Perhaps it’s because his birthday is only one day after
mine. Perhaps it is because as I grew I
recognized what an incredible wordsmith he was.
Perhaps it is because one of the happiest memories of my life was doing
a duet acting scene about him, written by Woody Allen, when I was in high
school. Perhaps it is because the facts
of his life read like the greatest tragedy of all time. Or maybe it’s just
because I’m like millions of other people the world over: I love Abraham Lincoln.
My trip to Springfield
two days ago was something I have been looking forward to for as long as I can
remember. It seems that I waited until
just the right moment to make my pilgrimage because, last summer, a brand new
state of the art museum dedicated to Lincoln’s
life opened in Springfield. Had I gone back then, I probably would have
had my visit spoiled by very crowded conditions. Instead I lucked out by entering the building
on the second coldest day of the year--the coldest, being the day before. There was still a good crowd. It just wasn’t overwhelming.
Before I make my criticisms, let me make it clear that I
loved this place. I enjoyed every minute
and was never bored even if sometimes I was annoyed by missed
opportunities.
I want to be careful not to give too much away because what
I most enjoyed was entering a new gallery unaware of what awaited me. The place had a feel of part Disneyland, part haunted house, part metropolitan museum,
and part something I’d never experienced before. The Disney part included two presentations
and I must admit that after seeing the first one, Julie, who was a theatrical
stage manager, and I got as close to the staging area as we could to try to
figure out how they did what they did.
We didn’t figure it out.
The things that struck me the most positively about the
place were also the most subtle. Throughout the exhibits were life-sized
mannequins of the Lincolns
and other historical figures of that time.
Many of them were placed so you could walk right up to them. There was no barrier. I guess because my memories of these people
date back to childhood, I pictured them all towering over me. Maybe because of their proximity or possibly
because of their poses or maybe just because it was where my mind was, I was
struck by the fact that Lincoln didn’t seem taller than me at all and his build
was slighter than mine. Grant came up to
my shoulders. Steven Douglas, my
chest. They were men. Like me.
It’s simple but striking.
Another thing that struck me was how every major moment in Lincoln’s life seemed to
have comedy or moments of euphoric joy punctuated by tragedy--The illness that
led to the death of his son began on a night when a lavish and very successful
party was going on in the White House. The
triumph of his election was destroyed by the Civil War. He was watching a comedy listening to its
biggest laugh line when the bullet that killed him entered his head. I wasn’t sure if the museum was steering me
towards this observation, but the juxtaposition of exhibits certainly made me
aware of how often joy mixed with pain.
What bothered me most about the museum was what has bothered
me for a long time about cutting corners in presenting historical fact through
theatrical interpretation.
One of the most strikingly original rooms was a room that I
believe was called the “Whisper Gallery”.
It was a fantastic concept. It
was a crooked hallway with walls covered with cartoons from the era. As I read the cartoons and the information
about them, speakers piped the voices of actors speaking derisive comments and
jokes about Lincoln. All of the comments were actual quotes from
the time. The problem was that the
voices were even more cartoon-like than the pictures on the wall. They lost their bite by being so. I tried to make the allowance that perhaps
the designer had intended the voices to match the pictures. But I also feel like that decision was a
mistake. I think it would have been far
more disturbing if the care was given to make those whispers sound like the
sincere thoughts of the speaker. On the
wall, you have the cartoons. In your ear
you have mean spirit that supported these cartoons. My feeling about this belief became stronger
a few rooms later.
Along a hallway just prior to the moment when Lincoln signs the Emancipation
Proclamation there are projected heads of actors expressing their opposition to
the document. They are playing Southern
gentlemen, rednecks, concerned politicians, wives of soldiers, southern ladies,
and disgusted abolitionists. All of the
actors have one thing in common: they
all seem to have studied acting under Zell Miller. I stayed to listen to their arguments but it
was difficult. They ranted with vains
bulging and ugly sneers. Their vocal
quality had no variance so it was a constant harangue and I had to work hard to
listen to the words. The only relief
came at the end of the hall. Two African
American actors—one playing Fredrick Douglass—expressed measured concern and
insistence that the document be signed immediately. They were both calm and very reassuring. It gave the clear impression that good people
are quiet and calm and you can recognize bad people by their over the top rage.
I am fully aware that Zell Miller row was not designed for
me alone. I know that people who put this
place together are working hard to make it appealing to children. But I think we do young people a great
disservice—in fact I think we are being extremely condescending when we present
flawed arguments in such a way. When we
present settled discussions like this we’re basically training ourselves to
draw the conclusion that it is easy to tell the evil point of view because it
is presented by wild-eyed Yahoos who scream every word with the subtext of
“look at how mean and angry I am”.
Flawed thinking does not present itself as a real-life
Yosemite Sam. It’s most dangerous form
is someone like Matthew Hale, or Ralph Reed who make their arguments coolly and
calmly. By presenting every single one
of these anti-emancipation individuals in such paroxysmal states the museum,
for one thing, supports and even subsidizes bad acting. But for another it
takes us further away from listening and learning how to recognize bad ideas by
their words. It is clear slavery is
evil. At that time there were people so invested
in the status quo that they actually believed it wasn’t. They BELIEVED it. They didn’t have to yell about it. This would be unsettling. This would make it even clearer what Lincoln was up
against. This would help to make our
children better listeners.
I think it might have been the Ken Burns documentary on the
Civil War that first brought to my attention the notion that a person doesn’t
have to be beaten over the head with patriotism to discover a deeper love for
one’s country. The shear magnitude of
the events that transpired around the presidency of Abraham Lincoln is
overwhelming enough. The Civil War is
our real-life Iliad and even though the characters do not completely parallel, Lincoln can be viewed as
our real-life Agamemnon/Priam. The
museum did a good job of presenting this at such a dosage that it would not
ruin your day but it would sober your view of these people. Maybe it was out of fear of being too much of
a downer that the presenters felt it necessary to wave the flag at the end of
all the major exhibits.
Without giving too much away, there is a very unexpected and
overwhelming exhibit at the end. As I
entered this room, I was already flooded with thoughts and emotion. I made the mistake of reading the description
of the exhibit. More specifically, I
made a mistake of reading the last sentence.
It instructed me that as I viewed the exhibit I should think about all
the soldiers who lost their lives in wars for our country. I don’t find the sentiment reprehensible or
even incorrect. But since there had been
no other instructions throughout the museum I felt a bit caught off guard and
annoyed. I wish they would have trusted
the exhibit and let it speak for itself.
I think what bothered me most about these patriotism sucker
punches is that they seemed to miss the point.
We don’t live in a perpetual state as the empirically greatest country,
although we have achieved moments of absolute world changing greatness sometimes
for prolonged periods. We live in a country that always has the potential to be
the greatest country. Lincoln understood this.
In that short speech, the Gettysburg Address, in which some form of the
word “dedicate” appears six times and devotion appears twice, he states, that
the new nation, had been “dedicated to the PROPOSITION that all men are created
equal.” It was a proposal.
Not a given.
It is something that every generation needed to be
rededicated to. It seemed like the
wording behind the flag waving moments supported the notion that somehow Lincoln, succeeded in preserving the Union
and thus died for our sins and thus all is forgiven and all that is left for us
to do is to wave the flag and celebrate his victory. In fact, he wanted to preserve the union to
preserve the pursuit of the proposition.
He said as much in his final speech but few wanted to listen. He was
speaking from a window in the White House the night of Lee’s surrender. Most people didn’t want to hear about the
work that lay ahead so they wandered of—waving their flags. Heartbreakingly, one of the few who stayed,
ended up killing him.
Triumph and tragedy.
Admittedly I’ve wandered a bit from my critique of the
museum. But even my meandering comes
from my passion for the subject and the discussion that much of what I saw
created in me.
Go to the museum.
