Presidents' Day

Happy Monday when we conveniently have a long weekend and a celebration of the birthdays of George Washington (who was born February 22, 1732) and Abraham Lincoln (who was born on February 12, 1809).  No one much seems to notice that two other US presidents were born in February -- William Henry Harrison and Ronald Reagan -- and perhaps for good reason.  

Washington is replete with memorials and monuments to presidents and today's honorees have plum spots on the National Mall with the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial. Both are worth introductory and repeat visits, but there are also two other local spots where one can soak in the history of these two men:  Mount Vernon and the Lincoln Cottage. Interestingly, neither of these are owned or managed by the National Park Service (so be prepared to book ahead and pay for tickets) and both take a little bit of effort to visit.  But don't let that dissuade you from doing so. 

Mount Vernon sits on the banks of the Potomac, some 17 miles south of Washington and about 10 miles south of Old Town Alexandria, which was a bustling port in Washington's time.  It is owned by the Mount Vernon Ladies' Association of the Union, and the first time I visited, the interpretation was about what you might expect from a group with such a name. But some time in the mid 2000s, the ladies upped their game, bringing in professional curators and historians so that the site now provides a more robust educational experience. While there is definitely a tone of hero worship here, there is now more context for his life and work, including the operations of the plantation which was maintained by hundreds of enslaved people. The setting is stunning and the grounds provide an enjoyable stroll through woodlands and farmland. The house is elegant but surprisingly small, especially in comparison to the residences of European royalty at the time. 

The Lincoln Cottage is in Washington proper although in Lincoln's day, it was considered out of town and he used it as a retreat, close enough to the White House to allow a daily commute but removed enough to be away from the noise and odors of the city and to catch a coolish breeze on a hot summer night.  Built  in 1842 on the site that ten years later became the Soldier's Home, it today abuts Rock Creek Church Cemetery (which is worth a visit as well). The guided visit takes about an hour and you may learn some things that were absent from your high school history lesson. Notably, the organization that owns and manages the site has made a major commitment to education, using Lincoln's life and work as a springboard to contemporary discussion about liberty, equality, and social justice. (But you can also rent it for your wedding or corporate retreat.)

Both sites are open daily but it's probably smart to book ahead. 

Reflections on MLK Day

Funeral procession for Martin Luther King, Jr., April 9, 1968

There are dates in history that are seared in our minds -- John F. Kennedy's assassination, the moon landing, Nixon's resignation, the failed launch of the Challenger space shuttle, and 9/11. I was too young to remember JFK's death and I slept right through the moon landing, even though I had asked my mom to wake me up so I could see the astronauts take those first steps. The others are vivid in my memory.

My first memory of a public event was Martin Luther King's funeral in 1968, not so much because I knew he was a great man who had been murdered, but because my parents left us with a babysitter that afternoon so they could join the tens of thousands who walked in the procession through the streets of downtown Atlanta. A couple of years later, I was miffed that my grandparents, who came to hear me present a report on King Henry VIII to my 5th grade class, were more interested in the fact that my classmate, Dexter King, the younger of MLK's two sons, was lying on the floor under a table in the living room section of our classroom, than in my carefully researched work. 

These memories are of course colored now by my grownup understanding of King's work. And thankfully given that his birthday is a national holiday, this is not forgotten (although sometimes terribly misinterpreted in bad faith). Today, the airwaves and newspapers will be full of tributes and I'm sure we'll be hearing plenty of "I have a dream" and "injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere" as the appreciations roll out.  

But for me, the words of Dr. King that resonate most deeply, with both admiration and some measure of embarrassment, are from his "Letter from a Birmingham Jail," written in April 1963 after his arrest in the course of nonviolent demonstrations against racism and racial segregation. In his letter, addressed to the city’s white clergy, King admonishes them for doing too little too late – for not throwing their shoulders behind the wheel, for not using their power to bring about true justice.

“I must make two honest confessions to you, my Christian and Jewish brothers. First, I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: “I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action”; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a “more convenient season..."

 

“I felt that the white ministers, priests and rabbis of the South would be among our strongest allies. Instead, some have been outright opponents….all too many others have been more cautious than courageous and have remained silent behind the anesthetizing security of stained glass windows.”

Ouch. 

So today, when you hear the words delivered at the March on Washington, on receipt of the Nobel Peace Prize, or any other occasion, remember that we (and particularly those of us who are privileged) are called to do more than just honor Dr. King. We are also called to do more than write checks, read and reflect, and go to the occasional march or protest. These are all fine but they are not sufficient. The work of justice requires us to get off the sidelines and get into the thick of it now, and not when most convenient; to speak up even when it may seem embarrassing or feel impolite; to listen and support our neighbors who are fighting for things that many of us take for granted.

One of the most meaningful things I've been doing in retirement is becoming more actively involved in the Washington Interfaith Network, an organization comprised of dozens of houses of worship across DC, where we are challenged to build deep relationships -- across race and across faith --  and work productively to build affordable housing, improve the conditions of public housing, strengthen opportunities for Black homeownership, address threats posed by climate change, and address the epidemic of gun violence that is shattering many communities in Washington. 

The work can be slow and it can be frustrating, but even so, it is also soul strengthening. It's something else to sit in the sanctuary at Metropolitan AME Church and listen to the powerful words of its pastor, Rev. William Lamar, surrounded by others who are in common cause. It's stirring to listen to the choir at Varick Memorial in Ward 7 and then cheer on neighborhood residents as they demand specific actions of city council members. And it is joyful to celebrate WIN's wins with people from all these different congregations, most of whom I would otherwise never meet.

We are still a long way from Dr. King's vision of the beloved community. But engaging in direct action and doing more than, as he said, "mouth pious irrelevancies and sanctimonious trivialities" seems like a pretty decent start.

Monument Monday

When the world went into lockdown in March 2020 and many of us shifted to working from home, I started sending an email every morning to the staff of the small federal agency where I was executive director. My "good morning team" messages were meant to keep us connected to each other. Sometimes I tried to be uplifting; other times, I took a more prosaic approach,  wishing happy birthdays; sharing information and resources of observances such as Hispanic Heritage Month or Juneteenth; eliciting comments on podcasts, books, and TV shows; and asking people to post picture of their pets and their summer vacations.  Pet content always elicited the biggest response -- alas, I have no pets.

As it turns out, having something to say every single damn day is harder than it sounds. As the weeks dragged on, I scrambled to keep it fresh. Out of desperation, I started the Monument Monday contest in which I would share a photo of what I thought was a somewhat obscure local monument, awarding points for the first correct answer.  While I thought this might encourage people to get out and about at a time when there was little else to do, it turns out that it simply taught folks how to use Google image search.

At any rate, in the spirit of Monument Monday, today's post is about a monument that I had no idea existed until I stumbled upon it during the Beyond Granite: Pulling Together exhibit in August.  The memorial to the 56 signers of the Declaration of Independence is on a small island in Constitution Gardens (on the north side of the Mall, between the Vietnam Memorial and 15th Street).  Conceived as part of the many Bicentennial celebrations that took place in 1976, it wasn't actually authorized until 1978 and not completed until 1984.

As monuments go, it's pretty modest, consisting of a series of smooth granite blocks etched with the actual signature of each signer, plus their state, hometown, and profession. There's no additional signage or commentary on the events that led to the declaration or the back stories of these men, whom history now tells us were both visionaries and deeply flawed individuals. In any case, the setting provides a wonderful spot for quiet contemplation, whether your thoughts run to evaluating the success of the American experiment or considering what's for dinner.

Telling the Story of Black Broad Branch and Belmont

The Friendship Heights neighborhood, which straddles the line between DC and Maryland, has become a bit of a ghost town with big retail failing during the pandemic, emptying out two indoor shopping spaces -- Mazza Gallerie and Chevy Chase Pavilion -- plus countless other smaller spaces. A business improvement district (BID), the Friendship Heights Alliance, has been formed to spur redevelopment and what they called "placemaking" on both sides of the District line, but it's going to be awhile before the area is vibrant again.

Say what you will about BIDs, one positive step by this one has been activation of the streetscape of a PEPCO substation along the west side of Wisconsin Avenue between Harrison and the south entrance of the Metro station, with exhibits focused on neighborhood history. Last year, local historians worked with students at Jackson-Reed High School to tell the story of the taking of the Fort Reno from Black residents who lived there after the Civil War and into the early 20th century. And this week, a new exhibit opened to tell two additional stories of the area's shameful past: the forced relocation of Black families living along Broad Branch Road to create a school and park serving White families, and the actions of the Chevy Chase Land Company to prevent development of Belmont, a subdivision on the Maryland side of Chevy Chase that was the brain child of Black developers. The last panel brings us out of the past to the present, suggesting opportunities for repair and reparations. 

The project, a collaboration of independent historians, the DC History Center, and the University of District of Columbia, will likely be up for awhile so you have time to wander over to absorb it all. 

For Your Listening Enjoyment

 

From Foxtrot Comics by Bill Amend

These days when getting together with friends, the conversation predictably leads to three questions:  What are you reading? What are you watching? And, what are you listening to?

I love a good podcast and love having the company in my pocket while I cook, do yard work, or just take a walk. My podcast listening started (predictably for my demographic) with This American Life and Serial but has since branched out. When I gave up my New Yorker subscription, finding that I could either read books or read The New Yorker, it was nice to realize that Terry Gross routinely interviews the authors of the magazine's longest articles, condensing hours I would have spent trying to understand the origins of an overseas conflict or the ins and outs of cryptocurrency, with a tight 50 minutes on the Fresh Air podcast.

But sometimes subscribing to an interesting podcast can feel as much like a chore as doing the laundry or striving for in-box zero. So what I really love is a good limited series that reels me in for 6 episodes or so and then I'm off the hook.  In that spirit, here are a few of the limited series I can heartily recommend.  Listen, as they say, "wherever you get your podcasts."  

Wind of Change: In 1990 when things were changing rapidly in Eastern Europe, the West German band, The Scorpions, had a mega hit with a power ballad, Wind of Change. This podcast by the same name asks the question of whether the song was actually written by The Scorpions or by the CIA. Yes that's right. In the hands of Patrick Radden Keefe, a journalist who had huge success with books about the troubles in Ireland and the Sackler family, this question doesn't seem so silly.

Anything that Rachel Maddow puts her hands on:  Rachel Maddow is incredibly impressive but I find her TV show to be a bit much given that she generally makes her point in the first 10 minutes and uses the remaining 50 to make it again and again. But the three limited series podcasts that she has produced and hosted are all top notch, focusing on parallels between sometimes forgotten moments in U.S. history and politics and the present day. Bagman is all about Spiro Agnew, who was forced to resign from the vice presidency (fortunately before Nixon resigned).  Ultra takes us back to the 1930s when there was a strong fascist streak in American politics, and Deja News riffs on the question of "has this happened before?" with a series of different stories on the theme. That Maddow is a good storyteller is no surprise, but I also love that she doesn't hog the spotlight from her  collaborators.

Buried Truths: This podcast, hosted by former Atlanta Constitution managing editor Hank Klibanoff and produced by WABE, focuses on civil rights cold cases.  Klibanoff has pressed his students at Emory into action to help uncover the truth about cases from the 1950s and 60s where justice was not served.  The team combs court records and FBI files, and interviews the surviving children of those either falsely accused or all too often murdered. Technically, this is not a limited series because there are now four seasons in the book but each season is one long arc about one story. It's amazing how Klibanoff and his students turn historical scraps of evidence into a compelling narrative. Plus I love hearing it all in Klibanoff's soft Alabama accent.

Scamanda: One of my former colleagues turned me onto this -- a riveting tale about how a young woman named Amanda scammed hundreds of people (including members of her own family) into giving her tens of thousands of dollars supposedly for cancer treatment. Why do we find true crime so addictive?  I can't say but this one will definitely keep you wondering what happens next.  My one complaint is that the eight episodes could probably have been trimmed to just six.

La Brega:  Back when my job required me to think about how Medicaid worked in the U.S. territories, I discovered this podcast all about Puerto Rico. This was a fascinating dive into the history and culture of a place that is both part and apart from the rest of the United States. You can listen in either English or Spanish; either way, you won't be disappointed.

Do you have a favorite limited series to share?  If so, drop me a line in the comments.

Thanks to Our Veterans (a little late)

Veterans Day was either Friday or Saturday of last week. Unlike other federal holidays that are observed on the closest Monday to the actual holiday, Veterans Day is always observed on the exact day itself -- November 11.  I'm confused though because while the 11th fell on Saturday this year, the federal holiday was observed on Friday but somehow the mail carrier still delivered our mail that day.

My confusion is not the point, though. We observe Veterans Day on the 11th of November because that's when the armistice for World War I went into effect, even more specifically the guns went silent at 11 am, making it final on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month.  And in my family, this is significant because both of my grandfathers served in World War I.

My father's father, Abraham B. Schwartz (or Beb as he was known from childhood) was 26 when the U.S. entered the war. He was a fully qualified physician and therefore entered the U.S. Army as an officer. Although I knew him well, his war experience was never something that we discussed.  Moreover, his military records were among many that were destroyed by a massive fire in 1973 at the National Personnel Records Center in St. Louis.  So what I know of his Army experience is pieced together from photos, other official records, and a few jottings in his handwriting and that of my grandmother.

After being inducted in Milwaukee in late 1917, he received his basic training at Fort Riley, Kansas. In August 1918, he boarded the Leviathan, en route for U.S. Base Hospital 82 in Toul in northeastern France. This was just about 25 miles from St. Mihiel, where a major battle was fought in September of that year.  Beb was not a surgeon so I'm not sure what his role might have been in such an engagement.

The rest of his service is a bit of a mystery, the only clues being the photo below which is labeled on the back "interviewing Russians at a displaced persons camp, 1919" and a note in his official Abridged Prayer Book for Jews in the Army and Navy of the United States, that he was a volunteer with Russian prisoners of war.  Perhaps the Yiddish spoken in his childhood home or phrases in Russian that his parents brought with them when they emigrated from what is now Belarus was helpful?

He was discharged in August 1919, returning to Milwaukee where he practiced pediatrics until he turned 80.

My mother's father, Sydney Freedman, had a different experience. He died on my 5th birthday so I only have a few memories of him but fortunately, I do have a few facts. In the fall of 1917, he was two years out of high school, working as a salesman for E. Kirstein and Sons, a manufacturer of optical products in Rochester, NY. (Two interesting footnotes here:  First, the company held his job and paid a portion of his salary throughout his military service. Second, the "sons" of the company title included Lincoln Kirstein, perhaps best known as one of the founders of the New York City Ballet and who also served in World War II as one of its Monuments Men, locating and retrieving artworks stolen by the Nazis.).  

He did his basic training at Fort Dix, New Jersey where the Thanksgiving meal included both oysters on the half shell and roast loin of pork, items that certainly would not have been eaten in his Jewish home. In May 1918, Battery D 19th Field Artillery shipped out for Europe on a ship called Tunisian, arriving almost a month later.  New York State maintained records of soldiers in its own archive which is how I know that his unit engaged at Vosges, St. Mihiel, Thiacourt, and "Pogney Front", the last of these yielding nothing on a Google search. A lifelong joker, Private Freedman told my mother that he served in the cavalry and his job was to clean "the part under the horse's tail." 

When the armistice came, he was sent to be part of the U.S. forces supervising the evacuation of the Germans from Luxembourg, billeting with a family in Itzig, until his discharge in July 1919.  My mother-in-law's family came from that area and left aunts, uncles, and cousins behind, the descendants of whom the family remains in touch with to this day. It is crazy for me to consider that my grandfather, this short, portly Jewish fellow from New York, might have lived with the Catholic farmers related to my husband, and what they might have made of each other.

Syd's younger brother Ephraim also served in the army but never went further than Buffalo.

His future brothers-in-law, Sam and Joseph Cohen, were not inducted until May 1918, and they too never saw any overseas action.  Their basic training took place at Camp Sheridan near Montgomery, Alabama and I imagine (although can't say for sure) that this was the furthest they'd ever been away from home.

Happily for their mothers, all these men came home in one piece (because if not, I would not be here at all). Sadly for all of us, World War I did not turn out to be the war to end all wars. 

Capital Jewish Museum

It's Yom Kippur, the most sacred day of the year in Jewish calendar, and I should be fasting. But I'm not.  Fasting doesn't make me look inward. It just makes me cranky. And since there are other things I can do to be a good Jew, I'm going to focus on those instead.

Learning and study are high on the list of mitzvot (obligations) for Jews, making a visit to the Capital Jewish Museum both a nice way to educate oneself about the history of the Jews in Washington, DC and a nice diversion from a book. The museum is built around the original Adas Israel synagogue which was dedicated in 1876 with President Ulysses S. Grant in attendance.  The congregation decamped in 1908 for the building that is now Sixth and I and later moved to Cleveland Park. Over the subsequent years, the building was home to multiple churches and retail establishments. Thankfully the building was never torn down and was actually moved several times until it reopened earlier this year at 3rd and F Streets NW, with new exhibition space and other facilities wrapped around it.  

The history of Washington's Jewish community follows a path similar to other localities. Its original members were relatively prosperous Sephardic Jews followed by middle class German immigrants post Civil War and those from Eastern Europe arriving later and into the early years of the 20th century. But since Washington was basically a small town until the New Deal and World War II dramatically expanded the size of the federal government and was under direct control of the US Congress until the 1970s, the story of the Jewish community is one of shopkeepers and artisans with few big personalities or stories. 

This changed over time, and the second gallery features 100 accomplished Jewish Washingtonians who have distinguished themselves locally and nationally through careers in arts, science, political advocacy, commerce, and other fields. This and other exhibits touch on important and sometimes sensitive subjects such as race, reproductive freedom, human rights, and environmental justice, with a clear intention to promote reflection and action. There are buttons to push and other interactive features that will keep kids happy while the grownups stay busy with lots of text.

Right now you can also visit The Notorious RBG, an exhibition focused on Ruth Bader Ginsburg's life and work, created by the Skirball Cultural Center in Los Angeles. It's light on DC content (other than that she served on both the DC Circuit of the U.S. Court of Appeals and the Supreme Court) but full of interesting objects and successfully turns judicial decisions into visual displays for the non-lawyers among us (me included).

Museum entry is free although there is an additional fee for the RBG exhibit.

Unexpected

I was looking at Google Maps awhile back, figuring out the distances between two places in my neighborhood, when I noticed a pin just across the District line, labeled "Samuel Shoemaker Family Cemetery."  I had walked the streets of this Bethesda neighborhood many times and never noticed anything other than shady streets, a community pool, and houses of various sizes and vintages.

I couldn't help myself.  I had to investigate!

Even though the site was clearly located on the map, it took me awhile to figure out the access point as I certainly did not want to go tromping through anyone's yard. Finally, I found a grassy lane off of Allan Road that took me behind the backyards of the houses fronting on Bayard Boulevard (a street far less fancy than its name). 

There I found a small plot, no bigger than 20' by 20'. Half a dozen tombstones are protected by a wrought iron fence, bearing the names of various members of the Shoemaker family who lived in this area in the mid 19th century.  A little Googling revealed that the Shoemakers were Quakers who emigrated to Montgomery County, Maryland from the Philadelphia area. They farmed in the area now known as Yorktown Village and Westmoreland Hills, leaving little behind when the land was developed starting in the 1930s and kicking into high gear in the 1950s and 60s.  There's a Civil War fortification, Battery Bailey, nearby but otherwise little left of the Shoemakers and their neighbors, save for Shoemaker Farm Lane which cuts between high-rise apartment buildings in Friendship Heights.  And there's no trace of another family cemetery, that of the Isaac Shoemaker family, other than a pin on Google Maps.

In Europe, a graveyard of this vintage would scarcely merit a mention; a small church in a rural English village I visited last summer dated back to the Middle Ages. But here in the new world, it's still pretty cool to find a trace of an even more recent past, especially when it's entirely unexpected.

Tudor Place

Washington has an embarrassment of riches when it comes to tourist sites. The monuments and memorials, the Smithsonian museums, the Capitol, and the White House can keep you busy for a weeklong visit. Next there is the second tier of places to see:  Arlington Cemetery, Mount Vernon, Great Falls, and myriad other museums off the Mall such as the Phillips Collection, Hillwood, and the Kreeger. 

And then there's Tudor Place, one of dozens of historic sites that, in the Michelin Guide parlance, is probably not "worth the detour" but maybe "worth a stop." This historic home, which occupies almost a full city block in Georgetown (with an entrance on 31st Street between Q and R Streets), was designed for Martha and Robert Peter by William Thornton, an amateur architect who won the first design competition for the U.S. Capitol. Mrs. Peter was the granddaughter of Martha Washington and the house's furnishings include many items from Mount Vernon.  It stayed in the family until 1983 when the last Mr. Peter died, after having set up a foundation to keep the property intact and open to visitors.

The mansion houses a somewhat eclectic collection of furniture, artwork, china, crystal and other items that date from the Federalist period to mid 20th century. Plus there are the grounds with formal gardens, a garage with a Pierce Arrow roadster, and an expansive lawn that once allowed the residents to see all the way to the busy port on the Potomac (trees and other buildings now impede that view). The guided tour nods to the site's original residents -- members of the Piscataway/Nacotchtank tribes -- and is forthright about its slaveholding past although offers few details on the lives of the dozens of enslaved people who lived there. The narrative mostly focuses on details of the Peter family's history, especially Britannia Peter Kennon, who lived from 1815 to 1911, many of those years onsite. There are colorful anecdotes about the explosion of the USS Princeton in 1843, Confederate cousins playing spy, and use of the property by Union officers during the Civil War.

I wouldn't drop everything to book your visit, but if your wanderings take you to Georgetown to shop, stroll, or dine, consider adding Tudor Place to your itinerary.  

Whitewashing History

As a kid, I loved going to the public library every week and I was lucky enough to have stacks of books in my bedroom to enjoy at all hours of the day.  I spent countless hours at our neighborhood library with my own kids, both of whom were voracious readers from an early age.

For the past three years, I've been culling children's books from the dozens of Little Free Libraries in my neighborhood and using these to restock the Little Free Library in front of a nearby transitional housing facility for families. It's a task that kept me from being bored to tears walking the same streets over and over during that first year of the pandemic plus it gave me some satisfaction that the children stuck between their old living situations and the promise of something permanent could experience the joy of books on a regular basis.  

Over the months of foraging and restocking, I've learned a few things about what moves and what doesn't at the Little Free.  Picture books and board books fly out of the box, including titles from Dolly Parton's Imagination Library, and anything with super heroes or characters from Disney's Frozen.  For slightly older readers, Captain Underpants is always a hit as are the Magic Tree House and Geronimo Stilton series. Books with dated cover art can sit for weeks although Good Night Moon always disappears in a snap even though nothing has changed since it was published in 1947.  Since most of the kids staying at the facility are Black or Latino, I am always on the lookout for titles featuring children of color and these go quickly as well.

Recently, I realized I had collected a number of picture books about American history featuring an elephant as the main character.  I finally gave these books a closer look, only to find that they were authored by Callista Gingrich, Trump's ambassador to the Vatican and wife of former U.S. Rep. Newt Gingrich.  To be blunt, these are not my favorite people.  As I see it, Newt Gingrich's naked ambition and desire for power is at the root of much of what is toxic in today's political discourse.

Mrs. Gingrich's book series were New York Times best sellers so I figured I should take a look inside before passing judgment.

Judgment passed.  These engagingly designed books are nothing but right wing whitewashing of America's past. Every Native American is a happy one; the westward expansion is all progress without consequence. Andrew Jackson is a hero. Abraham Lincoln freed the slaves but otherwise Black people get no mention (except for one image of Barack Obama among recent presidents and a mention of LBJ's role in enacting civil rights legislation).  Christianity is revered as a unifying force in American life.  And women feature only as First Ladies.

Admittedly, picture books are a tough format for nuance and hat's off to other children's authors who've combined love of country with calls for us to do more to advance the American ideals of democracy and justice  As for the Gingrich books, I'm going to recycle them back from whence they came. Kids who are experiencing homelessness deserve reading material that gives them hope for the future, rather than a regressive window into the past.

Lifting Up African American History

 I was walking down the street in Georgetown the other day, en route to take care of a mundane errand, when I came across this sign:

Of course, I knew that Georgetown preceded the establishment of Washington as a important commercial center on the East Coast, and of course, I knew that chattel slavery was an integral part of its history. Still, the sign shocked me, particularly the frank description of the site being used as a "slave pen," a term that reinforces the notion that enslaved people were considered a lower form of life, more similar to pigs and cows than to other human beings.

And it was good to be provoked out of my somnambulant state where the scenery otherwise provided views of small but well maintained townhouses dating back to Colonial days.

The sign was posted as part of the Georgetown African American Historic Landmark Project.  While you can get to their home page, unfortunately, there seems to be a problem if you try to dive deeper into information about specific sites and tours.  I did find another way to learn via the Commission on Fine Arts website:  this document includes a map and information about the project's work to date.  Add an African American history tour to my to do list.

DC vs. Paris: Part V

When making comparisons about history, DC doesn't stack up very well against Paris.  On the one hand, you've got a town that had its origins long before the Romans and on the other, well let's just say that when Washington, DC was created as the capital of the U.S. in 1791, it was little more than a wide spot in the road.  True, there had been Native Americans in the area for thousands of years prior, but today, precious little remains of their dwelling in this area. 

In Paris, it's not unusual to run across an inscription like this:

(In case your French and French history are in need of refreshing, the event noted here took place in 1610.)

And though there's no shortage of more recent history that's marked in and around DC, these two markers are more in keeping with the American notion that history doesn't matter.

But don't think this is the last word on the subject from me.  DC's short history has plenty of great stories and I look forward to sharing some of them with you.