Whitman Field Trips

I am indebted to Other Sam for drawing my attention to this very moving detail.  One of the best things I saw at the Library of Congress was Whitman’s letter of December 29, 1862 (that is, exactly 106 years before the day I was born), to his mother about finding George in Fredericksburg.  We were able to read aloud his words about the suffering of the soldiers putting other suffering into perspective.  We have read this letter in a collected of selected letters: “Dear, dear Mother, . . . I succeeded in reaching the 51st New York, and found George alive and well–in order to make sure that you would get the good news, I sent back by messenger to Washington (I dare say you did not get it for some time), a telegraphic dispatch . . .”  What is not visible in that version of the letter is the revision Whitman made, no doubt anticipating the anxiety with which his mother would scan the letter if she had not received the “telegraphic dispatch” or was desperate for information about her wounded son.  Lovely:

revision ("alive and well"), photo by MNS 10/24/09, LOC

I am indebted to Other Sam for drawing my attention to this very moving detail.  One of the best things I saw at the Library of Congress was Whitman’s letter of December 29, 1862 (that is, exactly 106 years before the day I was born), to his mother about finding George in Fredericksburg.  We were able to read aloud his words about the suffering of the soldiers putting other suffering into perspective.  We have read this letter in a collected of selected letters: “Dear, dear Mother, . . . I succeeded in reaching the 51st New York, and found George alive and well–in order to make sure that you would get the good news, I sent back by messenger to Washington (I dare say you did not get it for some time), a telegraphic dispatch . . .”  What is not visible in that version of the letter is the revision Whitman made, no doubt anticipating the anxiety with which his mother would scan the letter if she had not received the “telegraphic dispatch” or was desperate for information about her wounded son.  Lovely:

revision ("alive and well"), photo by MNS 10/24/09, LOC

I am indebted to Other Sam for drawing my attention to this very moving detail.  One of the best things I saw at the Library of Congress was Whitman’s letter of December 29, 1862 (that is, exactly 106 years before the day I was born), to his mother about finding George in Fredericksburg.  We were able to read aloud his words about the suffering of the soldiers putting other suffering into perspective.  We have read this letter in a collected of selected letters: “Dear, dear Mother, . . . I succeeded in reaching the 51st New York, and found George alive and well–in order to make sure that you would get the good news, I sent back by messenger to Washington (I dare say you did not get it for some time), a telegraphic dispatch . . .”  What is not visible in that version of the letter is the revision Whitman made, no doubt anticipating the anxiety with which his mother would scan the letter if she had not received the “telegraphic dispatch” or was desperate for information about her wounded son.  Lovely:

revision ("alive and well"), photo by MNS 10/24/09, LOC

Immediacy is something the Reverend talks about as a benefit of the blog, social networking technologies, and the great digital experiment that is Looking for Whitman.  Presence.  Accessibility.  These are words we use a lot.  So this week a question has been dogging me while I process Digital Whitman’s Saturday field trip to Washington City.  This pair of images sets it up:

WW notebook #94, Library of Congress American Memory site

WW notebook, photo by MNS, Library of Congress

The one on top is from a link to the Library of Congress I gave the class a few weeks ago, urging them to use these digitized images to study what OMW recorded about the soldiers.  The bottom was taken on our field trip, and is surprisingly focused given that I, Brady Earnhart, and our students were nearly all literally in tears in that weird institutional room with lockers, blackened windows, and government-issue tables.  Unless we were crying with simple gratitude for the incredible time that Barbara Bair had given us (or because we were soaked to the bloody skin  and had been standing for 10 hours with two or three to go), why were we?  Nothing was much easier to read in person, as those of us who stumbled reading aloud can attest (writing still spidery, bleeding through paper, plastic protection on many items reflected flourescent glare, etc.).  We couldn’t touch anything (though, good lord, we certainly breathed all over it), couldn’t feel the paper, the wood, the leather, the hair (the hair!).

Whitman's hair, deathbed edition, photo by MNS 10/24/09

I couldn’t even smell the leather of that haversack or of its decay, and I have one good super-sniffer.

cue to tears: the haversack, photo by MNS 10/24/09

Obviously, what I am suggesting is this: the artifacts of the Library of Congress archive were in some ways no more accessible or immediate (indeed, let’s be honest, a lot LESS accessible or even immediate if we mean time instead of proximity) than the digitized images of those artifacts online.  I saw that the inside of the haversack is brown canvas.  Brendon found a fingerprint and will NOT entertain suggestions that it belongs to anyone but Walt Whitman.  But tears?

Presence.  Through the blog we are present to each other online even when we are physically apart during the week (or have never seen each other: hallooo out there, Brooklyn, Camden, and Novi Sad!).  Agreed.  But finally Saturday we were (good) old-fashioned groupies, we were Whitman lovers, and we were bodies (finer than prayer, but, geez, we were a bit rank by Hour Ten of the marathon).  We desired the physical–the textured, the pasted, the water-stained.  We may have cried because the broken skins of brittle pages and fragile covers, the light-sensitive [associative digression: Whitman's Camden eyeglasses: so small, and with one lens protectively glazed over after strokes] and subsequently entombed haversack, and the tickets to a lecture on Lincoln long since delivered were as close to Whitman (brittle, entombed…) as we are going to get, as present as we can be.  Unlike the wounded soldiers, we won’t get the healing presence of his 200-pound, hirsute, maroon-coated, deep-pocketed self.  But it turns out that the digitized can’t hold a gas lamp to the physically present, and even if it’s paper and not flesh, I’ll take it.  Whitmaniacs, pass the tissues.

Immediacy is something the Reverend talks about as a benefit of the blog, social networking technologies, and the great digital experiment that is Looking for Whitman.  Presence.  Accessibility.  These are words we use a lot.  So this week a question has been dogging me while I process Digital Whitman’s Saturday field trip to Washington City.  This pair of images sets it up:

WW notebook #94, Library of Congress American Memory site

WW notebook, photo by MNS, Library of Congress

The one on top is from a link to the Library of Congress I gave the class a few weeks ago, urging them to use these digitized images to study what OMW recorded about the soldiers.  The bottom was taken on our field trip, and is surprisingly focused given that I, Brady Earnhart, and our students were nearly all literally in tears in that weird institutional room with lockers, blackened windows, and government-issue tables.  Unless we were crying with simple gratitude for the incredible time that Barbara Bair had given us (or because we were soaked to the bloody skin  and had been standing for 10 hours with two or three to go), why were we?  Nothing was much easier to read in person, as those of us who stumbled reading aloud can attest (writing still spidery, bleeding through paper, plastic protection on many items reflected flourescent glare, etc.).  We couldn’t touch anything (though, good lord, we certainly breathed all over it), couldn’t feel the paper, the wood, the leather, the hair (the hair!).

Whitman's hair, deathbed edition, photo by MNS 10/24/09

I couldn’t even smell the leather of that haversack or of its decay, and I have one good super-sniffer.

cue to tears: the haversack, photo by MNS 10/24/09

Obviously, what I am suggesting is this: the artifacts of the Library of Congress archive were in some ways no more accessible or immediate (indeed, let’s be honest, a lot LESS accessible or even immediate if we mean time instead of proximity) than the digitized images of those artifacts online.  I saw that the inside of the haversack is brown canvas.  Brendon found a fingerprint and will NOT entertain suggestions that it belongs to anyone but Walt Whitman.  But tears?

Presence.  Through the blog we are present to each other online even when we are physically apart during the week (or have never seen each other: hallooo out there, Brooklyn, Camden, and Novi Sad!).  Agreed.  But finally Saturday we were (good) old-fashioned groupies, we were Whitman lovers, and we were bodies (finer than prayer, but, geez, we were a bit rank by Hour Ten of the marathon).  We desired the physical–the textured, the pasted, the water-stained.  We may have cried because the broken skins of brittle pages and fragile covers, the light-sensitive [associative digression: Whitman's Camden eyeglasses: so small, and with one lens protectively glazed over after strokes] and subsequently entombed haversack, and the tickets to a lecture on Lincoln long since delivered were as close to Whitman (brittle, entombed…) as we are going to get, as present as we can be.  Unlike the wounded soldiers, we won’t get the healing presence of his 200-pound, hirsute, maroon-coated, deep-pocketed self.  But it turns out that the digitized can’t hold a gas lamp to the physically present, and even if it’s paper and not flesh, I’ll take it.  Whitmaniacs, pass the tissues.

Immediacy is something the Reverend talks about as a benefit of the blog, social networking technologies, and the great digital experiment that is Looking for Whitman.  Presence.  Accessibility.  These are words we use a lot.  So this week a question has been dogging me while I process Digital Whitman’s Saturday field trip to Washington City.  This pair of images sets it up:

WW notebook #94, Library of Congress American Memory site

WW notebook, photo by MNS, Library of Congress

The one on top is from a link to the Library of Congress I gave the class a few weeks ago, urging them to use these digitized images to study what OMW recorded about the soldiers.  The bottom was taken on our field trip, and is surprisingly focused given that I, Brady Earnhart, and our students were nearly all literally in tears in that weird institutional room with lockers, blackened windows, and government-issue tables.  Unless we were crying with simple gratitude for the incredible time that Barbara Bair had given us (or because we were soaked to the bloody skin  and had been standing for 10 hours with two or three to go), why were we?  Nothing was much easier to read in person, as those of us who stumbled reading aloud can attest (writing still spidery, bleeding through paper, plastic protection on many items reflected flourescent glare, etc.).  We couldn’t touch anything (though, good lord, we certainly breathed all over it), couldn’t feel the paper, the wood, the leather, the hair (the hair!).

Whitman's hair, deathbed edition, photo by MNS 10/24/09

I couldn’t even smell the leather of that haversack or of its decay, and I have one good super-sniffer.

cue to tears: the haversack, photo by MNS 10/24/09

Obviously, what I am suggesting is this: the artifacts of the Library of Congress archive were in some ways no more accessible or immediate (indeed, let’s be honest, a lot LESS accessible or even immediate if we mean time instead of proximity) than the digitized images of those artifacts online.  I saw that the inside of the haversack is brown canvas.  Brendon found a fingerprint and will NOT entertain suggestions that it belongs to anyone but Walt Whitman.  But tears?

Presence.  Through the blog we are present to each other online even when we are physically apart during the week (or have never seen each other: hallooo out there, Brooklyn, Camden, and Novi Sad!).  Agreed.  But finally Saturday we were (good) old-fashioned groupies, we were Whitman lovers, and we were bodies (finer than prayer, but, geez, we were a bit rank by Hour Ten of the marathon).  We desired the physical–the textured, the pasted, the water-stained.  We may have cried because the broken skins of brittle pages and fragile covers, the light-sensitive [associative digression: Whitman's Camden eyeglasses: so small, and with one lens protectively glazed over after strokes] and subsequently entombed haversack, and the tickets to a lecture on Lincoln long since delivered were as close to Whitman (brittle, entombed…) as we are going to get, as present as we can be.  Unlike the wounded soldiers, we won’t get the healing presence of his 200-pound, hirsute, maroon-coated, deep-pocketed self.  But it turns out that the digitized can’t hold a gas lamp to the physically present, and even if it’s paper and not flesh, I’ll take it.  Whitmaniacs, pass the tissues.

On Tuesday, October 20, 2009, Professor Gold took on a short field trip with one thing on the mind: Where’s Whitman? Our “tour leader” name was Jesse Merandy. As we ‘Walked with Whitman” through downtown Brooklyn, Jesse showed us many things that in some way form of fashion related to Whitman. We saw the building he used to work at which are still up & at used today. No longer a factory, it is currently residential home 2 some.

We also saw where Whitman and many others would take the Brooklyn Ferry into and out of the city. The tour went very well. At the end, a group of us remained in the area and decided to have lunch at a fantastic pizza restaurant called Grimaldi’s. If you’re ever in the neighborhood, do stop by and have a slice or two because they really have the BEST brooklyn pizza!

On Tuesday, October 20, 2009, Professor Gold took on a short field trip with one thing on the mind: Where’s Whitman? Our “tour leader” name was Jesse Merandy. As we ‘Walked with Whitman” through downtown Brooklyn, Jesse showed us many things that in some way form of fashion related to Whitman. We saw the building he used to work at which are still up & at used today. No longer a factory, it is currently residential home 2 some.

We also saw where Whitman and many others would take the Brooklyn Ferry into and out of the city. The tour went very well. At the end, a group of us remained in the area and decided to have lunch at a fantastic pizza restaurant called Grimaldi’s. If you’re ever in the neighborhood, do stop by and have a slice or two because they really have the BEST brooklyn pizza!

         Last class was a very interesting one. Our class went on a mini scavenger hunt looking for the many places Whitman would have been throughout Brooklyn. We went on a walking tour in downtown Brooklyn. It was interesting to know the different areas Whitman would go to eat, work, explore nature etc.

          During our walking tour our first stop was at the Camden Plaza. Whitman walked through this place daily to arrive at Prince Street where he worked on the first edition of Leave of Grass. This is the place Whitman was when he gathered his thought and creatively put them into a collection of poems that would inspire the people to look at the world in a whole different perspective.

          We arrived at our next location, Plymouth Church. As our tour guide, Jesse Merandy talked about how the Plymouth church was well known for assisting in the Abolition movement. During 1847, that church was the only one available and many people from all over the city went to hear Henry Ward Beecher preach, including Walt Whitman. Beecher often shed light on encouraging anti-slavery that would grasp the focus of the congregation. One of the ways the church helped with anti-slavery was to hold mock auctions to bid for slave’s freedom. Walt Whitman was inspired by Beecher’s preaching and his style of writing. I think that is why Whitman had such a powerful impact in his writing as he directly spoke to his audience.

          I really enjoyed visiting the Plymouth Church and how polite the speaker was that was enlightening us on the history of the Church. There were many famous people during the earlier years that went the church including George Washington, Harriet Beecher Stowe and many others. The church amazingly is still standing and is in good shape. This was the first time in a long time that I heard an interesting story about a popular historical place. I liked hearing about the Plymouth Church because before this trip I never knew how popular or important this church was too many people, but after our discussion, there I finally understood.

          My tour experience was worth the time because I learned something new while doing it for school. I never thought I would say nor do that. One of the memorable places that we went to was the Brooklyn Ferry Terminal. Although it was blocked off the day we went as a class I went there the day before and noticed that there were writings on the rails of the terminal. It seemed to be something that Whitman would write, but I wasn’t too sure. It turns out that those writings were actually Walt Whitman’s on the Fulton Ferry landing. I didn’t find this out until my class went on this tour.

          This tour taught me a lot about the appreciation of art, to not take things for granted that are around you and appreciate the things which are in front of you, and to not be afraid to explore the past because it can reveal a lot about yourself and your surroundings.

         Last class was a very interesting one. Our class went on a mini scavenger hunt looking for the many places Whitman would have been throughout Brooklyn. We went on a walking tour in downtown Brooklyn. It was interesting to know the different areas Whitman would go to eat, work, explore nature etc.

          During our walking tour our first stop was at the Camden Plaza. Whitman walked through this place daily to arrive at Prince Street where he worked on the first edition of Leave of Grass. This is the place Whitman was when he gathered his thought and creatively put them into a collection of poems that would inspire the people to look at the world in a whole different perspective.

          We arrived at our next location, Plymouth Church. As our tour guide, Jesse Merandy talked about how the Plymouth church was well known for assisting in the Abolition movement. During 1847, that church was the only one available and many people from all over the city went to hear Henry Ward Beecher preach, including Walt Whitman. Beecher often shed light on encouraging anti-slavery that would grasp the focus of the congregation. One of the ways the church helped with anti-slavery was to hold mock auctions to bid for slave’s freedom. Walt Whitman was inspired by Beecher’s preaching and his style of writing. I think that is why Whitman had such a powerful impact in his writing as he directly spoke to his audience.

          I really enjoyed visiting the Plymouth Church and how polite the speaker was that was enlightening us on the history of the Church. There were many famous people during the earlier years that went the church including George Washington, Harriet Beecher Stowe and many others. The church amazingly is still standing and is in good shape. This was the first time in a long time that I heard an interesting story about a popular historical place. I liked hearing about the Plymouth Church because before this trip I never knew how popular or important this church was too many people, but after our discussion, there I finally understood.

          My tour experience was worth the time because I learned something new while doing it for school. I never thought I would say nor do that. One of the memorable places that we went to was the Brooklyn Ferry Terminal. Although it was blocked off the day we went as a class I went there the day before and noticed that there were writings on the rails of the terminal. It seemed to be something that Whitman would write, but I wasn’t too sure. It turns out that those writings were actually Walt Whitman’s on the Fulton Ferry landing. I didn’t find this out until my class went on this tour.

          This tour taught me a lot about the appreciation of art, to not take things for granted that are around you and appreciate the things which are in front of you, and to not be afraid to explore the past because it can reveal a lot about yourself and your surroundings.