Series

Any­one whose job involves inter­ac­tion with the gen­er­al pub­lic will be sub­ject­ed to a cer­tain num­ber of bone­head­ed ques­tions on any giv­en day. Those num­bers sky­rock­et when one must remain in both cos­tume and char­ac­ter, charged with bring­ing his­to­ry to life.

Azie Dungey, the cre­ator and star of the new web series, Ask a Slave, claims to have “played every black woman of note that ever lived” when she was employed as an his­toric inter­preter in the Wash­ing­ton DC area. These includ­ed Car­o­line Bran­ham, Martha Wash­ing­ton’s enslaved lady’s maid, a gig that com­pelled her to keep a record of ques­tions posed by vis­i­tors to Mount Ver­non.

Now, as the tea-sip­ping, fic­tion­al Lizzie Mae, Dungey is able to answer those ques­tions with greater free­dom. A mid­dle-aged, seem­ing­ly edu­cat­ed white man won­ders if a news­pa­per ad is what led to Lizzie Mae’s posi­tion in the home of “such a dis­tin­guished Found­ing Father” as George Wash­ing­ton.

“Did I read the adver­tise­ment in the news­pa­per?” Lizzie Mae echoes pleas­ant­ly.  “Why, yes. It said Want­ed: One house­maid. No pay. Prefer­ably mulat­to, saucy with breed­ing hips. Must work 18 hour a days, sev­en days a week, no hol­i­days. But you get to wear a pret­ty dress, and if you’re lucky you just might car­ry some famous white man’s bas­tard child. So, you bet­ter believe I read that and I ran right over and said, “Sign me up!””

Her default tone is one of pro­fes­sion­al­ly patient indul­gence, though occa­sion­al­ly, the mask slips, as when anoth­er vis­i­tor asserts that “slav­ery isn’t real­ly that bad.”

Stick­ing to the his­toric inter­preter’s schtick of not rec­og­niz­ing non-peri­od inven­tions like cam­eras pays div­i­dends when the sub­ject turns to intern­ships, the under­ground rail­road, and what George Wash­ing­ton thinks of Abra­ham Lin­coln free­ing all his slaves.

The best mate­r­i­al, as they say, writes itself.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Amer­i­can Founders and Their World

Ayun Hal­l­i­day doc­u­ments an unex­pect­ed detour to Mount Ver­non in The Big Rum­pus. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

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