Robert Scurlock and F.B.I. Special Agent James Amos

As a young man Robert S. Scurlock and his brother George learned photography in their father Addison’s Washington studio. Robert was impatient with the constraints of formulaic studio portraiture, however, and sought different avenues of expression, especially photojournalism—such as the picture stories made popular by Life and Look magazines, as well as the picture magazines published for an African American clientele. Robert Scurlock photographed on assignment or on  speculation for some of them.  One example is his documentation of James Edward Amos (1879-1953), one of the first African Americans to be hired by the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

Amos spent his early career in the Interior Department and the Customs Office, and had been an investigator for the Burns International Detective Agency. He gained notoriety as personal attendant, confidant, and bodyguard for President Theodore Roosevelt for twelve years.  Roosevelt, some claimed, had died in Amos’s arms.

James Amos and colleagues at the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Negative by Robert Scurlock, ca. 1940s. 

Scurlock Studio Records, Archives Center, National Museum of American History. NMAH-AC0618-004-174.

Amos was recruited as a special agent for the F.B.I. on August 24, 1921 after William J. Burns (formerly of the Burns International Detective Agency) became the Bureau’s fourth director in 1921, Amos’s application for employment included references from Theodore Roosevelt, former Secretary of State Elihu Root, Senator Hiram Johnson, General Leonard Wood, and former Interior Secretary Gifford Pinchot.

Although some of Robert Scurlock’s pictures for this story utilized dramatic angles and lighting to suggest the shadowy life of a crime fighter, others show Amos enjoying meetings with both black and white colleagues in offices and laboratories. It appears that Amos was no longer engaged in field work, but was enjoying a more sedentary career during the 1940s when Robert Scurlock photographed him.

James Amos with colleague at Federal Bureau of Investigation. Negative by Robert Scurlock, ca. 1940s.

Scurlock Studio Records, Archives Center, National Museum of American History. NMAH-AC0618-004-0000180.

Amos’s thirty-two year career with the Bureau often had its thrills. He participated in many investigations, including those targeting the Buchalter Gang, black nationalist Marcus Garvey’s Black Star Steamship Company, and the German spy Joubert Duquesne, and assisted in the apprehension of the gangster Dutch Schultz.  He retired October 15, 1953, and died two months later.  [Athan G. Theoharis, The FBI:  A Comprehensive Reference Guide.  Oryx Press, 1999, pp. 314-315.]

The FBI’s web site includes an article on Amos.  It concludes: “Professor Theodore Kornweibel, Jr., sums up Special Agent Amos’s career in Seeing Red: Amos ‘proved’ what should never have needed proving: that African Americans could serve the federal government in sensitive positions with objectivity, intelligence, and professionalism. We can sum it up too:  Amos was a superb agent who served with fidelity, bravery, and integrity.”

From “A Byte Out of History: One African-American Special Agent's Story”

https://archives.fbi.gov/archives/news/stories/2005/february/amos022805

By David Haberstich

Curator of Photography, Archives Center

National Museum of American History

Reconciling Sexual Identity in Legacy Archival Collections

Perry Wheeler

It all began during a conversation about archival description with my mentor at the Archives of American Gardens, Kelly Crawford. We stumbled onto the topic of describing sexuality when I wondered aloud about the existence of LGBTQ-related records preserved in the collections. I was intrigued to learn that Perry Hunt Wheeler (1913-1989), a renowned landscape architect who worked on numerous private and public gardens in Washington, D.C. during the mid-20th century, was rumored to have had two long-term relationships with men, one of whom was in possession of Wheeler’s papers after his death. When we consulted the finding aid for Wheeler’s collection at AAG, however, we realized that nowhere in his biographical note did it mention the person he shared a home with for nearly 20 years, James M. Snitzler, or his other partner, James M. Stengle.

With my interest piqued, I started digging through accession records, biographical profiles, and digitized newspapers including the Washington Evening Star (thank you DCPL!) to construct an updated profile of Wheeler. Meryl Gordon’s 2017 biography, Bunny Mellon: The Life of an American Style Legend, helped frame Wheeler and Snitzler’s reputation in Georgetown’s “evening society circuit.” Gordon refers to Snitzler as Wheeler’s “companion” and mentions Mellon’s invitation to the two men to construct a home on her property in Middleburg, Virginia.

The Evening Star, Washington, D.C. October 9, 1948

Throughout the research process, Kelly and I discussed how to describe Wheeler’s connections to Snitzler and Stengle when the evidence of these relationships was so clearly covert. On that point, would we be “outing” the three men? A session at the 2018 Society of American Archivists’ conference addressed this dilemma, warning archivists against applying modern labels and instead providing context with the prevalent terms in use during a particular period in history.

Washington Evening Star, November 16, 1947

Following descriptive policies outlined in the Digital Transgender Archive, Kelly and I adopted the following language used to describe the living arrangement between Wheeler and Snitzler in the 1940s for the revised finding aid’s biographical note:

In 1947, he formed a 'bachelor household' in Georgetown with James Snitzler. Later, at the invitation of Rachel "Bunny" Lambert Mellon, he and Snitzler created a second home outside of Washington called "Spring Hill" on property owned by Mellon. Shortly after Snitzler's death in 1968, Wheeler moved permanently to Middleburg, Virginia and continued to travel, lecture, and consult with clients. Wheeler semi-retired in 1981 to 'Budfield,' a property in Rectortown, Virginia where he passed away in 1989, leaving his estate to his partner, James M. Stengle.

In 2019, I think we’ve reached a place where archives no longer claim complete neutrality. As Kelly pointed out, “cataloging is an open-ended and ongoing process.  You have to realize we come in with our own biases and impose our own interpretations. It’s our job to look at all of the materials and present the facts. Then others will look at it and put their own spin on it.” In short, all we know about Wheeler is from what we read in the newspapers, saw in photographs and correspondence, and learned through interview notes with Wheeler’s friends and colleagues. We can only present the evidence that Snitzler and Wheeler lived at the same address between 1947 and 1968 and that Snitzler left Wheeler a trust. After his death, Wheeler donated the trust to the Antiquarian Society in Snitzler’s name.

Studying the Perry Wheeler Collection, I discovered firsthand the importance of periodically revisiting and re-describing finding aids. When Wheeler’s collection arrived at AAG in 1993, the materials were rehoused but largely left in their original order by collections staff.  Very little within the boxes of records from Wheeler’s garden design records and personal papers suggested that he had any romantic attachments. Only by reading between the lines of the society pages in Washington’s newspapers and sifting through personal photographs did it become more apparent that Wheeler’s long-term relationships were closer partnerships.

Which brings me to my final lesson, imparted by archivist Bergis Jules and distilled over the last few weeks with the Perry Wheeler Collection: “The politics of what we’ve traditionally preserved means the archive is filled with silences, absences, and distortions, mostly affecting the legacies of the less privileged.” To say that Wheeler was less privileged would be a blatant falsehood. As a wealthy, white, professional man living with another man in D.C. during the Red and Lavender Scares, Wheeler was in a better position than most people at that time who were rumored to be homosexual. However, the unintentional erasure of Wheeler’s sexuality distorted his life in the context of the period in which he lived. For me, it brings up questions about whether his sexuality impacted his work life and how he (and Snitzler who worked for the State Department) escaped the scrutiny of the “gay witch hunts” during the Cold War. These are questions left unanswered by Perry Wheeler’s papers, perhaps to be answered by a future researcher. 


Haley Steinhilber
2019 Summer Intern
Archives of American Gardens 
Smithsonian Gardens


Further Reading:

Beth Page and Kate Fox, “Biography of Perry Hunt Wheeler (1913-1989),” Smithsonian Gardens. 2010.

Bergis Jules,“Confronting Our Failure of Care Around the Legacies of Marginalized People in the Archives,” Archivy, November 11, 2016.

Digital Transgender Archive


Erin Baucom,  An Exploration into Archival Descriptions of LGBTQ Materials. The American Archivist: Spring/Summer 2018, Vol. 81, No. 1, pp. 65-83.


Meryl Gordon, Bunny Mellon: The Life of an American Style Legend, Grand Central Publishing, 2017.

Michelle Peralta, “SAA Session Recaps: 101: Toward Culturally Competent Archival (Re) Description of Marginalized Histories.” September 11, 2018. 

A Day in the Life of Secretary Joseph Henry

During our blog-a-thon for American Archives Month, we are taking a look back at some of our favorite posts that give readers a peek into the many archives at the Smithsonian and a few of the things you can find inside them. This post was originally posted on July 11, 2013. 

Have you ever wondered what life was like in 1853? By looking through the letters of the Smithsonian’s first Secretary, Joseph Henry, you will soon find out that politics, business, and the stifling heat are not just headlines that fill today’s news.

Letter from Henry to Bache, page one, July 11, 1853
Smithsonian Institution Archives, SIA2012-2670

This letter, like much of Henry’s correspondence, sheds light on life in the early days of the Smithsonian and the nation’s capital. Written by Henry on July 11, 1853, to his close friend Alexander Bache, a leading American scientist of the time, the letter describes the events of his life and seeks advice from Bache. Across Smithsonian collections, letters like this not only give us factual information, but also aid us in painting a more detailed picture of the people who wrote them. As researchers, this detail allows us to understand why people make certain decisions and highlights the complexities of people’s personalities.

Joseph Henry, c. 1865, Smithsonian Institution Archives, SIA2012-7654

For example, Henry could be viewed as both gruff and amiable in just a few pages. On the one hand, he writes that the then Assistant Secretary, Spencer Baird, needed “a few hard knocks . . . [to] keep him in the proper course.” Yet, throughout the letter Henry gives others compliments and asks about Bache’s family. Personal nuances such as these, found in the documents give us a window to see beyond these individuals as a mere series of facts, but as true people whose personal make-up we can begin to understand.

Though sometimes the handwriting is difficult to read, these letters are worth the eye strain. The stories and commonalities with our lives today that are pulled out of these documents really do make the past come alive. Whether you agree or disagree with everything written in the letters is part of the fun in trying to understand the past...however, I think we can all agree that DC is a hot place to live in the summer.

Courtney Bellizzi
Smithsonian Institution Archives

Flashback Friday: Smithsonian Hauntings

Joseph Henry, first Smithsonian Secretary
Smithsonian Institution Archives, image # MAH-10603. 

As Halloween approaches, the mind wanders to ghostly hauntings and where better than a museum to find a ghost? There are plenty of skeletons in Smithsonian closets and rumors of hauntings abound.

Though several people have claimed sightings of Joseph Henry, our first Secretary, haunting the Smithsonian Institution Building, or Castle, it’s unlikely he would walk those grounds. Henry was so deeply skeptical of spirits and hauntings that he once offered $1,000 if someone could levitate a table into the air. In addition, Henry never particularly liked the Smithsonian Institution Building, considering the maintenance of a building a hindrance to the work of furthering scientific research.  It’s highly unlikely that his spirit would take up residence in a building he though was “a fantastic and almost useless building.”

Fielding Meek's Cat, Smithsonian Institution Archives, image # 92-15019.

Another Smithsonian Scientist, Fielding Meek, happily called the Smithsonian Castle home. He lived with his cat in a tiny room under the stairs in the North Tower of the Smithsonian Institution Building from 1858 until his death. An extremely introverted and deaf paleontologist, he became increasingly isolated as he lost his hearing in his later years. His isolation can be felt in his caption for a sketch of his cat “This is all the family I have.” Perhaps he haunts his former home in search of company?

Spencer F. Baird,
Smithsonian Institution Archives, image # MAH-10735

Many rumors swirl about Smithsonian staff who loved their collections so much they could not bear to part with them, even in death. Perhaps none is as persistent as Spencer F. Baird, the Smithsonian’s second Secretary and founder of the U.S. National Museum. In 1900, The Washington Post reported that most of the night watchmen had reported seeing Secretary Baird supervising the collections to which he was so devoted.  Night watchmen, as you can imagine, have seen more than their fair share of strange sightings at the Smithsonian, but some are more otherworldly than others. Donald, one of the night watchmen, turned a corner in the museum and had a run-in with a fearsome Japanese warrior who towered above him, spear and all. After fleeing to higher ground on the second level of the building, in the morning he discovered that his warrior ghost was just a mannequin removed from his case so that it could be photographed. 

Robert Kennicott in his Field Outfit,
Smithsonian Institution Archives, image # SIA2011-0145

Around the Smithsonian, it is not unusual for an old mystery to come back to haunt us. Here at the Smithsonian Institution Archives, Robert Kennicott, one of the Smithsonian’s earliest explorers, was the most recent to raise goosebumps.  Kennicott died mysteriously on an expedition in Alaska. Our colleagues over at the National Museum of Natural History have analyzed his bones to understand how he lived and died.  While many researchers have scoured his personal papers and Smithsonian records in search of an answer, our archivists made a serendipitous discovery that sheds a little more light on his death. This Halloween, the Smithsonian has taken Kennicott's skeleton out of our closet and you can visit him yourself in the Objects of Wonder exhibit at the National Museum of Natural History.





Lisa Fthenakis, Program Assistant
Smithsonian Institution Archives 

A British Ambassador in the Natural and Cultural Landscapes of Washington

The Castle (Smithsonian Institution Building) with grounds as landscaped by Andrew Jackson Downing. This illustration is from a publication of 1920, Washington the Beautiful. The National Mall was later created to be a long, open expanse of lawn, replacing the curvilinear paths and plantings of the mid-19th century. 

The District of Columbia, in the century following its selection by President George Washington as the site for the permanent seat of government, had a difficult history. The streets were muddy and unpaved, animals roamed about, the canal along what is now Constitution Avenue was a fetid sewer, a slaughter house was near the White House, and there was little in the way of infrastructure. Destruction that occurred from the War of 1812 and the chaos of the Civil War overwhelmed the city’s scant resources and contributed to the Federal capital’s sorry state. There were calls to have the Capital moved elsewhere. Washington City began to become more established with the creation of the Territorial Government in 1871, led by Alexander “Boss” Shepherd, although that municipal organization soon collapsed under scandal and bankruptcy.

The “City Beautiful” movement, growing out of the 1893 World Columbian Exposition, inspired, in part, the 1901 Senate Park Improvement Commission to draw up the McMillan Plan, an architectural reshaping of the National Mall and park system throughout the city. Never formally adopted due to political maneuverings, the 1902 document nonetheless has served as a guide over the decades towards realizing (if in piecemeal form) the grandeur envisioned in Peter (Pierre) Charles L’Enfant’s 1791 plan of District, with monumental buildings and memorials.

Plan for redesigning Washington in 1915. A row of official government buildings line the Mall (note the absence of the Castle). This plate is from William H. Taft and James Bryce's Washington, the Nation's Capital.

A key participant in the landscape and beautification of the nation’s capital was Ambassador James Bryce of Great Britain. Serving from 1907 to 1913, he was an articulate, energetic and persuasive proponent of what made and would make Washington unique in the world. He made his first of many travels to America in 1870, and arrived to his diplomatic posting in Washington with a wide circle of friends and well known from his popular three-volume The American Commonwealth (1888). Following in the footsteps of Alexis de Tocqueville’s Democracy in America (1835-40), Bryce’s classic work analyzed government, economic and social institutions across the United States. Having been a law professor at Oxford, well-traveled across the globe, and a politician (as a Liberal Member of Parliament), Bryce was said to have read everything and known everyone. Unlike some others with sophisticated backgrounds filling ambassadorships in Washington at this time, he embraced with confidence what was a decidedly backwater town.

James Bryce, Viscount Bryce of Dechmont (1838-1922). Portrait frontispiece from his book, The Nation's Capital

As a younger man, Bryce was an avid mountain climber, having summited Mount Ararat in Turkey in 1876; he served as president of the Alpine Club (UK) from 1899 to 1902. Although no longer young, he brought this rigorous appreciation of the outdoors to Washington and explored its natural setting and surrounding rural countryside with great enthusiasm. As with many a foreign visitor today, Bryce was in awe of the surging rapids fourteen miles upstream: “No European city has so noble a cataract in its vicinity as the Great Falls of the Potomac—a magnificent piece of scenery which you will, of course, always preserve.” Indeed, the country has: the waterfalls, with their southern banks in Virginia and northern parts in Maryland, including the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal, are maintained by the National Park Service.

Postcard of Boulder Bridge in Rock Creek Park (1911). Smithsonian Institution Archives, Negative Number SIA2011-2307. 

It was Rock Creek, now one of the largest forested urban parks in America—twice the size of Central Park in New York City—that Ambassador Bryce was particularly taken with and not shy about expressing his opinions and offering advice. The meandering woodlands start at the Georgetown Canal and now extend into Montgomery County in Maryland, with many tributary park extensions, including Dumbarton Oaks Park.

During the 19th century, there were serious proposals for building a railway and for filling in the valley of Rock Creek to the level of Massachusetts Avenue in the Northwest quadrant of the city. But thoughtful urban planning led to the creation of Rock Creek Park by an Act of Congress in 1890, one of the early federal parks in the country (the third in the system). It was the creation of the Smithsonian’s National Zoological Park on the banks of Rock Creek, with legislation enacted in 1899, which brought greater public attention to the need for protecting wildlife in the region and land for recreational use. Bryce praised Rock Creek’s “inexhaustible variety of footpaths, where you can force your way through thickets and test your physical ability in climbing up and down steep slopes.”

Visitors to the Zoo Relax by Rock Creek. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Negative Number 75-1702.

At a Board of Trade meeting in 1912, he warned that the beautiful spots of Washington could be ruined if acts of preservation were not soon taken. He scolded members of Congress for concentrating on appropriations for their home districts while ignoring their capital city. In support of constructing a touring road from the Zoo to the Potomac River, he was quoted saying to the group that “It seems to me that one of the principal endeavors of all people who want Washington made the greatest capital in the world should be to maintain the beauty of Rock Creek Park” (Washington Post, 1 March 1912). The following year, he proclaimed:

I know of no great city in Europe that has anywhere near such beautiful scenery so close to it as has Washington in Rock Creek park, and in many of the woods that stretch along the Potomac on the north and also on the south side. The river in the center, beautiful hills, delightfully wooded, rise on each side and one may wander day after day in new walks. I never have to take the same walk twice. (Washington Post, 28 February 1913)

 

Bryce’s “touring road” was extended into Maryland and has become a major commuting route for cars, with the creation of Rock Creek and Potomac Parkway which was authorized by Congress in 1913. This lengthen the road from the National Zoo down toward the Potomac River, effectively linking it with the National Mall and the growing campus of museums and monuments. 

Bryce strongly advocated the extension of Rock Creek above Washington into Maryland where “There are leafy glades where a man can go and lie down on a bed of leaves and listen for hours to the birds singing and forget there is such a place as Washington and such a thing as politics within eight miles of him.” He foresaw, in the great growth of the United States, that Washington would become a large and world-class city despite its lack of industries.

William H. Taft and James Bryce's Washington, the Nation's Capital

In a 1913 essay presented to the Committee of One Hundred on the Future Development of Washington, the Ambassador pleaded for preserving a certain vista:

May I mention another point of view that is now threatened and perhaps almost gone? You all know the spot at which Wisconsin avenue (up which the cars run to Tennallytown and the District line) intersects Massachusetts avenue, which has now been extended beyond that intersection into the country. At that point of intersection, just opposite where the Episcopal [now known as National] Cathedral is to stand, there is one spot commanding what is one of the most beautiful general views of Washington. You look down upon the city, you see its most striking buildings—the Capitol, the Library, State, War and Navy Department, and the Post Office and other high buildings along Pennsylvania Avenue—beyond them you see the great silvery flood of the Potomac and the soft lines fading away in dim outline in the far southeast. It is a delightful and inspiring view.

Believing there was no better vantage point in Washington, Lord Bryce stated that this slope should be turned into a public park, and the houses stretching below limited in height to protect the sweeping view. This northwest corner of Washington was becoming fashionable, growing as older parts of the city became more built up. After an initial period of recovery following the Civil War, during a time of wild economic growth (1880-1920), the Federal Government quickly expanded and new official buildings pushed residential neighborhoods out of downtown. With its hilly terrain and seclusion provided by the ravine of Rock Creek, yet so close to the old Washington City, the area was a perfect location for newly wealthy Americans to build luxurious private estates and gardens. Land speculation was booming. The Ambassador’s cherished vista, since so many trees were cut down during the Civil War to defend the vulnerable city with forts and roads and clear lines of sight, would eventually be lost to subsequent tall tree growth. Nor did he anticipate that that acreage would soon become so very valuable. In a mere fifteen years from the time of Lord Bryce’s suggestion, his own country would ignite a trend of foreign missions in the area with the new British Embassy, designed by world-renown architect Sir Edwin Lutyens.

Lord Bryce (who, after his retirement as ambassador, became Viscount Bryce) is often quoted in the literature of Rock Creek Park, remembered for his eloquent advocacy of the city that was only one of his many diplomatic postings. His legacy rather sadly lives on in the neglected terraced Bryce Park, dedicated by Princess Margaret in 1965. It is located at what once was his favorite spot, now the busy intersection of Wisconsin and Massachusetts Avenues but without the sweeping views. It is less than a mile from the British Embassy.

The Smithsonian’s collections provide testament to James Bryce’s legacy and lessons: there are several bronze sculptures (as well as a bust in the Capitol Building), an indication of his prominence at the time, and a dozen of his authored works in the Libraries. It is those titles, as well as his quotes accessible in historical newspaper databases and in journals, that record his thoughtful and forward-looking advocacy of the natural environment of Washington. They all preserve the history that informs the metropolitan landscape of today, the extensive park system first envisioned by L’Enfant.

Julia Blakely
Special Collections Cataloger
Smithsonian Institution Libraries


Notes and Captions 

One of the more famous quotes of Ambassador Bryce is that "The national park is the best idea America ever had.”

Washington, the Nation's Capital

Bryce Warns Capital: Says It May Suffer Through Neglect of Congress.” The Washington Post, March 1, 1912, page 3.

  

Bryce, James. The nation’s capital. Washington, D.C.: B.S. Adams, 1913.

Taft, William H. with James Bryce and Gilbert Hovey Grosvenor. Washington, the Nation’s Capital. Washington, D.C.: National Geographic Society, 1915.

“[You] have an admirable and constantly growing National Museum.”

Completed in 1911, the building is now the National Museum of Natural History (Washington the Beautiful)

Bryce: “I know of no city in which the trees seem to be so much a part of the city as Washington.”

Washington’s Chamber of Commerce’s Committee of Hundred on the Future Development of Washington was to promoted the plan of the capital as approved by George Washington and as expanded by the Park Commission. The speech by Bryce delivered to the Committee was printed and edited for publication (newspaper accounts provided variations of the text) by Washington architect Glenn Brown. Photographs illustrating the book were by A. G. Robinson. A later reprint appears in The Capital of Our Country (National Geographic Society, 1923).

Sneak Peek: Freer Gallery of Art

While we are awaiting the Freer Gallery of Art’s re-opening in October 2017, let’s take a peek at some recently digitized photos of the Freer though the years. Arriving at the Smithsonian Institution Archives in 2002, these photos come from a collection that documents early building plans for the Freer and how the building has changed over time.  The collection spans nearly 100 years, from photos of the Freer’s groundbreaking ceremony in 1916 to the various changes and renovations over the years.

Groundbreaking for Freer Gallery of Art, 1916, Smithsonian Institution Archives, SIA Acc. 02-082 [SIA2015-000823].

Showing the staff of the museum gathered in front of a grove of trees for the ceremony, you can see how much the National Mall has changed in the century that has passed.  A later photo below shows the Gallery just after it had been completed. The Department of Agriculture building can be seen to the right, while trees and row houses are also visible in the neighborhood.

Aerial View of Completed East and North Front of Freer Gallery, by Unknown, c. 1923,
Smithsonian Institution Archives, SIA2007-0170.

In the 1920s, three peacocks lived in the Freer Courtyard. Donated by the National Zoological Park as a fitting complement to James McNeill Whistler's Peacock Room, they moved back to the Zoo each winter and returned to the courtyard in the Spring.

Peacock and Babies in the Freer Gallery of Art Courtyard,
Smithsonian Institution Archives, SIA Acc. 02-082 [SIA2014-07070]. 

A building needs care and attention to last 100 years.  A previous renovation in the early 1990s did just that, expanding as well as renovating the existing space. Construction workers are shown through a partially constructed interior wall with the library still ready for research in the background.

Renovation of the Freer Gallery of Art, Smithsonian Institution Archives, SIA Acc. 02-082 [SIA2015-000821].

Additional renovations include the addition of the Sackler Gallery of Art in the 1980s, and, of course, the current renovations to upgrade the Freer's infrastructure. While the Freer is closed, you can still visit the Sackler and visit the Freer online, either through their digital collections or through Google Art Project.

To see more historic photos of the Freer Gallery of Art, click here and explore accession 02-082 or visit the Smithsonian Institution Archives' history page on the Freer Gallery of Art.


Lisa Fthenakis, Program Assistant
Smithsonian Institution Archives

Encountering Migration Dynamics in the Archives

Over the summer, I was fortunate to be in residence at the Anacostia Community Museum as a Visiting Student Fellow, where I conducted independent research on Latino migrant suburbanization and participation in urban planning for my master’s thesis in human geography. While growing up in D.C. in the 1990s and 2000s, I observed the region’s expansion and rapid demographic transition. Among the more noticeable transformations in that era was the suburbanization and regional dispersion of migrant groups that had historically resided in city neighborhoods. For instance, while centrally-located Mount Pleasant, Adams Morgan, and Columbia Heights maintain contemporary significance as community hubs for Latinos in the D.C. area, the majority of Latinos in the region resided in the suburbs (Price and Singer 2009).

Although I spent much of the summer conducting ethnographic research in Manassas, Virginia, an exurban city with a large and growing Latino population, researching in the Anacostia Community Museum’s archives enabled me to answer questions of how, where, when, and why Latinos have migrated to and through greater Washington. The Black Mosaic Exhibition Records, compiled in anticipation of the museum’s groundbreaking 1994 exhibit that explored the transnational diversity among D.C.’s black population, offered rich insights into these dynamics of migration. The exhibit was organized at a pivotal moment; in 1990, foreign-born people comprised nearly 10% of the city’s population, more than double the number counted just twenty years earlier (U.S. Census, 1970, 1990). The exhibit captured a watershed moment as the D.C. area transitioned into an international region, home to communities with ties all over the globe. I sought out records in the collection that could shed light on people’s migratory experiences, and was particularly interested to discover when migrants began moving to D.C.’s suburbs, rather than living in classic urban enclaves, and how suburbanization impacted everyday life.

El Gavilan Spanish Food was one of the earliest grocers in the District of Columbia catering to a growing Latino population.  Photo by Harold Dorwin, Anacostia Community Museum Archives, Smithsonian Institution.

Some early photographs surprised me. One set in particular featured a Brazilian backyard party in Woodbridge, VA, a community close to Manassas. The photographs were taken in the early 1990s, suggesting that Latinos were present in D.C.’s exurbs far earlier than I had anticipated. Photographs from the collection also reflect the longevity of diversity among D.C.’s migrant residents. Shops like El Gavilan, pictured above, catered to local Latino customers but also carried products to serve the city’s growing African and Caribbean populations. Festival photographs from the 1970s through the present also capture the hyperdiversity of Latinos in the D.C. area, with parade participants representing numerous Caribbean, Central American, and South American nations over the years.

Though my research focused on the experiences of Latino migrants, looking beyond that confine revealed the dynamic socio-cultural landscape of transnational migration in D.C. in the 1980s and 1990s. Abraham Joseph migrated from Haiti to the U.S., and listening to his oral narrative revealed crucial spatial and social dynamics of migrants’ experiences in that era. Upon arriving in D.C. in 1980, Joseph worked as a taxi driver in the city. Yet after several years, Joseph had bought a house in a Maryland suburb of D.C. He had also transitioned from driving taxis to giving driving lessons, and had learned Spanish to teach his new clients. Why? By the mid-1980s, there was already a sizeable Latino population residing in Maryland’s inner suburbs; while migrant hubs emerged around communities served by the Red Line stations on the Metro, like Silver Spring, Wheaton, and Rockville, the regional interconnectedness of everyday life made learning how to drive a priority among migrants in suburbs. There were enough Spanish-speakers in Joseph’s new suburban community to prompt him to learn a new language and make a viable career change.

El Gavilan Spanish Food remains a fixture in the Adams Morgan neighborhood of DC. Photo by Susana Raab. Anacostia Community Museum Archives, Smithsonian Institution.

Conducting archival research at the Anacostia Community Museum grounded my ethnographic research and offered numerous critical insights into understanding migrant suburbanization. The archival records revealed various ways in which migrants drew from the region’s hallmark hyperdiversity to create community in urban and suburban environments, and they expanded my understanding of early migrant suburbanization.

References
Black Mosaic Exhibition Records (early 1990s). Binder 12, Parts 1 and 2. Photographs of the Brazilian Party in Woodbridge, VA.

Black Mosaic Exhibition Records (1994). Oral History Interview with Joseph Abraham. Cassette tape. AV00728.

Dorwin, Harold (1995). Photograph of El Gavilan. ACMA S000014.

Price, Marie and Audrey Singer (2009). “Edge Gateways: Immigrants, Suburbs, and the Politics of Reception in Metropolitan Washington,” in A. Singer, S. Hardwick, and S. Brettell (eds), Twenty-first Century Gateways: Immigrant Incorporation in Suburban America. Washington, D.C.: Brookings, 137-170.

Raab, Susanna (2016). Photograph of El Gavilan. Unconventional Gateways_DC-240.

U.S. Census Bureau (1970, 1990). Census profile. Accessed online: https://www.census.gov/. Accessed December 10 2015.


Hilary Malson, Research Assistant
Anacostia Community Museum

Families by Scurlock

It has been really fun for me to watch people’s reactions when I reveal that I spent my summer looking at pictures at the Smithsonian. Of course, it’s much more than that, but the bulk of my time was spent viewing and analyzing family portraits. Over ten weeks, I worked closely with David Haberstich in the Archives Center at the National Museum of American History. I examined portraits from the vast Scurlock Studio collection, and thoroughly enjoyed my time there.

I enjoy looking at photographs. At home and on my own time, I can spend hours going through my family’s old scrapbooks. I like to pretend to be a detective and find connections between the photographs that were not discussed or are frequently overlooked by the elders in my family. I am interested in race and class dynamics, and viewed the Scurlock Studio collection to shed light on the black middle class of Washington, D.C.

Self-portrait of the young Addison Scurlock with his future wife Mamie, ca. 1910. Scurlock Studio Records, Archives Center, National Museum of American History.

After going through at least 100 boxes, some small and some large, of photo prints and negatives, I was very happy to come across a specific sub-collection of photos of strictly families. I spent hours viewing the photos, taking notes, and comparing them. To my surprise, for the most part, all of the family portraits looked the same. Depending on the time period, as the Scurlock Studio was open for 83 years, the backdrops were the same, the poses the same, and the clothing colors were all the same. If I used the Scurlock Studio to define the middle class based on these family portraits, I would say that the black middle class was composed of 1) stylish people, 2) Howard University graduates, and 3) nuclear families.

It is very clear that style and fashion were of major importance to the black middle class in Washington. In the earliest photographs from the collection, individuals wore elegant gowns and dapper suits. As time passed, the black middle class paid attention to fashion trends and seemed to wear their Sunday Best in the portraits. Many of the photos in this collection showed young black professionals and recent Howard University graduates with their families. The men often stood behind their wives and children, and children who recently graduated donned their graduation cap and gown. This showed the importance of education and pride in educational achievements among the black middle class. Men who served in the armed forces proudly displayed their military uniforms. Well-dressed children appear happy and privileged, having solo photo shoots with children’s toys and other props. The family portraits show the characteristics that were important to the black middle class and coincide with narratives of black middle class families in popular culture.

As I viewed these photographs, I connected their “look” to the many television shows of black families that have dominated primetime television, one of the most recognizable and influential family shows being The Cosby Show. In several instances, I could hardly differentiate the two, as the families captured by the Scurlock Studio seemed like exact replicas of TV families. Additionally, as the time period changed, I thought of other television shows such as "The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air," "My Wife and Kids," and "Black-ish." Many of these portraits reaffirmed these shows as portraying realistic family structures representations on television.

While I am proud to say that I awesomely spent the summer digging through family portraits and drawing the connections between them, I am now more excited to continue my research on black middle class family structures. It is clear that the Scurlocks dealt with a specific clientele in Washington, but I am interested in revealing what they did not capture. There were very few photographs in the collection of a single parent and child(ren). In these instances, because the portraits are not all labeled or dated, it is difficult to know if the parents were indeed single or if the other parent was absent. We know that the images of mothers and children that were taken for Ebony magazine "'Gold Star Wives' series" are women whose husbands were away in the military. For these clearly middle class (or even upper-middle class) women, background information is available, but unfortunately, each photograph in the collection does not have a similar description.

My archival research in the Scurlock Studio collection raised many unforeseen questions. Are the families with in-home portraits wealthier than those families with in-studio portraits? Who determined the poses? The photographer? The family? Why did some family portraits include the parents and children only, while others included grandparents and in-laws? Who made these decisions? As these photographs show what the middle class physically looked like between the periods of 1911-1994, they force me to wonder how other families who also fit middle class descriptions looked in Washington.


Aysha L. Preston, Visiting Graduate Student, Summer 2015
Archives Center, National Museum of American History

President Garfield and the Smithsonian

Inspired by President’s Day, let’s look beyond the presidents who appear on our currency and consider one of our less celebrated presidents and his relationship to the Smithsonian.  President James A. Garfield (1831-1881) held office for just a few short months before his assassination.  Though one of our shortest serving presidents; Garfield had a long career in public service and a long association with the Smithsonian.

National Portrait Gallery, Smithsonian Institution; transfer from the Smithsonian American Art Museum; gift of the International Business Machines Corporation to the Smithsonian Institution, 1962. NPG.65.25

After being selected to serve as a Smithsonian Regent, one of the three regents from the U.S. House of Representatives, Garfield became an active part of the Smithsonian. Garfield was a member of the Smithsonian’s Board of Regents for a total of seven terms over twelve years.  First appointed under Joseph Henry, he left the board for a few years before being reappointed as Spencer Baird entered office as Secretary.  As a regent, Garfield was a conscientious attendee at meetings. From his letters and regular attendance, it is clear that Garfield took his duties seriously and became a correspondent and colleague of both our first Secretary Joseph Henry and our second Secretary Spencer F. Baird.

Garfield corresponded with Henry about a variety of subjects related to Smithsonian business, from natural history expeditions to the Smithsonian’s scientific publications.  While their acquaintance may have begun on Smithsonian business, Baird also corresponded with Garfield on other matters important to him as well. Garfield’s position in the U.S. House of Representatives made him a valuable ally when seeking funding for new scientific expeditions or an alteration in U.S. government policy.

Broadside for "The Grand Fete to Garfield and Arthur at the National Museum Building." Smithsonian Institution Archives. Negative Number 75-11115. 

Garfield’s term as regent only came to an end with his swearing in as President on March 4th, 1881. But his regard for the Smithsonian was reflected in these festivities as well.  Though he was leaving the Board of Regents, his inaugural ball was held in the newly constructed U.S. National Museum building, now called the Arts & Industries building.  The first event in this space, the building was not even fully finished – it would take another eight months to open to the public. Yet, perhaps this signifies the importance of the Smithsonian to Garfield. As a regent, he would have been involved in approving and monitoring the building’s construction. The Board of Regents authorized its use with the condition that no precedent would be set for other uses of the building, making a special exception for the new President. Temporary wooden floors had to be constructed and ten thousand bins were built to accommodate the hats, coats, and wraps of the approximately seven thousand visitors that would stream through the front doors on inauguration day.

The rotunda of the new United States National Museum (USNM), now the Arts and Industries Building (A&I), decorated for President James A. Garfield's and Chester A. Arthur's Inaugural Ball, March 4, 1881. Smithsonian Institution Archives. Negative Number MAH-37715A. 

Sadly, Garfield died just seven months after his inauguration. Shot by Charles Guiteau while waiting to board a train on July 2, 1881, neither of the two bullets that hit their mark were initially fatal. One glanced Garfield’s arm, but the other pierced his back and shattered a rib before embedding itself deep inside Garfield.  In agonizing pain, doctor after doctor tried to help the President, but the bullet that eventually killed him could not be found. Alexander Graham Bell even tried a newly-invented metal detector in an attempt to find the bullet.  Bell and Garfield shared a connection to the Smithsonian.  Joseph Henry was a mentor and close friend of Bell, encouraging his research and experiments. As a member of the Board of Regents and fellow correspondent of Henry, it is possible that Garfield made Bell’s acquaintance through their mutual friend Joseph Henry and the Smithsonian Institution.  And Bell followed in Garfield’s footsteps, serving on the Smithsonian Board of Regents from 1898 to 1922.

Lisa Fthenakis, Program Assistant

Smithsonian Institution Archives

Flashback Friday: The Bonus Army, 1932

Blogs across the Smithsonian will give an inside look at the Institution’s archival collections and practices during a month long blog-a-thon in celebration of October’s American Archives Month. See additional posts from our other participating blogs, as well as related events and resources, on the Smithsonian’s Archives Month website.

Bonus Army Camp, Anacostia, D.C., 1932. Dale/Patterson Family Collection,
Anacostia Community Museum Archives, gift of Dianne Dale.

The Dale/Patterson Family collection documents the personal and professional lives of the Dale and Patterson families who came to live in Hillsdale, Anacostia, an area of Washington, D.C., in 1892. However, the multi-generation family collection extends beyond family papers to include materials which document local and national events such as the Bonus Army. 

Known as the Bonus Expeditionary Force (BEF) by its organizers and called the Bonus March by the media, the Bonus Army was organized by Walter W. Waters in 1932. The event brought black and white World War I veterans and their families to Washington, DC in the spring and summer of that year to demand early payment of their bonuses awarded by the World War Adjusted Compensation Act of 1924. The veterans’ main camp was located at Anacostia Flats. One eyewitness in Dianne Dale’s publication The Village that Shaped Us, describes the event “We had Bonus Men roaming through the neighborhood, and the people would feed them. . .” Another observer commented, "... they all came here-from all over the United States and set up tents and huts and shacks along the Anacostia River. . ."

Thousands of veterans participated in this effort until President Hebert Hoover ordered the removal of all campsites after two veterans were killed on July 28th during a confrontation between local police and Bonus Army marchers. 

It wasn’t until 1936 that Congress approved the veterans’ bonus payment.

Jennifer Morris, Archivist
Anacostia Community Museum