America's Pastime Saved by Beer

It is October and the World Series is on the minds of fans, especially here in Washington D.C. For many people baseball revives memories of sitting in the stands drinking an ice-cold beer on a hot Sunday and watching the game from the cheap seats. To the fans, this is paradise and a way to enjoy America’s national pastime. But as American as this seems, there was a time when Sunday baseball, beer, and the cheap seats not only did not exist, they were banned.

Rewind to the early 1870’s, a time when the future of baseball looked bleak. Stadium attendance was low and fans were leaving the game. Corrupt and drunken players on the field and gambling in the darkest corners of the stadiums were running off baseball’s fan base. It was not uncommon for players to throw games for gamblers or not show for games with teams refusing to finish tournaments or seasons. This behavior threatened the end of an American sport.

The game’s salvation came in the form of William Ambrose Hulbert, in 1875. Hulbert, owner of the Chicago White Stockings, had enough of the chaos, dysfunction and corruption of baseball. Desiring a change, Hulbert started a new league that we know today as the National League. Not only did he take his team with him, but he took some of the wealthiest teams for his league. From the start Hulbert used an iron fist to institute rules. Most notably, the league controlled the teams and the players, instead of the other way around as it had been. If teams or players failed to heed the rules, Hulbert showed no mercy expelling the violators for life.

Baseball Score Counter, Peter Doelger Brewing, Warshaw Collection of Business Americana, ca. 1724-1977, Beer Series, Archives Center, National Museum of American History

Keeping in line with his crackdown, Hulbert banned alcohol at stadiums. The fans had to quench their thirst with something other than beer and whiskey. Today this seems unbelievable: who would ban beer at the ballpark? But times were different. The Temperance Movement during the 1870’s was in full swing throughout the United States, and banning alcohol fell within the societal norms.

Baseball Score Counter, Pfaff's Brewery, Warshaw Collection of Business Americana, ca. 1724-1977, Beer Series, Archives Center, National Museum of American History

Lastly, Hulbert wanted to clean up the sport’s riffraff fan base. He raised ticket prices to 50 cents, which at the time was a stiff price to pay. Hulbert believed this would prevent the lower classes from attending games, making games more inviting to women and families.

But then a German immigrant came along to throw a wrench, or actually a mug of beer, into Hulbert’s best-laid plans. Christian von der Ahe pictured baseball for the working man. He and several other team owners formed the American Association baseball league in 1881. Many of these owners were connected to alcohol in some form, whether by owning breweries or saloons, or being based in beer cities such as Milwaukee, St. Louis and Cincinnati.

This American Association presented an immediate challenge to the National League in that they allowed beer in the parks, sold tickets for 25 cents, and held games for the first time ever on Sundays. Sunday games were extremely important in that for the average American laborers, Sundays were their only day off. The effects of the American League’s changes were swift. In the beginning Hulbert did not view the new league as a threat to his more puritanical National League, but within the first year the wet American league saw more than four times the profits of Hulbert’s dry league. Von der Ahe’s league quickly was nicknamed the “Beer and Whiskey League.”

By the early 1890’s the National League began to see the errors of its ways. In 1891, as the American Association folded, the National League not only absorbed many of the American Association teams and players, but also the practices of Sunday games, 25 cent tickets and beer in the park.
         
In the end, the National League’s strict rules attempted to save the floundering sport, but it was the development of the American League that laid the founding traditions that truly saved baseball: cold beer. So while we cheer our favorite team this October, we cannot forget that these traditions we have known and loved were instituted by people who made and sold our beer.

Joe Hursey
Reference Archivist
Archives Center
National Museum of American History

Letting the Cat out of the Archives

October, according to National Today, is a month with not one, not two, but four cat-related holidays! There was both Global Cat Day and National Feral Cat Day on October 16, National Black Cat Day on October 27, and National Cat Day on the day that this is scheduled to be posted, October 29. Therefore, it seems only logical that I write a post fit for the occasion.

I simply needed to search “cats” on SOVA – the Smithsonian Online Virtual Archives – to find a veritable plethora of cat-related content, containing everything from family photos to paper dolls. The largest clowder of cats appeared to be in the “Warshaw Collection of Business Americana: Animals Series,” so that’s where I started. I looked through a few folders until I came across one which contained two old books with intriguing titles and covers: The Cat Doctor, by Dr. A.C. Daniels (date unknown) and Christopher Cricket on Cats, by Anthony Euwer (1909). The former is an old cat-care guide with a deceptively cute cover – causing me to initially assume it was a children’s story about a cat with a medical degree. The book contains fascinating advertisements for such items as “Cat Crumbs” and “Dog Bread,” as well as some rather… unusual advice for cat-owners. It is definitely worth looking through, but for the sake of not writing a ten-page blog post, I’ll be sticking with the latter.

AC0060-0005049-01. Archives Center, National Museum of American History

Above: the spooky cover of Christopher Cricket on Cats, depicting the nine lives of a cat who has just died:  Anthony Henderson Euwer, with Introduction by Wallace Irwin. Christopher Cricket on Cats: with Observations and Deductions for the Enlightenment of the Human Race from Infancy to Maturity and Even Old Age. 2nd ed., the Little Book Concern, 1909.

AC0060-0005049-02. Archives Center, National Museum of American History.

Above: a portrait of the fictional narrator, Christopher Cricket, also surrounded by nine cats in various positions.

Christopher Cricket on Cats is a book of “observations and deductions for the enlightenment of the human race from infancy to maturity and even old age.” What this means is that it is a wonderfully strange book. For those familiar with Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats, by T.S. Eliot – from which we have the musical, and soon-to-be movie, Cats – this book is comparable and was published thirty years earlier. Written from the point of view of a child, but intended most likely for an adult audience, Euwer’s book contains poems, limericks, “observations,” and a lovely selection of his illustrations – varying from highly realistic to truly cartoonish.

Part of the humor of his writings is in the spelling mistakes, grammatical errors, and obvious misinterpretations of common words and phrases that are attributed to the author’s age and meant to be charmingly incorrect. For example, the worship of “Sack-red” cats by ancient Egyptians, the use of nine-tailed cats as weapons against transgressors, or the assumption that when it rained cats and dogs, “they wuz only ghosts,” since no animals could be found once the rain had cleared.

AC0060-0005049-03. Archives Center, National Museum of American History

 Above: a rather exhausting number of puns on the left, and one of the most disturbing illustrations of a cat on the right with the caption, “Cataleapsy.”

These mistakes often rely on one literary device which fully saturates every page of this book: the pun. From the list of “Principle Dizeezes” and products above, to the explanations of the names of “Different Breeds” below, there is no escaping the cat-related puns. Any chance that Euwer had to add in a “cat”-anything, he used it. The owner of this book seems to have appreciated these puns, since they tried their own hand at punning on the very last page of the book: “A cat had a fit and it died – another cat had a fit and it lived [Result:] Survival of the fittest.” However, for those – like myself – who start to go a bit crazy at hearing too many of the same type of pun, there are plenty of other acceptable jokes:

“Some comes and rubs against you which, / Means you will scratch them where they itch, – / While others is so mean all through / They like lots better scratchin you.”
– “Cats and Humans – All the Same”
“Cats has been known to save hundreds of dollars’ worth of things frum bein robbed, by lettin Burglars stumble over them in the dark and wakin up the house-hold.”
– “Uses of Cats”
“Cats dont bark cause they’re afraid they might be taken for Dogs,– which would be very humiliatin.”
– “Reasons for Different Things”

It’s basically the original book of cat memes.

AC0060-0005049-04. Archives Center, National Museum of American History

Above: more puns, with the names of cat breeds transformed into illustrations of “The Angorrie Cat,” “The Magnifie Cat,” and “The Maltease Cat” on the left, and a cat on the right with the caption, “Cats with deep feelins is called Feline Cats.” Underneath this “Feline Cat,” an amusing observation on the “Uses of Cats.”

Much like the creators of cat memes, Anthony Euwer may have made all these jokes about cats, but he clearly loved and admired them. Even the fact that he capitalizes the “C” in every variation on “Cat” implies a deep respect for these feline companions. In the very same section as the first quote of the previous paragraph, Christopher Cricket lists many positive qualities to balance and even outweigh the negative, the entire time showing that “Cats and Humans [are] all the same.” Later on, in a story about the “Cumpuss Cat,” he praises cats’ ability to always land on their feet. More touching, however, is his last sentence of this section. Speaking about cats who run away, Christopher says, “Bet I’d never come back if I wuz some Cats that live some places I know, but Cats is wonderful good-hearted that way and dont seem to mind nothin.” However, you don’t even need to read this far into the book to sense Euwer’s affection for cats; simply open the book and read his “Deadication”:

To all the Cats that ever meowed
On this or any other sphere,–
From the beginning of all time
Unto this present year;

To all the Cats that’s still to come
And to all those that lives,
And to their ghosts,– each countin nine,
And to their relatives;

And to each one who likes some sort
Of Cat, no matter what,–
I deadicat this little book
With kind and lovin thought.

AC0060-0005049-05. Archives Center, National Museum of American History

Above: an illustration of a more scruffy-looking cat with the contemplative and uncharacteristically solemn short poem/caption, “Oh what’s the use of anything / In this life anyhow – / Won’t nothin matter much I guess / A hundred years from now.”

Contrary to what the caption on the image above states, over one hundred years after Christopher Cricket on Cats was published, I at least can still benefit from Euwer’s humor! However, if I had not looked through the collection myself, I would never have known that this book existed. When I first searched for cats, it simply never showed up. The SOVA entry – at the time that I am writing this – moves straight from folder 5 to folders 8-13 in box 5, completely skipping folder 7 in which these items are contained. The Warshaw Collection is vast, and so it only makes sense that the online finding aid would need continual addition, and that even when complete not every item would be listed. So, there’s a moral to this story: don’t be shy, and don’t be lazy; look through the archive collections for yourself!

Even if it’s a small collection that you’re interested in, with every single item listed and categorized online – a somewhat rare occurrence – you cannot possibly obtain the same feel, smell, and sight of the object from a screen alone. Even if there are images online, you could miss a scrawled note, a fingerprint, or even a hair (not always pleasant, but still). The only way to truly explore the archives is to find a collection, make an appointment, and come in ready to soak up information through all your senses. After all, why else would we be keeping all this stuff?

AC0060-0005049-06. Archives Center, National Museum of American History

Above: on the left, several witches ride cats above the caption, “The Whitches they used to beat em with the broom switches that they had.” On the right, a single witch and cat above the caption, “With great big eyes like fire in the dark.”

Side note: there are a handful of witches in this book, so it’s entirely appropriate for Hallowe'en!

To learn more about the Warshaw Collection of Business Americana, or view any number of our collections yourself, please visit our website and make an appointment today!


Kira Leinwand
Intern, Fall 2019
Archives Center
National Museum of American History

Prove It on Me: Ma Rainey and the Queer Blues

"When you see two women walking hand in hand 

Just look 'em over and try to understand" 

             – George Hannah, "The Boy in the Boat"

In 1925, the Chicago police arrested blues singer Gertrude "Ma" Rainey in her home for hosting a so-called “lesbian party.” While Rainey had been married to a man for 21 years, she was known to take female lovers. It was even rumored that she was romantically involved with another famous blueswoman, Bessie Smith, who bailed Rainey out of jail the following day.

Ma Rainey and the Wildcats Jazz Band, 1923. Bernice Johnson Reagon
Collection, Archives Center, National Museum of American History

Getting her start on the vaudeville circuit in the early 1900s, Ma Rainey made her mark as a blues performer just as the genre’s popularity hit its stride in the 1920s. By 1925, she was two years into a lucrative recording contract with Paramount Records, had worked with Louis Armstrong, and was in the middle of what would become a four-year musical partnership with Thomas Dorsey’s Wild Cats Jazz Band. Ma Rainey had earned the title “Mother of the Blues,” and she had no intention of giving it up.

Three years later, she would respond to the gossip about her sexuality sparked by her arrest with her “Prove It on Me Blues:”

“Went out last night 

With a crowd of my friends 

They must have been women 

Cause I don’t like no men”

Some have called the lesbianism and bisexuality among black female blues musicians the “open secret” of the Harlem Renaissance. While some blues singers, like Alberta Hunter and Ethel Waters, were careful to bury rumors that they, too, might be “in the life,” many more, like Ma Rainey, Bessie Smith, Gladys Bentley, Clara Smith, and Lucille Bogan did little to conceal their relationships with women. Lucille Bogan even released a song in 1935, entitled “The B.D. Woman’s Blues” in which “B.D.” stood for “bulldagger,” a slang term for a butch lesbian. Referring affectionately to these lesbian women, Bogan sings: “They got a head like a sweet angel and they walk just like a natural man.”

Perhaps the greater secret was the blues club scene itself. The early 1900s saw a massive migration of black Americans from the South to cities in the North like Chicago and New York City. The Harlem neighborhood of Manhattan in New York proved a particularly popular destination for many migrants, who helped contribute to a flourishing art, academic, and entertainment scene that would come to be known as the “Harlem Renaissance.” Amid this atmosphere of artistic and intellectual expression, gay and lesbian African-Americans found a spirit of social freedom and acceptance that allowed them to pursue same-sex relationships with greater openness than in many other parts of the country.

And it was in the underground blues clubs of the 1920s and 30s where this sexual expression could thrive most freely. In seedy Harlem blues clubs, blueswomen like Gladys Bentley, who became famous for her masculine performances complete with cropped hair, tuxedo, and top hat, found their audiences and stage personas. For black women, who made up the majority of the popular blues singers at this time, these clubs offered an outlet to explore their sexualities and sexual desires onstage in a way that would have been denied them in their day to day lives. Blues clubs spread far beyond just New York City, and while blueswomen like Rainey and Smith tend to be associated with the Harlem Renaissance, many of these women had stronger ties to the South, Midwest, and California. Artists like Bentley toured blues clubs around the country, including San Francisco’s famous Mona’s 440 Club, a bar which marketed itself toward lesbians as the place “where girls will be boys.”

Some have suggested that it is important to not overstate the prevalence of these declarations of same sex desire in the music and performances of female blues musicians. Lesbian-themed songs make up but a small fraction of these singers’ bodies of work, the majority of which focuses instead on romances with men. Yet it is still important to acknowledge the significance of the blues club as a space where black women in the early 20th century were able to express their sexual and romantic desires without fearing for their safety. Using masculine clothing, provocative performances, and homoerotic lyrics, these blueswomen found unique ways to represent their sexuality onstage. More than that, black women blues performers were able to control how their sexuality was represented in their lyrics and performances and decide, for themselves, who they wanted to be onstage and off.

Bessie Smith, undated. Sam DeVincent Collection, African-American Music series, 
Archives Center, National Museum of American History

At the end of “Prove It on Me Blues,” Ma Rainey sings:

“Talk to the gals just like any old man 

Cause they say I do it, ain't nobody caught me 

Sure got to prove it on me.”

In these lines, Rainey coyly seems to say, “My sexuality is mine alone, and I am free to live how I please.” And perhaps this is the most important thing to remember when we talk about the lives and romances of these blueswomen. For women like Ma Rainey, the blues was a world where you could take control of your own story, where you could explore your sexuality and talk about it on your terms, where you could decide who you wanted to be and then become that person onstage each night.

For more on Ma Rainey and the other blueswomen mentioned here, watch T'Ain't Nobody's Bizness: Queer Blues Divas of the 1920s on Kanopy.

Erin Walsh, Intern
National Museum of American History, Archives Center

Charlotte Cushman's Love With No Name

Language is slippery.

Take Charlotte Cushman, for example. Born in Boston in 1816, Cushman started a career in the opera to support her family after her father’s death. When her talent for singing and dramatic acting was recognized, she started touring with theater companies, performing Shakespeare around the United States and Europe. Her deep contralto voice allowed her to play both male and female parts onstage and she became best known for some of her male roles, including her performance as Romeo opposite her sister as Juliet. By mid-century, Cushman had become a household name, and she was easily one of the 19th century’s most famous actresses.

Miss Charlotte Cushman, undated. Warshaw Collection of Business Americana,
Theater series, Archives Center, National Museum of American History

Today, we might also look back on Charlotte Cushman’s life and call her the 19th century’s most famous lesbian actress. She sustained numerous monogamous relationships with women, including artist Rosalie Sully and actress Matilda Hays. She also garnered a large female following. Shortly before her death in 1876, she gave a farewell performance in New York City, which was followed by a massive parade and fireworks celebration attended by thousands of people, many of them female. These female fans, some of them also in same-sex relationships, wrote Cushman passionate fan mail, seemingly transfixed by her stage performances and public persona.

But in Cushman's day there was no such thing as a "lesbian," at least not in the way we think of the term or community today. Same-sex relationships were a behavior that one might engage in, with varying degrees of judgment projected onto that behavior, but they were not part of someone's identity.  

This was not because relationships between women were especially rare; they were actually surprisingly visible. Women in “Boston marriages” might live together, share a bed, caress one another, and speak of each other with affection in private and public like any other couple. Yet these relationships were seen as lacking the sexual and romantic desire of a heterosexual relationship, so they posed no threat to heterosexual society. “Romantic friendships” between women were therefore perfectly acceptable, even favorable in some cases. Presumably, these women would one day graduate from their Boston marriages to more serious unions with men.

But this idea that women did not have sexual desire did not apply to all women equally. Women in theater, which was still considered a lower tier art form, were branded as sexually promiscuous. With this in mind, the fact that Cushman exclusively pursued “romantic friendships” with women actually bolstered her career. Her disinterest in men and, to a certain extent, her masculine presentation on and offstage, established her reputation as a virtuous woman and lent a new kind of respectability to the role of women in theater.

Charlotte and Susan Cushman as Romeo and Juliet, undated. Warshaw Collection of Business Americana, 
Theater series, Archives Center, National Museum of American History

Even if the term "lesbian" had existed during Cushman's day, the concept would likely have been foreign to her. Then again, maybe not. Charlotte Cushman was notoriously careful about who saw her personal correspondence, asking many of her lovers to hide or burn her letters, sometimes even writing over her own diary entries to make them less legible to a stranger. Perhaps this was because Cushman and her partners had devised their own lexicon to describe their desire, even in the absence of the language we have today. We'll never know for certain how she might – or might not – have named her desire, such is the nature of the historical record. But that doesn't mean we should pretend it never existed.

Cushman as Katharine in The Taming of the Shrew, undated. Warshaw Collection of Business Americana, 
Theater series, Archives Center, National Museum of American History

Charlotte Cushman lived and died decades before the term “lesbian” would come into popular use, and still decades more before gay women would claim that word for themselves and wear it proudly as a sign of personal identity and community. The language we use, the communities we keep, the ways we understand our identities all may have changed dramatically from Cushman’s world. But in her day, Charlotte Cushman’s public defiance of gender and sexual norms represented something electric and inspiring to other women, especially women in same-sex relationships. Today, to a more defined community of lesbian women, she represents a woman who refused to give in to the pressures of a heterosexual society that did not even acknowledge the love she felt. We have no way of knowing how these concepts of gender presentation and sexual identity will change in the future – the only thing that seems certain is that they will continue to change.

And so, even almost 150 years after her death, I cannot say what Cushman's legacy will be. It's always changing. But for now, I can look to these archival images to illuminate Charlotte Cushman's legacy as I see it: a woman who loved women living as boldly as she could in a time before her love had a name. 

For more on Charlotte Cushman’s life, career, and relationships with women, check out Lisa Merrill’s When Romeo Was a Woman: Charlotte Cushman and Her Circle of Female Spectators (University of Michigan: 1999).

For more on the Smithsonian’s collection of items related to Charlotte Cushman and LGBT history, watch Beyond Stonewall from The Smithsonian Time Capsule!

Erin Walsh, Intern
National Museum of American History, Archives Center

The Traditional, International, American Circus

Walker Big Apple Circus, 1994. Dawn V. Rogala Circus Photographs and Papers, 1992-1999 (NMAH AC 1427). Copyright © Dawn V. Rogala. Reproduced with permission.

As an intern in the Archives Center of NMAH, I spend much of my time familiarizing myself with specific collections. My main project this semester has been looking at the Dawn V. Rogala Circus Photographs and Papers, which does make it easy for me to introduce the collection, since the title makes its contents fairly clear. Originally, I was planning on writing this post about a single item, and when I came across the photograph above, I couldn’t help but find it a bit amusing. There are many beautiful, touching, and unique photos in this collection, and in comparison to many of these, this photo appears at first to be rather unremarkable. It took me a bit of time to understand why I found it so funny, but then I realized that it was the perfect image to represent the American circus. I say this because the entire time that I was perusing the collection, there was one paradox which popped out at me from nearly every page, and I can only describe it as this: the traditional, international, American circus.

Walker Bros. Circus, 1995. Dawn V. Rogala Circus Photographs and Papers,
1992–1999 (NMAH AC 1427).
Copyright © Dawn V. Rogala. Reproduced with permission.

Throughout the ephemera of the collection, the words “American” and “tradition” appear more times than I can count. One Carson & Barnes Circus newsletter states that the goal of its show is to “keep alive the spirit and the traditions that are a part of American History and the American Scene.” An article written about Circus Vargas is titled “Traditions and the American Circus; Elements of Circus Vargas.” One souvenir program from the Clyde Beatty – Cole Bros. Circus proclaims that “the tradition of the tented circus… is indeed an American treasure.” It is clear from the constant repetition of the word “tradition” in these excerpts that these circuses profited from a certain cultural nostalgia. Programs from circuses such as the Big Apple Circus and Circus Vargas even provide brief history lessons to highlight the role of the circus in American history, telling it as though it were the story of an individual, such as an immigrant striving towards that famous “American dream.” Yet despite many of these labels, the animals, the performers, and in some cases even the tent – “…brand new…Big Top freshly imported from Italy!”–were advertised for their exoticism.

Clyde Beatty-Cole Bros. Circus, 1995. Dawn V. Rogala Circus Photographs and Papers, 1992–1999 (NMAH AC 1427). Copyright © Dawn V. Rogala. Reproduced with permission.

According to one Big Apple Circus program, the circus itself started as an arena for equestrian sports. Be that as it may, it is the exotic animals which became the major tools for drawing a crowd. The Rogala collection contains many photographs of these lions, tigers, and bears (oh my!), and it’s clear from the collected papers that each circus wanted to emphasize their “Exotic Animal Menagerie.” Among the ephemera in the collection are the programs from six out of the eleven circuses she traveled with – as well as one from a circus that she didn’t travel with – and a crucial part of many of these programs is a listing of the animals, meant undoubtedly to amaze and overwhelm readers: “…approximately 20 [elephants], both Indian and African… approximately 100 exotic and domestic animals, including giraffe, rhinoceros, hippopotamus, camels, liger, tigers, lions, llamas, and many types of equine.” For this industry, it seems to have been vital to make grand claims about their “rather large variety of animals from various parts of the globe” in order to compete with other shows. Finally, most circuses include exciting images of animals in their programs and on their trailers – not necessarily corresponding to the animals in their actual cast. All this is to advertise the circus as a place to view all types of animals that would never ordinarily be seen in the U.S. – quite  the opposite from our “slice of pure Americana.”

Selection of programs from six circuses (listed clockwise from top-left corner: Culpepper & Merriweather Great Combined Circus Official Program and Souvenir Magazine, Folder 7; Circus Vargas Program of Acts, The 29th Anniversary Edition, Folder 4; Kelly Miller Circus, Folder 9; Clyde Beatty – Cole Bros. Circus Program and Magazine, Folder 6; Carson & Barnes Circus 1993 Official Routebook, Folder 2; Big Apple Circus Carnevale in Venice, 1993-94 Lincoln Center & Tour, Folder 1. All Box 8, Dawn V. Rogala Circus Photographs and Papers, 1992–1999 (NMAH AC 1427).

Carson & Barnes Circus 1993 Official Routebook,
Folder 2, Box 8, Dawn V. Rogala Circus Photographs and Papers, 1992–1999 (NMAH AC 1427).

Just as circus programs include lists of their exotic animals, many also catalogue their foreign performers. Circus Vargas even went so far as to have an entire sheet devoted to their “International Cast,” which includes human performers from Spain, Argentina, Bulgaria, Germany, Kenya, England, and the Philippines, as well as a troupe of dogs from Denmark. Even domestic animals, it seems, needed some international flair. These international casts were also displayed in a way which made them appear even more exotic, through fanciful names, acts, and costumes. Big Apple Circus’s “Carneval in Venice” – from which the top photo is taken – is set in a fanciful version of an entirely different place on the globe. Similarly, photos in programs from Carson & Barnes Circus show performers paying tribute to a different time with their colorful “Aztec” costumes. In order to quench this thirst for variety, some of these circus acts portrayed cultures that were not present in the cast of performers. This certainly appears to be the case in the photo below, where several women are dressed in imaginative Asian-inspired costumes, even donning identical black wigs.

Carson & Barnes Circus, 1995. Dawn V. Rogala Circus Photographs and Papers, 1992–1999 (NMAH AC 1427).
Copyright © Dawn V. Rogala. Reproduced with permission.

The exoticism of the circus seems like a contradiction to its place in American tradition, but I think that nothing explains it better than this excerpt from one Clyde Beatty–Cole Bros. program: “Perhaps no tradition reflects the cultural quiltwork of our nation as does the American circus.” The circuses in this collection take a variety of different nationalities, cultures, and traditions, put them all under one big top – typically in colors of red, white, and blue – and call it American. It makes me think of that old debate as to whether the U.S. is more of a melting pot or more of a salad bowl, with the former arguing that all cultures mix until we can no longer see the differences, and the latter arguing that the cultures may be next to each other but they remain distinct and separate. Since this post is scheduled to go online on National Mulligan Day – yes, I chose the day for a reason–we might also think of the circus as being a reflection of the U.S.– a stew made from various unique odds and ends. This stew retains its individual bites of flavor, but it is the broth which brings together these numerous and varied elements to define it as a stew.

Sterling & Reid Bros. Circus, 1998. Dawn V. Rogala Circus Photographs and Papers, 1992–1999 (NMAH AC 1427). Copyright © Dawn V. Rogala. Reproduced with permission.

For more information on the Dawn V. Rogala Circus Photographs and papers, or – even better – to view the collection yourself, please visit our website. There you will find the contact information to set up an appointment to view items from this or other collections!

All quotes taken from box 8 of the collection (ephemera), various folders, the Dawn V. Rogala Circus Photographs and Papers, 1992-1999, Archives Center, National Museum of American History.

Kira Leinwand
Intern, Fall 2019
Archives Center
National Museum of American History

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