H^ Smithsonian Institution NO. 104 SPRING 2001 Research Reports CULTURAL HISTORY Where cultural and soci? forces converged, the music emerged By Colleen Hershberger Smithsonian Office of Public Affairs W ere class, society nd race have divi- ded Americans, music has united So it was in the ith in the early part of the 20th century. White folks and black folks, high-rollers and paupers, do"wnto"wn dwellers, country farmers and field hands set aside their dif- ferences to play and enjoy music together. The sounds of blues, country and gospel eventually converged at the urban cross- roads of Memphis, being reborn, first as rock 'n' roll and, later, as soul music. This blending of cultures and the results are presented in a Smithsonian exhibition titled "Rock 'n' Soul: Social Crossroads," curated by historians Charlie McGovern and Pete Daniel of the Smithsonian's National Museum of American History, Behring Center. The exhibition, scheduled to run indefinitely, is on view at the Mem- phis Rock 'n' Soul Museum, located in the Gibson Guitar Factory in Memphis, Tenn. The show examines the people and social forces that created the music?from the blues, country and gospel of the 1930s to the emergence of rock 'n' roll in the 1950s to the soul tunes of the 1960s and 1970s. Conversely, the exhibition consid- ers how music affected social and cultural movements such as urban migration, youth culture and civil rights. "Many of the most important artists and developments of rock 'n' roll and soul music emerged from Memphis," McGov- ern says. Elvis Presley, Carl Perkins, B.B. King, Carla Thomas, Rufus Thomas, Al Green, Ann Peebles, Otis Redding and others all came from Memphis. "But what happened in Memphis happened in a lot of places. Wherever you look, rock 'n' roll came out of mixed, or racially commingled, neighborhoods. Many people involved with the music were transracial; that is, they could operate in different worlds." Daniel, an expert on the rural South during the Depression era, adds that it was common for white and black people to work together as field hands. When taking a rest, "someone might start playing an instrument, and other folks would join in," he says. "They picked up each others' country and blues licks. "And everyone, black or white," Daniel continues, "grew up with church music. They may have sung the hymns a little bit differently, but everyone could pick up on 'Old Rugged Cross.' " The researchers spent years interviewing and recording more than 70 individuals, including singers, producers, engineers, record shop owners, disc jockeys, factory workers, sharecroppers and others. "We asked them about their lives, not just about the music," explains John Mec- han, audio-visual production specialist for Smithsonian Productions, who accompa- nied Daniel and McGovern on these trips. "We asked about their childhood, music teachers and their religious experiences." Excerpts from the interviews can be seen in the three videos in the exhibition. In one interview, rock 'n' roll legend Carl Perkins recalled growing up as a share- cropper, "working alongside hundreds of black people." The same man who taught him to "crop" also taught him his first gui- tar chords. It was critical to interview not only the artists and musicians but the "middle peo- ple" as well, McGovern says. "Without the managers, agents, bookers and jukebox dealers, none of this would have been pos- sible," he says of the development of rock 'n' roll and soul music. McGovern tells the story of George Sammons, a small-businessman w^ho sold jukeboxes. "Those boxes represented a considerable amount of capital. As a dis- tributor, Sammons co-signed notes with African American owners of honky-tonks, caf?s, filling stations and juke joints," he says. "Sammons was a white man who extended credit to African Americans, just as someone had extended credit to him." One of Sammons' 1930s red juke boxes is in the exhibition. Using the interactive audio tour, visitors can play songs virtually on the five other jukeboxes scattered throughout the exhibition and listen to hundreds of songs from the 1930s to the 1970s. The fans "The kids and the fans are a huge part of this story," McGovern says. "They're the ones who went to the big rock 'n' roll shows in the mid-1950s. These were often the first integrated public events." People who witnessed these events, he says, have a hard time seeing themselves as a part of the history. But the researcher, McGovern adds, gleans a critical perspec- tive by interviewing those who were kids when rock 'n' roll and soul music were popular. "When talking to the grown-up fans," he explains, "we put their stories within a larger frame- work, and all of a sudden, they can see that they're part and parcel of the movements that changed ideas about race in this country, about how we see ourselves as a society and about where we should be going as a society." Finding objects Daniel traveled throughout the Southeast, pickin; through barns and old buildings for objects. "At Mr. Brooks' place," he says of one source, "we found two screen doors labeled 'White' and 'Colored.' " Strategically placed in the exhibition, the doors help convey the real- 'Rock 'n Soul, ' continued on Page 6 Rufus Thomas, a renowned Memphis musician, performs at the opening gala for the "Rock 'n' Soul" exhibition. (Photo by Terry McCrea) '? < '''' ' .*r.yy...... .v-.-- * : ??:????:?.?' ? . ? I ???;?.?.?.? ??"?? ? . .*. ? - ? '. ?? ?? ? ... :;:???'*'X- -.V;::: ...:: ...... ....-...; ???r?^ ? ' -..- -v '*'^S\ : f ;.;... '...;.? ' . ;i" . ????????????? '-* ? .?%????????#,^' v ???????????. '? ? ' ' - ? . ? f^-T ?7 *? ??*?????*...' i\ ?\ ? il. :;:::::.;: :*IM^ ''?'?-??I ?????????? *w I ?? ?????*???? rr * ?? ' ???????? 1> ?????? -.'?ktl ???????? ??? ???? ?"lt*?t EesearchR^)orts No. 104 Spring 2001 Published quarterly by the Smithsonian Office of Public Affairs, Smithsonian Institution Build- ing, Room 354, Washington, D.C. 20560-0033, for Smithsonian Contributing Members, scholars, educators, museum personnel, libraries, journal- ists and others. To request this publication in an accessible format, call (202) 357-2627, ext. 124 (voice) or (202) 357-1729 (TTY). David Umansky, Communications Director Kathryn Lindeman, Associate Director Jo Ann Webb, Editor Colleen Hershberger, Assistant Editor Telephone: (202) 357-2627 E-mail: researchreports@publicaffairs.si.edu Internet: w"ww.si.edu/researchreports Contributing Members who seek information about the Smithsonian or about their member- ships may write to The Contributing Member- ship, Smithsonian Institution, 1000 Jefferson Drive S.W., Fourth Floor, Washington, D.C. 20560-0038, or call 1 (800) 931-32CM. 2 ? Smithsonian Institution Research Reports ? Spring 2001 CULTURAL HISTORY Paint-by-number: A phenomenon that made everyone a 'Rembrandt' By Angela CervettI Smithsonian Office of Public Affairs The prow of the majestic saihng ship cuts through an angry sea that gives way in frothy peaks of White No. 1. High atop the rugged mast, a tiny Red No. 3 pennant flaps against a sky of Azure 4. "Before the Wind" and other paint-by-number works like it held an honored placed on the liv- ing room w^alls of Ameri- can homes in the 1950s. But was it art? Larry Bird, curator of the exhibition "Paint by Number: Accounting for Taste in the 1950s," w^hich opened at the Smithsonian's National Museum of American History on April 6 and will con- tinue through Dec. 31, does not think so. ' It is a compromise between genuine creativity and the day-to- day pressures of raising a family and earn- ing a living. The people doing it knew that it was not art, how could they not kno"w?" For $2.50 per kit and hours of meticu- lous coloring "within the lines, mailmen, housewives, accountants and even presi- dential cabinet members participated in an Early paint sets, such as this one manu- factured by Picture Craft in 1953, typically included a pair of paint brushes, oil paints in gelatin capsules and a rolled canvas. Paint-by-number influenced fine artists, providing source material for the pop art movement. Andy Warhol created this crayon- on-paper, "Do-It-Yourself (Flowers)," in 1962. artlike experience guaranteed to produce a perfect picture every time. But not everyone was happy to see its advent. "It became a sport among social critics to denounce it," explains Bird, also curator of the political history campaign collection at the museum. "Critics sa"w it as part of the increasing mechanization of culture, and those who engage in it as either poor souls who didn't know what they were doing or, as one critic called them, 'morons.' An idea Is born In 1950, Dan Robbins, a package designer at the Palmer Paint Co. in Detroit, approached its owner. Max Klein, with a concept: A paint-by-number kit containing a brush, a canvas of line art with num- bers on it and paint to match up "with the numbers. Klein turned Rob- bins' idea into a nationwide phe- nomenon. A year later, in 1951, Palmer Paint began dis- tributing paint- by-number kits to department stores such as Macy's. By 1954, the com- pany had sold some 12 million kits. Surprising interest Bird's interest in the paint-by-number phe- nomenon began in 1995, when he got a call from the museum's Archives Center. "Klein's daughter "wanted to donate a cou- ple of trunks full of company scrapbooks, trade materials and photographs her father left when he died in 1993," he recalls. As soon as he saw the material, he kne"w it "would make a great exhibition. But before going forward with exhibition plans. Bird had to present the idea to the museum's Exhibit and Program Committee. Initially, the committee was somewhat skepti- cal, he admits. "When you say 'paint-by-number,' you always get raised eyebro"ws," Bird says. "Person- ally, I enjoy looking at the finished paintings." Part of Bird's proposal was a public- ity idea to put a giant paint-by-num- ber canvas outside the museum and then paint a few numbers a day. "It "would be the only place "where people could see the process taking place," Bird says. But what painting should it be? "I asked the Smithsonian's Office of Pol- icy and Analysis (then the Institu- tional Studies Office) to conduct a survey of our visitors to find out "what their favorite picture "was," he says. The survey of visitors showed their favorite image was a landscape or seascape. "We chose a lighthouse scene "with the surf crashing against the rocks," Bird says. Planning the exhibition With the committee's approval. Bird immediately began work on the content of This painting, "Before the Wind," is on view in the exhibition "Paint by Number." the exhibition and the show's catalog. He decided to divide the show into three parts and an epilogue. "The first part, 'Every Man a Rembrandt,' talks specifically about paint-by-number as a Detroit product," Bird says. The second section, "The New Leisure," looks at social class in the 1950s, when more Americans than ever before had free time, and social critics told them they were not spend- ing it quite as they should. The third section, "The Picture's Place," discusses the contri- butions of paint-by-number pictures to the do-it-yourself aesthetic of "domestic art." The show closes with the epilogue, "The Unfinished Work." Bird says: "It shows how the ideas associated with paint-by- number played out, but also ho"w they were re-interpreted by artists like Andy Warhol and Paul Bridgewater. " Gathering materials To disseminate information about the sho"w within the museum and to poten- tial lenders. Bird designed and launched a Web site. He then quickly turned his attention to arranging loans of paintings. For that, he had to travel. Over a period of six months and with a budget of $3,500, Bird "went to Toronto, Chicago, New \brk, Miami and Boston, "where he met with collec- tors, photographed paint- ings and tentatively arranged for loans. "I needed more than 200 figures for the cat- alog, so I borro"wed an average of 30 paintings per collector," Bird says. "For the show, we chose about 40 pieces that were the most expressive." In gathering the material. Bird hoped to find one item in particular: a paint-by-number portrait of President Eisen- ho"wer. At the Eisenho"wer Library in Abilene, Kansas, Curator Dennis Medina told Bird he had never seen such a painting but had something else that might interest him. "It turns out that Eisen- ho"wer's appointment secretary, Thomas E. Stephens, decided to mount a White House 'Paint, ' continued on Page 6 Dan Robbins is credited with devising the paint-by-number concept more than 50 years ago. (Photo by Jeff Carter) Smithsonian Institution Research Reports ? Spring 2001 ? 3 ETHNOGRAPHY An age-old tradition becomes the action in an award-winning film By Michael Lipske Special to Research Reports Earl Nyholm knows that it is much easier to go to a sporting-goods shop and buy an aluminum or fiberglass canoe than to make one by hand. "But I learned to make canoes the old way, and I feel good about that," he says. By "the old way," Nyholm means mak- ing a canoe by hand?firom sheets of birch bark, lengths of pine root and other natural materials gathered from the north- ern forest. In "Earl's Canoe," an a'ward- winning film from the Smithsonian's Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage, the Ojibwe Indian demonstrates the ancient craft of canoe making, creating a 14-foot boat, with the help of family and friends. Although the film's viewers may not feel prepared to construct their o"wn canoes, they will have acquired a new benchmark for aquatic elegance after watching Nyholm and his 84-year-old mother pad- dle their graceful, gold-colored, home- made boat into a Great Lakes sunset. Filmed in the summer of 1997 on Madeline Island, Wis., at the western end of Lake Superior, "Earl's Canoe" is a pro- ject of Smithsonian Ethnomusicologist Thomas \fennum. "I've known Earl for a good 30 years," Vennum says, "and I'd guess he's probably made 30 or 40 canoes in his lifetime." More than a master canoe maker, Nyholm also is a linguist, who teaches at Bemidji State University, in Minnesota, and the author of an Ojibwe dictionary. Vennum, too, has varied work interests. Since coming to the Smithsonian in 1975, he has made, he says, "eight or 10 ethno- graphic films" on subjects as diverse as drum making, Finnish American winter festivals, Paiute Indian tule-reed technol- ogy and the folk puppetry of Rajasthan, India. With Mickey Hart, a drummer who played with the Grateful Dead, Vennum also has produced award-winning albums of American Indian music. But do not expect to hear music in "Earl's Canoe." Vennum insists: "I didn't want any of this New Age Indian flute music in the back- ground." "Quiet as the North Woods," the film's low-key soundtrack, offers the crunch of footsteps on fallen leaves, cries of flickers and other forest birds, tapping and scrap- ing sounds from hand tools, and the splashing of waves on an island beach. These sounds provide the backdrop for Nyholm's voice as he guides his helpers ? and the film's audience?through the hundreds of steps in birch-bark canoe making. "Earl doesn't talk an awful lot," Vennum says. To produce enough narration for the film, Vennum interviewed Nyholm while the two watched 50-year-old, silent film footage of a bark canoe being made by Bob Pine, the Wisconsin Ojibwe Indian who taught canoe making to Nyholm. "That generated enough of Earl's conver- sation about the technology that we were able to pick and choose and cut it in as a voice-over," Vennum says. The canoe that Pine made in the early film and the one Nyholm made for the Earl Nyholm, left, splits the roots of a jack pine tree, which will be used as "thread" to sew together the components of the canoe. Helper Charlie Ashman, center, and Nyholm's mother, Julia, watch the tedious process. newer film are displayed together in the Milwaukee Public Museum. A master at work Age-old technology and tradition drive the action in "Earl's Canoe." The film starts with Nyholm searching for a suitable birch tree. "For every one good tree," he says, "you've got to look at at least 100." Carry- ing a walking staff, he rambles through the Madeline Island forest. The canoe maker runs his hands over the white-and-black skin of a promising tree and studies the shape of its trunk. Shedding his jacket, he begins slicing through the tree's bark with a knife. The first cut circles the trunk near the ground, and after Nyholm climbs a ladder, a simi- lar circular incision is made 20 feet up the trunk. Nyholm next carves a long vertical cut in the bark down the length of the tree. With great care, he and a helper then pry free the birch bark in one large sheet. Although the bark does not replenish itself, the tree itself is unharmed. Nyholm leaves a gift of some tobacco to thank the spirit that guards the tree. He then tucks fern leaves in with the bark to keep it moist, while rolling the sheet up like a carpet for transportation. At lakeside, the bark is spread flat on a bed of sand. Contrary to most artistic con- ceptions of birch canoes, the white outer bark faces the inside of the boat. The tree's yellow inner bark, placed face down on the sand, becomes the canoe's exterior. A temporary wooden form is positioned on top of the bark sheet; weighted down with rocks, the form is used to shape the bottom of the canoe. Stakes driven into the sand prop up the left and right sides of the bark sheet, forming the sides of the canoe. Extra sections of bark are stitched to the sides to increase the height of the gunwales. In the fllm, Nyholm explains that, in the old days, canoe making was a family pro- ject and that, on this canoe, he is helped out by cousins who live in the area. "I sup- pose you could call it nepotism," he says. His mother assists in sewing together the pieces of birch bark. The thread used is jack pine root, dug up from trees along the beach and then soaked in lake water and scraped by hand. Pushing and pulling lengths of stiff pine root through tree bark is laborious sewing. "When you do this kind of work, your hands don't get to be ladies' hands anymore," Earl's mother says with a chuckle. When the last hand-molded cedar canoe rib is in place and the wooden form for the hull has been removed and all the bark is sewn tight, Nyholm visits a black spruce swamp to collect nuggets of pitch. Back at the beach, he melts the pitch in a kettle over a wood fire. He adds finely ground charcoal to the bubbling pitch, to blacken it, and tosses in lumps of deer tallow for flexibility. Then the dark tarry mixture is spread as a waterproof sealant along the seams on the outside of the completed canoe. Time and honor Two months passed during the making of the canoe, not the three weeks that an optimistic Vennum budgeted for shooting In this image from "Earl's Canoe," Earl Nyholm, bottom, holds a sheet of birch bark as it is removed from a tree. the film. The "old way" has scant sympa- thy for deadlines. On the other hand, Nyholm, his mother, and his cousins and friends have built one beautiful bark boat on the shore of Lake Superior. As the sun sinks and the film nears its end, the canoe is carried to the water. Nyholm paddles in the stern. In a voice- over, he notes that Madeline Island once was the capital of the Ojibwe Nation. He says it pleases him that the bark to make the canoe was cut from a tree growing on the island. "It makes a link there, a spiri- tual link," Nyholm says, as the canoe bobs on the surface of the lake. "We hope that those that lived here on the island years ago, at least spirit-wise, are here looking at this here canoe." Smithsonian Productions Audio-Visual Production Specialist John Paulson served as cinematographer for "Earl's Canoe." Smithsonian Productions soundman Mark Griswold played an important role in the film's taped interviews, and Charlie Web- ber, audio-visual specialist at the Center for Folklife Programs and Cultural Her- itage, served as film editor. 4 ? Smithsonian Institution Research Reports ? Spring 2001 EDUCATION Hands-on exhibit teaches kids about behind-the-scenes jobs in a real zoo By Heather Friesen Smithsonian Office of Public Affairs Imagine a room full of 5- to 10-year- old kids acting like zookeepers taking care of animals. They're playing. They're laughing. They're in constant motion. That is the idea behind the interactive exhibit "Ho"w Do %u Zoo?" at the Smithsonian's National Zoological Park, and kids seem to love all of it?at least, almost all of it. "The only thing I didn't like was when I had to scoop the poop," says 7-year-old Ngalla Barry, cringing. Her 10-year-old cousin, Patricia Long, agreed that playing zoo keeper "was fun, but she had doubts about becoming one later in life, because "then the poop is real!" Even though the poop isn't real in the "Ho"w Do You Zoo?" interactive exhibit, the learning experience certainly is. Exhibit components The exhibit consists of four learning areas: the Small Mammal House, the zoo keeper's office, the commissary and the animal hos- pital. Each is decorated in exact detail, from lifelike tropical trees in the mammal house to a fake splatter on the commissary floor. In each section, children can participate in five to six activities based on the real duties of animal keepers, veterinarians and nutritionists. Worksheets, checklists and handouts help guide the children through each section and accentuate learning. The exhibit was designed by members of the National Zoo and Friends of the National Zoo's Department of Education and Volunteer Services. "The kids are actually doing real work, but they're using a lot of imagination, a lot of playing and a lot of pretend," says Judy Manning, educa- tion manager in the department. The first area is the Small Mammal House, "which is based on the National Zoo's Brazilian tropical rain-forest exhibit. "Duties in this area are similar to those of a zoo keeper maintaining an animal exhibit," Manning explains. The children put on brown smocks, grab walkie-talkies, hide food, trap animals and, of course, take fecal samples. "The scope of a zoo keeper's job goes far beyond daily animal care," Manning adds. In the keeper's office, children perform clerical duties, such as record keeping, researching and setting up talks about the animals. A computer (not turned on), ref- erence books and a research project aid the children's imaginations. Then the brown smocks come off and aprons go on, so that children can start their careers as nutritionists in the com- missary. The children prepare the animal diets by referring to menu cards for differ- ent species. They handle realistic-looking plastic vegetables and grains in glue-sealed containers. "We don't want rice all over the floor," Manning explains. Finally, the children put on scrubs in the animal hospital to become veterinarians. Using the operating table, they examine a plush tiger and check a real X-ray. In the intensive care unit, children observe the progress of a plush infant owl. Other activ- ities, such as ordering medicines and giv- ing a diagnosis based on symptoms, also are featured. "We tried to include as much realism as possible in this exhibit," Man- ning says. Developing the exhibit In preparation for the exhibit, staff in the Department of Education and Volunteer Services accompanied zoo keepers, nutri- tionists and veterinarians as they walked through their daily schedules and gave behind-the-scenes tours, supplying perti- nent information. "All the staff in these three areas of the Zoo continue to help us with the exhibit. especially with the volunteer program," Manning adds. "And we rely on the volun- teers to be the ones who run 'How Do Y)u Zoo?' " Volunteers help "with the flow of children from area to area and also ans"wer ques- tions from children and parents. There is an adult volunteer program year-round and a volunteer program for teen-agers during the summer. Volunteers must attend a four-day train- ing program, during "which they meet "with National Zoo employees "who perform the duties mirrored in the exhibit. "The training part was...intense," recalls 16-year-old volunteer Ghislaine Hanner. "We went all throughout the Zoo. We got deep into it." Through the extensive training process and the different activities of the "How Do \bu Zoo?" exhibit, volunteers and exhibit- goers?no matter what age?get the opportunity to see ho"w different zoo pro- fessions interact. "If the kids do the handouts and differ- ent activities in-depth, they can see how these three areas link up with each other and that the Zoo is one big community that needs all its parts to "work," says Lois Phoebus, program supervisor in the Edu- cation and Volunteer Services Department. "The children absolutely love it," Phoe- bus adds. "The main problem we encounter is that parents want to get out into the Zoo and see other exhibits, while the kids just get into an imaginary "world and want to stay." "How Do Y)u Zoo?" is located in the National Zoo's Visitor Center and is open Monday through Friday, from 1 to 3 p.m., during the summer and on Saturdays and Sundays, from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m., year- round. For more on volunteer opportuni- ties, call Lois Phoebus at (202) 673-4671. A stuffed tiger receives an injection and checl< up from a young veterinarian, while her "colleague" discusses the animal's symptoms on the telephone in the "How Do You Zoo?" hospital at the National Zoological Park. (Photo by Jessie Cohen) 'Satellite imaging, ' continued from Page 2 Understanding the data Back in his office, Johnston organizes large quantities of data collected during his trips around the globe, using a collection of hard drives, laptops, monitors and CD- ROMs. Johnston, a 10-year veteran geographer at the National Air and Space Museum, also uses the Global Positioning System to map and measure change on the Earth's surface, from the movement of lava flows to the effects of flooded rivers and the annual expansion of asphalt and concrete. "One of the things we do here is com- parative planetology," he explains. "Then "we can make assumptions about similar characteristics [of ground features] we see on other planets. Because we can't actually go to other planets, we examine our ow^n instead. "New remote-sensing technology is changing the way we view the surface of the Earth," Johnston adds. "The newest sensors are able to return a higher quality of data. We are able to do things today "we could never do before. We're still figuring out ho"w to use these images intelligently." The results The ongoing outcome, however, is a robust archive of ne"w images of the Earth. John- ston's contributions to this archive range from his work on biomass maps of Cana- dian forests to images of the semi-arid savanna bushland in central Kenya. Johnston also has helped develop meth- ods for mapping land cover changes in urban areas. "If you look at satellite images of the Earth from one year to another," he explains, "the differences don't seem to be that great. But when you compare images of the past 10 or 20 years, the evidence of urban gro"wth is pretty incredible." The Center for Earth and Planetary Studies is one of very few organizations using the remote-sensing technology in scientific field"work as part of its mission to monitor terrestrial transformation, John- ston says. "We're looking at how the Earth is changing through time," he adds. "It's the planet we call 'home,' so, naturally, "we have a lot of interest in it." Corrections Rutherford B. Hayes' "wife, Lucy, "was the first president's "wife to assume the title "first lady" during his administra- tion, from 1877 to 1881. Vice Presi- dent Richard Nixon was the first to campaign in all 50 states during his unsuccessful bid for the presidency against John E Kennedy in the I960 election. Both items were incorrectly reported in the winter issue of Research Reports. Smithsonian Institution Research Reports ? Spring 2001 ? 5 'Rock 'n Soul, ' continued from Page 1 ity of segregation. "It was also at Mr. Brooks' home," he says, "that "we found the "weigh-up scales that field hands used to "weigh the cotton picked each day. Along "with other agricultural objects at the "They had to find the stuff, and they had to trust you "with it. "There have been collectors coming in and out of Memphis for 40 years," he adds. "Promises "were made, but many things were loaned out and never returned. The Smithsonian was just a bunch of This exhibition case contains a shirt, jacl