Update! August 10

I blinked, and now the summer's almost over. And I realize that I haven't posted for a while. I have no excuses except for the usual ones, like work, looking for work, side projects, and the occasional nap. So here's my last four weeks in a nutshell.

WORK. The summer may be winding down, but you wouldn't know it to see the crowds outside of Boston National Historical Park these last few weeks. Every tour we've sent out, every talk we've given at one or another historical site, every time we've had to resuscitate one of our rangers because they drew out a sentence too long, it's all been observed by hundreds of people. Where does the time go? God only knows. It's probably lost. Like everyone else in Boston's cow-path streets.

INTERVIEW! The first interview I've had in almost a year. It was for a preservation organization in Boston, and while I didn't get the job, I was able to muster some excellent references (thanks, Meagan and Laurie!) and put together a pretty good portfolio. Just getting brought in for the interview was exciting; it means that I must be doing something right.

ARTICLE PUBLISHED! Meagan and Laura over at HistPres.com recently published a second article of mine, "The Devil's Advocate Guide to National Register Listing." It's already been shared a few dozen times on Facebook, and it's going to be re-posted by the National Trust for Historic Preservation later this month. So that's cool. Check out the links: give Meagan and Laura a visit, and go heckle me on their forums. All the cool kids are doing it.

GOOGLE SKETCHUP! I've been wanting to write a blog post about this amazing program for months now, and I just can't seem to make the time. Let's just say that it's 3D modeling software used by many historical institutions, from preservation organizations to museums, and it has enormous potential for the field of digital history. I made a few models for my portfolio, and a few have been submitted to Google Earth to be vetted and uploaded to the internet. Expect to see more on this subject in the next few months.

FREELANCING! Throughout the last year or so, I've been networking like crazy. Since most historical organizations are going through tough times financially, and very few are hiring permanent, full-time employees, and the few that are are being overrun by applications from PhD's with centuries of experience, I thought that some of these organizations might be interested in contracting out some work to reasonably priced freelancers. So I've been gathering references and letters of recommendation, brushing up my dozens of resumes, and meeting as many people as possible. And it finally seems to be paying off! I've been in contact with several institutions who are interested in the possibility of working together. I'm not going to say who (it'll ruin the suspense!), but I'll definitely post updates once I get them myself.

That's all. Check back. Cheers.

A Car made of People

Ah, Linked-In. I'm still not completely convinced that this Facebook for networkers is worth the time and the effort that I put into it, but I'd rather use it and not need it than need it and not use it. In any case, while updating my profile summary today I got my brain juices flowing, and now I can eloquently explain why I do what I do.

To get into the obligatory metaphor, ever since Henry Ford popularized the automobile for the American public, cars have been getting more sophisticated and more complex. A repair that a mechanic could have completed without incident 10 years ago now requires a specialist. In recent years, cars have incorporated increasing numbers of electronics, specialized equipment, and luxury items. One guy can fix your built-in GPS, but you need to see a different guy about the problem with your electric windows, or the gauges in your dashboard.

Likewise, humanity is becoming increasingly diverse and complex. In an increasingly crowded and competitive world, the struggle to succeed individually while co-existing with other individuals is getting more and more complicated. Billions of people all trying to exist together, and at the same time trying to improve that existence for as much of humanity as possible. And being social animals, they create millions of political, social, and cultural institutions, groups and organizations, sorting themselves into these different factions based on their unique personal outlooks.

If you think of the human race like an automobile, each person and faction of persons represents a part in an enormous machine that needs constant maintenance. Each part intersects with the others in different ways, and sometimes the gears don't mesh and the oil doesn't pump. When different portions of humanity have contradictory needs, you get wars, social unrest, decreasing resources, and all sorts of nasty things.

Seriously though, this is bad. To address these problems, you need to understand their causes. To understand their causes you need to study all sorts of interesting fields, like economics (it's interesting to some people!) psychology, sociology, and... you guessed it... history. Think of each one of these fields as a different bit on a souped-up spy car. Studying each one will help you figure out how a different part of human society functions. But to get a feel for the entire complicated blueprint of human existence, you need to crack open a history book, because this is a manual that will let you know how a tiny portion of those parts have interacted in the past.

I went into this field because I like to know why things are the way that they are. Studying the past allows you to understand the present, but also to make preparations for the future. The more I learn about the origins of modern institutions, the better equipped I am to plan my own life.

And this is exactly why the recent, persistent cuts to American humanities and social sciences are such bad news not only to social science majors, but to the nation as a whole. The human machine is not going to stop changing, or even slow the process. Governments and individuals are constantly blundering into situations that a quick review of the historical record would reveal as an easily avoidable mistake. Would you trust a mechanic who didn't understand how your car brakes function? Human society is infinitely more complicated, with more parts than the most technologically advanced car, and we're not even close to understanding how all of those parts work. It's going to take a LOT of mechanics to keep that work going, but that won't happen if these fields are continually being looted of funding.

Here's hoping that the brakes don't give out.

Firing a Musket, in Peace and War

The Bunker Hill Monument on Breed's Hill, Charlestown, MA.

In the life of a young museum professional, there's work, and then there's shooting muskets (for work).

Which is what I did on Thursday at the Bunker Hill Monument, because I recently started my third season at Boston National Historical Park. One of the programs offered most weekends at the park is a demonstration of 18th century musket firing, made somehow less cool (or cooler?) by the NPS-issue olive-green overalls and ball cap. I'm sure I either looked ridiculous or awesome with my protective goggles and bright orange ear-plugs, accentuated by a period cartridge box holding 15 black-powder rounds, and a five-foot long replica flintlock.

It was fun either way.

However, much like our colonial forbears who marched to fight the British Army in 1775, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Unlike our forbears, I had the opportunity to learn musketry without anyone shooting back at me. Nevertheless, after carrying the weapon outside and following the spotter's instructions to load and prepare the piece, I pointed the barrel up at the sky and had a realization...

I'm not sure I could have done it.

I'm not sure that I could have shot at another human being. I'm not sure I could have killed another human being. I'm not sure that I could have coolly loaded and fired what is essentially a low explosive packed into a confined iron tube, with cannonballs and musketballs and all manner of hell raining down on me, watching my friends get blown up and shot and bayoneted. Not for as long, as bravely, or--the embarrassed part of me wants to say-- as foolishly.

And another part of me, the inquisitive, analytic part, wants to know how they did it. How did the rebel Americans-- few of whom had anything like practical military experience-- decide to march to Breed's Hill in June of 1775? How did they decide that they could stand up to the British army, one of the greatest military powers in 18th century Europe? Alternately, how did the British foot-soldiers (many of whom were no doubt intelligent, rational, nervous men) convince themselves that they could cross nearly half a mile of open field to attack a fortified position guarded by other men with the above-mentioned weapons?

When I first picked up my replica musket and pointed it at the sky, I was nervous. After I had fired a second time, and then a third, I was less nervous. It wasn't until the fourth or fifth try that my nerves began to subside, that I realized that I had acquired a knack for the piece. I had learned its secrets. I imagine that the same thing happened in 1775 to the rebels inside the fort on Breed's Hill, and the redcoats they were defending themselves against. The Americans, having largely confined their weapons to the hunting of game, probably had the same sort of hesitation as I did at the thought of using their weapons on other people. Having spent a good part of their career training to do just that, the British soldiers might not have even thought about it, because they had already acquired the knack. Once that happens, do you think about what you're doing, or do you just go through the motions?

No one alive today will ever know what it was like being on an eighteenth-century battlefield. Even modern soldiers--who are better equipped than most of us to understand the mindset of the combatants on Breed's Hill--are not able to fully relate. God willing, none of them will ever have to endure the agony of surgery with nothing but rum to dull the pain, or fight off the inevitable infections without antibiotics. None of them will be used as cannon fodder, sacrificed like human pawns on a chessboard in an era when human life didn't mean what it does today. By most accounts, war today is hell; back then, war was hell without anesthesia.

When we conduct these kinds of demonstrations, we call it living history, but we're not really living it. When our cartridge boxes are empty, the simulation stops and we go back to our modern lives. At best, we're pretending history, and because we can't reproduce everything about the situation faced by these men, the pretending never becomes real. Some things are simply impossible to connect to.

But at least now I know how to fire a flintlock.

On Finishing Things

When I was studying history in college, we didn’t take tests. We wrote essays. These could be anywhere from 10 to 30 pages long, and they’d be stuffed full of information and analysis that we pulled from old books, old libraries, and old professors. Each of us would start the writing process two or three months before the due date and bit by bit begin filling in an outline put together to guide that process. If my classmates were anything like me, no sooner had they written one paragraph then they immediately began to rewrite it; adding information, changing their argument, emphasizing and cajoling.

Usually we could expect to write at least three of these every semester, and they were all due within a few days of each other at the end of term. Inevitably, there were conflicts with other assignments and other commitments. These conflicts were irrelevant; the essays had to get done. No matter what. With so much class and study time being spent essay-ing (not a real word!), our final grade revolved around our writing. It wasn’t enough to juggle the workload, or to finish assignments, we had to finish them well. 

Five months ago, I started writing an application for the National Endowment for the Humanities (NEH) Research Fellowship program. The day after, I started an application on behalf of a local museum to receive some grant funding. Two days ago, on May first (May Day, for our pagan and/or socialist readers!) both applications were submitted successfully. I feel like I just got out of school for summer vacation.

Not that I didn’t enjoy the research, the writing, the process of taking raw data and crafting it like clay. If I didn’t enjoy all of that, I wouldn’t be doing what I do. But the thing I like even more than the doing is the finishing. Not because I no longer have tasks to accomplish or deadlines to meet, but because I had a goal and I achieved it.

If nothing else comes of these last five months of work, that will be all right. If the museum doesn’t receive its funding, I will be disappointed, although probably not as much as the actual staff. If the NEH doesn’t select my research proposal, I’ll wish that they had. But that doesn’t mean that I didn’t accomplish anything.

Five months ago, I wanted to learn grant-writing, and I wanted to apply for a fellowship. Note that I didn’t say that I wanted to get a job as a grant-writer (although I would take one!) or that I wanted to receive a fellowship (although I would absolutely take it!). Five months ago I wanted to do something new, and I wanted to see how well I could do it. Because of that I spent an entire winter in two volunteer positions; 40 plus hours a week of late nights, conflicting deadlines, and writer’s block. And because I did once, I can do it again; better than before. Without even considering the professional implications, I’d say that’s a winter well spent. And now that one thing is finished, it’s on to the next thing.

That being said, the Chinese have a proverb that’s somewhat relevant: “Butcher the donkey after it’s finished its work at the mill.” So there’s that perspective to consider, too.

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If you don't hear from me again, either I'm in hiding from student loan collection agents or... well, just stay away from the Plymouth meat markets for a while. Post your condolences in the space below.

Update! March 28

Welcome to the new edition of "Will Interpret for Food!"

I've noticed something encouraging in the last few weeks. Ever since I posted that article on HistPres.com, I've gotten a jump in visitation stats, quite a few of them first-time visits.

Since this site is being operated partly as a networking tool, and since I want first time visitors to come back, I've decided to do a little bit of site maintenance. Remember that lovely neon green color that used to be splashed across the background? Gone. Obviously. The new layout should make it a bit easier to read posts and links, as well as being a bit more in tune with the overall theme of this blog: History.

I've also taken the liberty of reorganizing the site. Most new posts will be sorted into three categories; "Work," "Play," and "Musings." These are grouped together at the top of the page for easier navigation. And as a result of the work that I've been doing for my internships over the last few months, I also have some project samples to incorporate into my "Portfolio," which will look a little more complete in the coming weeks.

New content coming soon, so I invite you to come back and check it out. Also, if you're a first time visitor (or even if you're not), feel free to either subscribe or follow by email. Thanks for reading.