The past as progress

THE NEW TOWN SQUARE: Museums and Communities in Transition
by Robert R. Archibald
2004, Walnut Creek:
Alta Mira Press, 2004.
Pp. 221. Index. Paper, $25.00

"Not only is our social fabric frayed because of detachment from place and from each other and consequently from community; this world we have made is actually not sustainable on a finite -planet. If we persist in destroying the old and building only the new as if there is no tomorrow, there won't be."

With this warning Robert Archibald in, The New Town Square: Museums and Communities in Transition, rails against the "deepening crisis of place" in America caused by the relentless crush of mindless consumer-driven "progress" that we embrace today in the form of Wal-Mart, McDonalds, and a host of other cookie cutter franchises that eat away at the heart of our society. Propelled by short-sighted, or blind public policy and a lack of original planning at the municipal level, we increasingly equate progress with the bland, mind-numbing sameness that creates strip malls, oceans of parking lot asphalt, and ultimately, an American monoculture.

Archibald is right and we, all of us, should heed his warning. In describing the destruction of our communities by the "homogenizing pressures of mass culture" and the debilitating effects of total reliance on the automobile, Archibald further warns us against becoming intergenerational "deadbeats" leaving a heavily mortgaged planet for future generations to deal with. Citing the strong, commercially vibrant, and now extinct Mississippian city of Cahokia, the author predicts an environmental and social disaster if the balance between "people, resources and technology" is upset or violated. Communities must be environmentally sustainable, connected and sensitive to their inhabitants and to the earth. Then what can museums and public historians do to help sustain the earth's vitality?

For starters, The New Town Square tells us, "if we are to preserve any sense of identity and value for ourselves and for our places, we will have to look to the past...." It is this looking to the past that will provide context, reaffirmation of identity and of belonging. When we connect the past to the present, we actually help to create the future and this, then, is the role of the historian and of museums.

By creating an inclusive shared dialogue and by helping to preserve our sense of place we also preserve reminders of the past that connect us in the continuum of time. Archibald implores us to preserve the buildings, streets, cemeteries and landscapes that serve as our memory places, those places that provide a haven against immoderate and disorientating change. The Eads Bridge and Soulard Market in St. Louis, small town cemeteries and courthouse squares, monuments and fields of unbroken prairie are all such memory places. Yet our society increasingly deserts them and allows them to be bulldozed, paved over and recreated in the coast-to-coast mimicry of every-town, USA. What is left of such places as Ishpeming, Michigan, or Algonquin, Illinois, or Orlando, Florida, but a tangled mess of golden arches, blue flashing signs and good deals on cheaply made mass-produced merchandise hawked by underpaid "associates" clad in blue smocks. After larger and larger "big boxes" slaughter independent retailers and even each other, then they too will be abandoned and left to hang heavily on the tree of public largess. As the author pointedly notes, "Abandonment has always been an identifying characteristic of the American landscape— the oil was pumped up, the mine played out, the people moved on, ... the whole place was abandoned." As stewards of the earth we need to slow down and to seriously consider the difference between progress and change and to carefully preserve those resources that really belong to future generations. Stewardship, then, is our sacred obligation. Yet, ".. .we behave as if the earth is not particularly relevant."

The New Town Square tells us to realize that history is a shared story of many culturally diverse voices and viewpoints and, that our connections with these stories serve to moor us to previous generations. Grounded in the past, historians can present models for the future as society attempts to deal with overwhelming change. Museum collections can provide context and their artifacts can be evocative reminders of the triumphs, struggles, hopes and fears

28 |ILLINOIS HERITAGE

of past and present generations. "...History has implications that require action," says Archibald, but history belongs to the community at large. It is the historian whose "business is about what it means to be human, to ask and address the ultimate questions that persist through every generation." Those "ultimate questions" include persistent racism, gender inequality, environmental sensitivity, and public policy at every level. The deterioration of the urban infrastructure, the replication of redundant services in exurbia and our wholesale "...lack of concern for the future is reflected in our thoughtless disregard for the past," Archibald asserts. This is a sad legacy indeed. History professionals are urged to take heed, lest we all be permanently left on the margins of our own society. After all, we don't, economically speaking, really produce money. And bigger, newer, faster, and cheaper is always better in a society beset with nation-wide attention deficit disorder. In such a fast-food, throwaway, instant gratification kind of world, who needs history?

Dr. Archibald would say that we all do if we are to survive in a sustainable, nurturing environment. Heed his lonely call to "leave the world and all its parts in better condition than you found them.. .live into, not merely in or on, your place or this planet, make yourself a part of it, and pass it on."

With such statements, The New Town Square asks us to recognize the merging sameness of our increasingly homogenized society and to move from the periphery of our traditional, watchful silence into the center of real change. Historians and museums can and should lead the way, as we are the caretakers of the national perspective. We provide the national context and if we don't, then Hollywood, Disney, and Wal-Mart will.

John Weck is an Illinois State Historical Society Advisory Board member and has a M.A. in American History from Northern Illinois University. John recently completed coursework for a M.A. in Historical Administration from Eastern Illinois University.

Journey to Cahokia: A Boy's Visit to the Great Mound City
by Albert Lorenz with Joy Schleh
New York: Harry N. Abrams, Inc.,
2004

Cahokia, the ancient city of mounds, may not at first glance seem a promising subject for a picture book. Albert Lorenz and Joy Schleh, however, have created a story children (and their parents) will instantly identify with. Journey to Cahokia reads very much like a modern-day family vacation trip, with small adventures along the route, a tour of a fascinating city, the opportunity to watch a sporting event and a local festival, and, of course, plenty of shopping.

Located on the eastern bank of the Mississippi just above the confluence of the Kaskaskia River, during its heyday from 800 to 1400 (Current Era), Cahokia stood at the crossroads of a transcontinental trade network. In the marketplace, Little Hawk, the boy hero of the story, finds seashells, exotic feathers, decorated pottery, and elaborate jewelry, as well as all sorts of tools and weapons. But the traders not only sold their wares; they also exchanged ideas. The largest metropolis in North America, Cahokia became a cultural capital, a center for religion, politics, and the arts. Thanks to a highly organized social system, the Cahokians built the great mounds and temples which, though in ruins, still awe visitors today.

Inspired by recent exhibit "Hero, Hawk, and Open Hand," Lorenz and Schleh worked with the staff at the Art Institute of Chicago to ensure the book's accuracy. Yet, rather than burden the story with facts, they teach primarily through colorful, busy scenes. Little Hawk himself offers the invitation to learn in the picture where, turning his face toward the reader, he points into the page as if to say, "Look!"

Melody Hen is an historian and writer living in DeKalb.