Stereographs and News Photography

Stereograph publishers of the late 19th and early 20th centuries at first tended to produce images for “armchair travelers,” who could experience far-flung areas of the world in three dimensions through the stereoscope, the precursor of modern-day “virtual reality” systems. However, many other themes and subjects were explored for the burgeoning stereo market. A major publisher such as Underwood and Underwood produced pictures ranging from American industry and technology to staged “genre” scenes and sequences of sentimental, humorous, and entertainment value, in addition to their standard “educational” documentation of natural, architectural, and historical wonders of the world.

Underwood and Underwood also realized that there was a market for stereographs of current events and news in stereoscopic form, and embarked upon photojournalistic coverage of the Spanish-American War and other military conflicts. However, by 1921 they discontinued their stereo production, sold most of their stereo archive to a competitor, the Keystone View Co., and concentrated on news photography. The National Museum of American History Archives Center’s Underwood and Underwood Glass Stereograph Collection contains some non-stereoscopic news photographs from the 1920s, plus the stereoscopic negatives and interpositives which the company withheld from Keystone, intending to convert them into non-stereo usage.

President Theodore Roosevelt was a favorite subject for Underwood & Underwood and other stereo publishers’ photographers, and the collection contains many portraits of him. The company’s coverage of him extended into the newsworthy events, such as in this high-angle photograph of his 1905 inaugural address and the crowd. Here C.W. White, a photographer for the publisher H.C. White, photographed the festivities, and the glass plate was later acquired by Underwood and Underwood.

Great crowds of people around the Inaugural Stand--Pres. Roosevelt delivering his address. [Active no. 9916 : stereo interpositive,] 1905. Underwood & Underwood Glass Stereograph Collection, Archives Center, NMAH.

Notice the cancellation marks on the left image of the stereo pair. Apparently these scratches in the emulsion were intended to prevent Underwood and Underwood from continuing to use the glass plate for producing stereographs, thereby competing with Keystone in this market. Many, although not all, of the stereo glass plates in this collection, were similarly defaced.

A less well-known political figure appears below. He is Fitzhugh Lee, a Confederate cavalry general during the Civil War, who later became the fortieth governor of Virginia, a diplomat, and eventually a U.S. Army major general in Cuba during the Spanish-American War. He was the grandson of “Light Horse Harry” Lee and the nephew of Gen. Robert E. Lee. He was the former Consul General in Havana in 1898 when this portrait of the portly, magnificently mustachioed Lee was taken by a photographer for another stereo publisher, Strohmeyer and Wyman; the negative was acquired later by Underwood and Underwood. One half of the stereo pair is shown here, the other side having been cut and possibly discarded. Lee was appointed military governor of Havana and Pinar del Rio in 1899, and died in 1905, several months after Roosevelt’s inauguration.

Major General Fitzhugh Lee, Ex-Consul General at Havana. Copyright 1898 by Strohmeyer and Wyman. Active no. 21200 : non-stereo photonegative,] 1898. Underwood and Underwood Glass Stereograph Collection, Archives Center, NMAH.

New high-resolution scans for these two images and hundreds of others are available, although the majority of the collection is represented only by low-resolution surrogates. Since the original photographs in the Underwood and Underwood—primarily glass plates—are currently stored offsite, there are challenges in accessing the collection.

David Haberstich, Curator of Photography
Archives Center, National Museum of American History

Civil War Decision Makers: John W. Garrett Commits the B&O

Executive decision-making has been much in the news.

John Work Garrett, 1820-1884

During the Civil War, John W. Garrett, President of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, made a crucial business decision which affected the course of the war.  Despite being personally sympathetic to the Confederate cause, with Jubal Early’s men circling north toward Martinsburg and Cumberland and threatening the B&O, on February 1, 1864, Garrett wrote to Abraham Lincoln’s Secretary of War, Edwin Stanton, offering the services of his railroad to transport Union troops:

“…Immediate re-inforcements [sic] appear to be required. I have ordered vigorous preparations to be made for the transportation of troops from Washington and Baltimore…”

Letter from John Work Garrett to Secretary of War Edwin M. Stanton, Feb. 1, 1864.
From the Baltimore & Ohio Records, Misc. Correspondence, Box 2, Folder 10.
Archives Center, National Museum of American History

Choosing the winning side facilitated the B & O’s post-war success in retrieving property stolen by Confederate troops.  As the Confederates circled north they were amazed to find fourteen locomotives in the B & O sheds in Martinsburg, West Virginia. A handwritten manuscript in our B & O Records entitled “The Baltimore and Ohio Railroad: Adventures of A Railroad During the Civil War” tells the story:

Locomotives Moved Over Turnpike Roads to Richmond

The Confederates had almost undisturbed possession of 100 miles of the [rail]road west of Harpers Ferry, during which time they destroyed all the bridges between that place and Cumberland, and took up and removed to Richmond the iron rails of 40 miles of the track. They also conveyed to Richmond 14 valuable locomotives, in perfect order, which they found in the company’s repair shops at Martinsburg. They accomplished this novel task with extraordinary perseverance and great mechanical skill, as they had to transport these heavy locomotives over the turnpike roads on their own wheels to Strasburg, a distance of fully 40 miles.

According to the B & O Engine Shop Records, the company got twelve of the fourteen locomotives back in 1865:

 “All 12 captured locos back in shop. 2 never returned 34 and 50.”

Christine Windheuser, Volunteer, Archives Center, National Museum of American History

Up, Up And Away

Thaddeus Lowe's Balloon Ascent, May 31, 1862,
Smithsonian Institution Archives, SIA2011-0961.

One hundred and fifty-two years ago today, on June 18, 1861, balloonist Thaddeus S. C. Lowe, launched his hot air balloon from sites on the National Mall now occupied by the National Air and Space Museum, the Smithsonian Building, and the White House.

The launch, a culmination of failure and determination, was watched by first Smithsonian Secretary Joseph Henry. Lowe’s test launches helped demonstrate the effectiveness of his hot air balloon reconnaissance for the North during the Civil War. From the basket, Lowe could use a telegraph to communicate troop movements to the ground.

Henry, who advised Lowe on his work, encouraged the Union Army to establish a balloon corps within the army. During the war, the balloon corps conducted reconnaissance which included tracking Confederate troop movements and reporting on Confederate artillery, among other valuable information.


To find out more about this piece of Smithsonian history click here!

Courtney Bellizzi
Smithsonian Institution Archives

P.S. Write Soon!

Volunteers at the Archives Center, National Museum of American History, have learned that every collection tells a story, whether they’re sorting through boxes of old photographs, business records, cookbooks, or sheet music. They recently worked together on a project – the Sandford Card Company Records and Family Papers – that yielded not one but many stories. The collection includes business records, greeting card samples, correspondence, diaries, photographs and other personal items from the family of Mary Elizabeth Sandford, who founded a greeting card company in 1906. Dating from 1861 to 2004, the materials chronicle changing times and several generations in the life of an American family. The Archives Center’s volunteers often took time out to show off their favorite discoveries or read aloud first-hand accounts of births, marriages, deaths, wartime combat, friends who struck out for “the Dakota territory” and the thrill of a home newly lit with electric lamps. They share here their favorite highlights from the collection:


Sandford Women Sitting on a Hill

After days of reading letters Anne Jones found one she knew was worthy of the attention of the group. “Well, Kate, here we are four miles from the doomed city of Savannah…” wrote William Sandford to his aunt on December 18, 1864. This twenty-year-old soldier in Sherman’s army proceeded to describe in vivid detail the places, people, and even the animals he saw during the famous “March to the Sea.” Despite his excitement at the prospect of the victory to come, he remembered to mention the ten dollars he would be sending to his younger brother, Charlie.
Theresa Worden took special pleasure in creating custom housing to protect and store many of the two and three-dimensional objects found in the collection. Her favorite was a sink mat to hold a small leather purse. “The little beauty was well worn; the leather of its accordion-style pockets was supple from age and use. The contents of the purse were intriguing and helped reveal the identity of the owner as Mary Elizabeth Sandford.”


First page of letter from William Sandford to his Aunt Kate, December 18, 1864

A handwritten receipt for twenty dollars was dated May 3, 1878, making the purse and its contents at least 130 years old. Mary Elizabeth Sandford purchased some items from a dry goods store, including a pair of gloves, hosiery and four collars at Spinning Uhl & Company in Dansville, New York. She spent $1.38 on the items. There were also five “calling cards,” each engraved with a single name, evidence of social etiquette in practice. “You really can learn something from a woman’s purse!”

 

 

    
The receipts and calling cards are preserved with the purse they were hidden in for so many years, residing in transparent sleeves built into the custom sink mat.

Nancy Beardsley found that like every family, the Sandfords experienced their share of sadness and tragedy. “They described their losses with such heartfelt emotion that I found myself grieving along with them. I was especially moved by the correspondence of Mary Elizabeth’s sister Emma Jane Kennedy, who sent home lighthearted reports about her new life as a student nurse in upstate New York, and like many young people, was scolded by her relatives for not writing more often.” Then came an 1883 letter from a family member saying “Our girl is gone, gone, gone.” Still in her early twenties, Emma had apparently been struck down by a sudden illness. The letter went on to recount how bravely she faced her final hours. It was a reminder of how precarious life could be in an age when serious illnesses were much harder to treat than they are today. “I was also impressed by how difficult it must have been to weather a crisis without access to telephones and computers,” Nancy added. Another family member learned of her sister’s death in 1862 through a brief telegram that began simply “Carrie is dead. Come to Trenton.”


Home Just Before Christmas, photoprint, 1915

Marian Tatum-Webb chose to work on the personal papers of Helen Sandford (McDowell), who had a rather large assortment of postcards. “I have always enjoyed looking at postcards, so when I came across ones made of genuine leather in the Sandford Collection I was intrigued.” Helen Sandford received a number of leather postcards, many in 1906. The postcards included a picture of the Statue of Liberty, and numerous others that were whimsical. “As you can imagine, these postcards have held up very well over the years,” Marian noted.


Postcards on leather, 1906

The Sandford correspondence reveals how important it was to the family to stay in touch. Their letters were often many pages long, and they sometimes began by noting how much time had elapsed since they’d last written. Their company notebooks even include samples of cards reminding recipients that they haven’t been heard from for a long time, and that a note would be greatly appreciated. They seemed as preoccupied with their handwritten notes as we are now with e-mail and texting.


Postcard, 1911

John Joseph Sandford, who left his East Coast home in the early 1900s to study engineering in Rolla, Missouri, provided evidence of something else that hasn’t changed over the years. His letters were filled with pleas for money, mostly sums of $25.00. Other than the small amounts, the letters could have come from any college student today.


Postcard, 1909

Nancy Beardsley commented, “I was struck by how well the writers expressed themselves regardless of age or education. The time and care they devoted to communicating with one another seemed perfectly fitting for a family that founded a greeting card company.”


Man and woman filling orders at Sandford Greeting Card Company, photoprint, ca. 1910

Sneak Peek into the Stacks: A Civil War Chromolithograph

The colorful image shown below and the musical score it illustrates were created to celebrate a Union victory in the American Civil war--the Battle of Fort Donelson, Tennessee, February 11-16, 1862.  Henry Tolman & Co. was the publisher, but the mark of L. Prang & Co. at the lower right indicates that the print is a chromolithograph by Louis Prang, who developed this method for mass-production color printing and established his company in 1860.  He wanted to challenge elitism by making comparatively inexpensive copies of paintings for mass consumption, which proved lucrative for him.  His attempt to democratize art paralleled the proliferation of photographic imagery which swept the latter half of the nineteenth century.  Despite its potential for mass distribution, chromolithography was a complicated, time-consumimg technique.  In view of the instantaneous communication that we expect technology to provide in the 21st century, it amazes me that a musical composition could be written, illustrated, printed, and distributed to commemorate a contemporary historical event in the same year.

David Haberstich, Curator of Photography
Archives Center, National Museum of American History

Cover for sheet music, "The Battle of Fort Donelson / A Musical Description" by Charles Grobe, 1862, with chromolithograph by L. Prang & Co.  From the Sam DeVincent Collection of  Illustrated American Sheet Music,
Archives Center, National Museum of American History

  

Keeping Up: Is Digitization Creating a Cataloging Crisis?

The rapid pace of digitizing the holdings of museums, archives, and libraries can create a backlog of identification and description to accompany the new electronic image files—descriptive metadata and catalog records, such as the MARC format records in SIRIS.   There was a time when the standards for cataloging individual images, such as prints and photographs, suggested the thorough, scholarly  (slow!) approach.  Increasing demands to create more and more scans can play havoc with attempts to provide complete and accurate description of the objects being scanned.  In the worst cases, digital files float free without descriptive metadata.   The Archives Center’s initial scanning activities—it’s hard to believe how many years ago that was—resulted in electronic surrogates with no accompanying descriptive metadata at all to identify the  original objects, nor any corresponding catalog records.

Henry Alexander Ogden, artist.  "Sheridan at Five Forks, April 1, 1865."  Color lithograph, copyright 1897 by Knight & Brown.  Civil War series, Warshaw Collection of Business Americana, Archives Center, NMAH. 

The Archives Center’s scan library of collection materials expands at a relatively brisk pace as we respond to orders for specific items selected by users after viewing original documents and images in our collections.  We seldom are in a position to scan an entire collection of hundreds or thousands of items simply for the sake of producing a “complete” digitization effort.  Yet there is a mentality which suggests that we must digitize everything in the form of text, images, or sound that exists—not only for the many obvious uses of digital surrogates, but also, it would appear, just for the satisfaction of saying we’ve done it, by golly—we’ve digitized the world!    Call me a Luddite, but I find this speeding juggernaut of technology a bit worrisome.

Occasionally we do initiate comparatively small special scanning projects in order to highlight portions of our collections in online displays, print publications, etc.  For example, an intern scanned more than one hundred Civil War-related items from our collections as her internship project.  She scanned the items—including photographs, prints, correspondence, currency, other types of documents, and even medals—and added descriptive metadata, as well as creating an item-level SIRIS record to accompany each item.   Unfortunately, due to my own busy schedule, it was months before I could review and edit her SIRIS records.  She wisely did not repeat one of the mistakes of some previous interns, creating a separate SIRIS record for each scan.  One energetic intern had scanned an illustrated calendar containing twelve images, one for each month—so far, so good—but then created twelve corresponding SIRIS records, each linked to a catalog record, without anywhere explaining that the twelve images were parts of a single object, a calendar.  On the other hand, while the Civil War project intern understood and described documents as single objects with multiple parts or images to be scanned separately, she apparently forgot to link them to the catalog record—and linked only one image per SIRIS record, not the others.  My first editing project was to add these additional image links to the SIRIS record and thereby provide a fuller understanding of the object to the online researcher.

James E. Taylor, artist.  "Before Five Forks / Sheridan at Dinwiddie Court House" (silver albumen photoprint, copy of a drawing or print), late 19th century.  Civil War series, Warshaw Collection of Business Americana, Archives Center, NMAH.

I also added topical and geographical terms.  I did some Google and Wikipedia “research” and wish that the intern had been encouraged to do more herself during her initial data entry, to provide a more complete or rounded internship experience.  For example, I’m no Civil War scholar, so I didn’t know where the Battle of Five Forks, featured in several images, occurred.   Quick use of a search engine—guess which one!—yielded details of the one-day battle and its location, near Petersburg, Virginia.  She had entered the date of the battle as the creation date of the object, but since it was not a photograph, it’s clear that the print was produced sometime after the date of the battle (perhaps years later).  Therefore I made it clear that the print was made sometime after, not on, that date.  I plan to confer with colleagues in the Museum’s Graphic Arts collection to seek further information—these images may be well known among Civil War historians and experts in the iconography and print culture of the war.   If you, dear readers, can assist, please contact me!  My most important discovery was that one of these images was not in fact a drawing or a print, as the intern had assumed: rather, it is a photographic copy—evidently a silver albumen print—of a drawing or print.  As a photographic historian, I consider it important to make that distinction, for whatever meaning that factoid may turn out to have.   Of course, knowing that it is a nineteenth-century albumen photographic print, pasted on an acidic mountboard, has preservation implications.  I suspected that it was a photographic copy when looking at the TIFF file in our digital library—the color of the image gave it away—but had to inspect the original object to be certain.

I enjoy making discoveries like this, and regretted that the intern didn’t have an opportunity to share this particular experience.   The most rewarding experiences for interns probably occur when they are able to collaborate closely with staff.

I’ve noted the challenges of keeping up with the cataloging of objects which have been digitized—in order to provide access to them through appropriate and accurate descriptive terminology—adding language to the visual mix.  And I’ve griped about the seeming avalanche as digital copies proliferate.  The other side of the coin is that the desire to digitize can be very healthy for collections and their guardians.  Both staff-initiated special projects as well as the random patterns of scanning orders from “customers” can help us to rediscover the riches of our own collections and enlarge our knowledge base.  I’ve stated my curmudgeonly complaint that it’s difficult for catalogers to keep up with our burgeoning image files.  However, the value of a balanced approach to proactive digitizing (combined with appropriate cataloging and tagging), as opposed to digitizing merely on user demand, is obvious.  As far as I can tell, the Archives Center’s relatively small number of Civil War items had been widely overlooked, and this internship project highlighted more of our collections’ riches, for the benefit of all.  From my standpoint as a SIRIS cataloging coordinator, it’s important to build into scanning projects workflow strategies for locating and managing accurate information (including basic research and/or reasonable speculation) about the objects for both descriptive metadata and SIRIS records. 

David Haberstich, Curator of Photography

Archives Center, National Museum of American History

  

The Many Jobs of Joseph Henry

Joseph Henry by T. W. Smillie, 1873,
SIA, SIA2009-1254

Joseph Henry, the first Smithsonian Secretary, served on many committees as one of America’s leading scientist during his lifetime. Among some of the more interesting committees Henry served on was a committee tasked with the challenge of preventing the counterfeiting of the national currency in 1863. A problem since the release of coinage and paper money, counterfeiting became even more of an issue for the United States Treasury Department during the Civil War. The commission investigated ways to prevent counterfeiting, and by 1865 was officially appointed the Committee on Prevention of Counterfeiting.

This interesting factoid is just one of the many stories that can be learned on the Smithsonian Institution Archives‘(SIA) new web resource exploring the life, science, and Smithsonian career of the Institution’s first Secretary, Joseph Henry.  One of the main goals of the new Henry pages was to make original collection materials more accessible for our researchers. SIA staff, interns and volunteers scanned and catalogued over 1300 documents, letters, and photographs relating to the first Secretary and the early years of the Institution. The new pages help highlight these wonderful collection materials in a new way. In order to provide researchers with the ability to feel like that they had the documents physically in front of them, we chose to display the letters and documents in a dynamic viewer. The viewers, constructed by the wonderful staff who manage the SIRIS database and Collections Search Center, allow researchers to zoom in and out and move from one page to the next with ease. Additionally, the pages, highlight the various Henry materials in other archives and libraries around the Institution.

So from counterfeiting, to electromagnets and the founding of the Smithsonian, check out all of the great resources that can help you write a paper or look even smarter at your next dinner party.

Courtney Esposito, Institutional History Division, Smithsonian Institution Archives