Musings on Museums and other stuff...

Yesterday was one of the rarest of rare days that I had entirely to myself. Going home for one day did not make sense when the possibility of a flight delay or cancellation could have caused problems getting back, so I stayed here in lovely Rockville, Maryland. I had dreams of sleeping late, but my internal clock would not allow that and I was up before 7am. It had been a few years since I had done the “tourist” thing in DC, so I decided to head down the Monuments and the Museums and see what had changed.

I took the Red Line train to Metro Center, with plans to switch to the Blue Line and get off at the Smithsonian, but I changed my mind when I saw the massive crowd of red shirted pre-teens standing at the top of the escalators. I could see that their chaperones were trying to herd them in the right direction, but the kids were so full of early morning energy that they seemed to have little interest in doing what they were told. I glanced over the railing to see that the Blue Line platform was full of more young people, dressed in varying shades of t-shirt colors, and that was when I decided to walk.

It’s about seven blocks from Metro Center to the National Mall if you leave the Metro from the correct exit, which I did. Unfortunately, I turned the wrong way and walked two blocks in the opposite direction before I realized what I was doing. In my defense, I had not had coffee at that point.

Being flexible, I decided to make the best of my detour and circle around to see the newly renovated Ford’s Theatre. When I reached the intersection of 10th and F Streets, I realized that there was no point going further. The sidewalks were full of school groups and families, lines stretching to the far corner and beyond. Once again, I altered my plan. Ford’s Theatre would wait for another day.

It was a beautiful morning to walk. The sun was shining brightly, but the air was still cool. I found a little diner where I grabbed a quick breakfast and some coffee to go. Without the obnoxious rush of weekday traffic, the streets were pleasant. No honking, no delivery trucks belching black fumes. By the time I reached Constitution Avenue, I was in good spirits.

I had heard about the new Lincoln Exhibit at the American History Museum and I was anxious to see it, but I decided to make a quick run through the Natural History Museum first. Inside, I grabbed a brochure and immediately recognized what I wanted to see first. There was a new exhibit on the second floor called “Written in Bone, Forensic Files of the 17th Century Chesapeake.” I waded through the crowd of youngsters and families and made my way upstairs.



The exhibit was fascinating, detailing the exhumation of graves from Jamestown and other Chesapeake area settlements, and describing the science of how the bones gave clues into the daily lives of those people. As with all exhibits I have encountered in Smithsonian museum, it was meticulously detailed and beautifully displayed. As I roamed the maze of bones, photos and recreated burial sites, I could feel the history of the Chesapeake area come alive. That is the magic of the museums, reminding us that we are a part of something much bigger than ourselves.

Toward the end of the exhibit, there was a Forensics Laboratory, where you could examine and even hold different bones. Staff were present to explain (and protect) the bones, and I struck up a conversation with one about Dr. Bill Bass, famous for developing the University of Tennessee’s Body Farm. Having read his books and attended some of his lectures, I am a big fan. The young lady told me that an Anthropologist who died in 2002 had requested that his body be donated to the Body Farm for research and then his bones brought to the Smithsonian for display. When his dog died soon after, both of their bones were used to create an exhibit which was just outside the lab. She also told me that his wife has requested her bones to be added to the display when she passes. I thought this was all extremely cool.

Having no desire to see the Hope Diamond again and growing tired of the crowds, I made a quick pass through the Oceans, Orchids and Mammal exhibits and left the Natural History Museum. When I came out into the bright open area of the National Mall, I was a bit overwhelmed by the vast number of people everywhere I turned. I started visiting DC on a regular basis just after 9/11, so the tourist business had been drastically impaired. I think that spoiled me a bit. When I first visited the museums and the monuments, there were people, but not masses of humanity. Tourism is back in full swing in DC, and although I completely understand it, I don’t particularly like being in the middle of it.

I made my way down to the Museum of American History and thought as I entered its doors, what an incredible thing John Smithson did for this nation. Despite the fact that he had never stepped foot on our shores, he had an interesting stipulation in his will. He ordered that his fortune be passed to his one heir, a nephew named Henry James Dickinson. The will further stipulated (and I think this part is very interesting), that if his nephew died without either “legitimate or illegitimate children” then the money should go "to the United States of America, to found at Washington, an establishment for the increase and diffusion of knowledge among men." Fortunately for us, when the nephew died in 1835 he had no heirs, legitimate or otherwise, and the Smithson fortune worth $508,318 was sent to the United States to develop his legacy.

In his wildest dreams, I’m sure James Smithson could have never imagined the scope of that legacy today. Currently there are 19 museums, the National Zoo, and 9 research centers funded by the Smithsonian Institution. In an incredible gift to not just the American people, but the visitors who come here from all over the world, all of the museums and the zoo are completely free (as long as you stay away from the museum stores, cafes and snack bars). There are over 136 million items in its collections, and they have an average yearly admittance of over 25 million people. In the last three months alone, nearly one million people have visited the Museum of American History. In fact, I think they were all there on Saturday.

I wove my way through the awestruck tourists and first-timers to the East Wing escalators. Lincoln awaited, and I was excited to see what the museum had waiting for me. When I got to the entrance of 3 East, I realized that what was waiting on me was an extremely long line. Imagine Disney World on a Summer Day. School groups and families, strollers and wheelchairs, crying kids and fanny packs. It was a nightmare.

I felt bad for these people. The line didn’t seem to be moving AT ALL. Those who had actually made it inside the exhibit were no doubt taking their sweet, loving time. This might be their one and only trip to DC and the glory of these magnificent museums. They were going to read every word on every placard. They were going to examine the photographs and the heirlooms. They were going to imagine the recreations coming to life around them. It was their right, and honestly, I didn’t blame them one bit.

Unlike most of these people, I had options. A bright flashing sign erupted in my head reading “YOU ARE HERE TWICE A MONTH, MORON!” The sign kicked me with two blatantly obvious notions: 1) I was in DC an average of twice a month, so there was no need to stand in line like this when I could easily come back on one of my other numerous visits, and more importantly 2) If I am in DC an average of twice a month, why do I not make a greater effort to come to the museums?

The answer, as with most things in my life that I look back at and frown upon, is that I am a spectacular procrastinator, and more than a little bit lazy. It takes effort to be enlightened and entertained, and it’s so much easier to choose to do nothing.

As I watched the line of folks who had spent their own, hard earned money to drive or fly to DC, who had planned this trip for months (and maybe dreamed of it for years), and as they stood in line because they didn’t have a choice to return on a weekday afternoon in two weeks when the crowd will be much lighter, I felt pretty pathetic. I have gotten into quite a rut of retreating to my room each evening, settling for reruns on USA and TNT networks or browsing the Internet, watching or reading about other people who are actually doing interesting things.

Defeated by the crowds and slapped around a bit by my conscience, I decided by lick my wounds by visiting Fonzie’s jacket and the Seinfeld “Puffy Shirt.” I knew that if anything could make me feel better, it was the “puffy shirt.” When I reached 3 West and the “Thanks for the Memories” wing, I found the other half a million people who were not in line for the Lincoln exhibit. No “puffy shirt” for me, I decided. My lesson in DC tourism, school trip schedules and family vacations was complete.

I wandered back out to the sparse grass and trodden dirt of the Mall and appreciated the impressive bookends of the Capital and Washington Monument. I contemplated a walk to the other side of the Mall where the World War II, Vietnam, Korean and Lincoln Memorials honored the heroes of our nations past. Much as I love them, I could see the throngs of people heading that direction, and I decided that one more person would just be in the way.

Instead, I just sat on a park bench for good long while, watching as parents held the hands of their toddlers, kindergartners and even teenagers. Next week, when they are back home and in their routine again, those teens and parents probably won’t be speaking much. The parents will be rushing to get to work or running errands, worried about bills and how to pay for what they had to put on their Credit Cards while in DC. The teens will be texting and worried about who likes who. I hope the memory of their trip lingers though, and the feeling of visiting the Smithsonian Museums, taking photos of each other in front of Monuments, and most importantly, holding hands with each other as they walked across the National Mall. Those are the things that really matter.