Library of Congress's Blog, page 65

The Nazi War Atlas of Operation Barbarossa

[image error]

The cover of the German atlas of Operation Barbarossa. Geography and Map Division.

This is a guest blog by Ryan Moore, a cartographic specialist in the Geography and Map Division.

Hitler’s armies were nearly at the gates of Moscow in December of 1941, 78 years ago this month. Victory seemed assured. The German high command decided to celebrate and document the six months it had taken its armies to reach the outskirts of the Soviet capital. Echoing the grand scale of their invasion, they created a huge commemorative atlas: 2 feet wide and 2 feet tall, with a “Balkenkreuz,” a black and white bar cross, dominating the cover.

In the narrow picture, the atlas contains 123 battlefield situation maps that document Germany’s wildly successful first six months of operations on the Russian front. In the larger frame, it tells, like some massive bible of war and brutal conquest, a story of a German victory that almost was.

The oversized book chronicling Operation Barbarossa (the invasion’s code name) resides in the Library’s Geography and Map Division. It is without peer and may be the only one ever made. How this historical gem came to reside here is lost to history. Map librarians speculate that American troops captured the atlas in 1945, during the fall of Germany, and brought it stateside along with a large volume of German military documents.

The atlas is titled Der Feldzug gegen Sowjet-Russland: Band I. Operationen Sommer-Herbst 1941 vom 21. Juni-6. Dezember 1941. This translates as The Campaign against Soviet Russia: Volume 1, Operation Summer-Fall 1941, from June 21 to December 6. The atlas was printed by the German general staff in 1942. The table of contents lists a foreword, but it is missing and does not appear to have been included, suggesting the atlas may be a proof.

It wasn’t unusual for the German military to make such huge maps, which they called campaign atlases. Dating at least back to the time of Frederick the Great, German officers created them to document and celebrate military actions. They also used the information for planning, post-combat study and critical analysis by officers and cadets. Whether Hitler and others in the German high command saw this atlas in its finished form is not known.

This is how it came to be.

In August of 1939, the Nazis and Soviets signed a non-aggression pact and secretly agreed to divide Poland between them. A few days later, World War II began with the Nazi invasion of Poland on Sept. 1. The Soviets invaded from the east on Sept. 17. Poland was swallowed.

But on June 22, 1941, Hitler launched Barbarossa, a massive surprise attack on the Soviets. It employed more than 3.8 million men, mostly German but also Croatian, Italian, Belgian, Spanish, Romanian and Hungarian. They fielded a front that was some 1,900 miles long, stretching from the Baltic Sea in the north to the Black Sea in the south. Opposite the Germans stood some 150 Soviet divisions. To deal with a territory and an enemy so large, the Germans divided responsibilities among what they called Army Groups North, Centre and South. These formations relied on speed and firepower to execute blitzkrieg, the German word for lightning war.

[image error]

The atlas of June 26, 1941, shows the German troops (blue) overtaking Russian troops (red). Note the progress of the Third Panzer Division (3.Pz) as it drives east. Warschau, the occupied Polish capital, is at the middle left edge of the frame.

The formula was seemingly unstoppable: Shock troops, armored vehicles and ground attack planes hit hard and fast, bypassing heavy pockets of resistance, which they left to a second wave of forces to surround and destroy. The plan worked brilliantly in the early days. The Germans raced eastward at breakneck speed, as the maps attest.

[image error]

Soviet divisions surrounded by Nazi forces, as shown on July 5, 1941, in what is now Belarus.

Just a month into the invasion, Hitler’s forces had overrun a swath of Soviet territory twice the size of France. They were capturing Soviet troops by the hundreds of thousands. In the battles of Minsk and Smolensk, some 600,000 Red Army soldiers surrendered; in Kiev, more than 650,000 Soviet troops raised the white flag. German confidence in Hitler soared.

The Fuehrer was interested in every aspect of the invasion. A frontline veteran of World War I, he remembered Germany’s victory over Russia and was resolute that, with his modernized tank army, victory could be achieved once more. To direct the fighting, he relocated from Berlin to a headquarters called Wolf’s Lair located in Rastenburg, East Prussia (now Poland). He occupied Wolf’s Lair on June 23, 1941, and largely remained there until November 1944, only departing as the Soviet forces approached. It first appears on the atlas on June 25, 1941, represented by a flag with an Iron Cross.

[image error]

Wolf’s Lair’s first appearance in the atlas, marked by the Iron Cross in the center of the map.

Hitler’s assault on Russia was aimed at eliminating communism, as well as extending racial war against the Jews, Slavs and other “non-Aryans.” The atlas indirectly notes the killing fields in the Soviet Union, where Nazis and their sympathizers gunned down “enemies of the Reich” and left the bodies in hastily covered ditches. To catch these details, however, takes an informed historical eye. The giveaways are the presence of SS units and paramilitary forces — noted with the abbreviation “Sich,” a shortened form of the German word for security, “Sicherheit.”

Just two days into the assault, for example, the atlas shows a heavy concentration of SS troops around Lublin, Poland. Nazis executed large numbers of prisoners in nearby forests that summer. By October, they had established the Majdanek concentration camp, one of the largest of the Holocaust, just southeast of the city. It eventually had seven gas chambers and a crematorium with five ovens. Some 360,000 people were killed there during the course of the war.

[image error]

Atlas of June 24, 1941, documenting SS activity around Lublin, Poland. The Majdanek concentration camp was built there within four months.

The atlas closes with the Nazi high watermark in the Soviet Union, with troops positioned within sight of Moscow. But winter fell. The Soviets regrouped and counterattacked. The Germans would never threaten Moscow again. Hitler tried alternate strategies — the siege of Leningrad, the battle at Stalingrad, the world’s largest tank battle at Kursk — but the Soviets held and then began to force the Nazis to retreat.

[image error]

German forces (blue) blockading Soviet troops (red) as the siege of Leningrad takes shape in this situation map dated June 25, 1941. The siege lasted until Jan. 27, 1944.

The city never fell, but the impact on the civilian population was devastating. Estimates of civilian deaths range from 800,000 to one million, as bombs, bullets, starvation and disease ravaged the population.

The tide of war changed with the Allies landing in France and advancing in Italy. By April of 1945, the Russian siege of Berlin had commenced. Desperate – if not fanatical — German resistance could not stop the Soviet onslaught. Hitler realized the end was at hand and committed suicide. The unconditional surrender of Germany to the Allies followed on May 8.

This unique atlas of Germany’s first victorious months lay somewhere in the ruins of Hitler’s Third Reich and eventually made its way to the Library of Congress.

Subscribe to the blog— it’s free! — and the largest library in world history will send cool stories straight to your inbox.

Dear (Whoever You Are), Here’s the First Christmas Card

[image error]

The very first mass-produced Christmas card, 1843. Let’s hope the wee child is sipping cider from that wine glass. Rare Book and and Special Collections Division.

This bit of Christmas cheer was written for the Library of Congress Magazine by intern Jacqueline Cerda. It has been adapted and expanded for this blog.

Dear (You),

Hustling after Christmas presents, sending season’s greetings to all the lovely people on your list – well, honestly, it can wear a body down.

So let’s take a moment to send a little holiday cheer out in memory of ye merry olde Henry Cole, the British civil servant and patron of the arts who, in 1843, created the commercial Christmas card. It was, by coincidence, the same year that Charles Dickens published “A Christmas Carol.” The two creations, and the iconography they inspired, went a long way to establishing the Victorian concept of Christmas, which, in turn, we now regard as the “traditional” Christmas.

Cole, born in 1808, was the son of a military man. After his formal education, he took clerk and government jobs while befriending artistic, high-minded sorts, including the philosopher John Stuart Mill. By the time Cole was in his 30s, he was spending a large part of each December dashing off one Christmas letter after another. This got a be a considerable drag on his energies, if not his holiday cheer. A man of action, he commissioned friend and illustrator John Calcott Horsley to design a card that would express his cheerful sentiments to all and sundry.

Horsley came up with an image of three generations of a family celebrating with food and drink, along with panels illustrating Christian charity. The message: “A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to You.” The card also included blank lines where Cole could fill in the name of the recipient and his as the sender. (One might notice that the mom appears to be giving her child a rather large glass of wine, but let’s not tut-tut about that now.)

[image error]

Illustrator John Calcott Horsley signed this card, shortening the date to “Xmasse.” Rare Book and Special Collections Division.

Horsley used chromolithography, a lengthy process that involved multiple layers of color and shading. Once the design was finished, thousands of copies could be made. All Cole had to do was address, sign and mail each one. Joy! The British postal system — dubbed the Penny Post, which he had helped found — was expanding and affordable, so expense was not an issue.

The charming illustration and affordable postage made Cole and Horsley’s creation an enticing alternative to writing holiday letters individually. Cole’s acquaintances realized how efficient the card was and followed suit.

And thus, boys and girls, the Christmas card was born.

Cole, a busy and inventive sort, was no one-hit wonder. He wrote children’s books (he had eight kids), did much to develop British railroads, helped promote better engineering and architectural design in a number of disciplines, became a trusted friend of Queen Victoria, and served as the founding director of what became the Victoria & Albert Museum, which is still a world-class institution in London.

So there you have it, a happy little holiday tale, just in time for Christmas.

A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to You,

(Me)

Subscribe to the blog— it’s free! — and the largest library in world history will send cool stories straight to your inbox.

Notable and Diverse Entries Join 2019 National Film Registry

[image error]

From left, Prince in “Purple Rain” (1984), Sissy Spacek in “Coal Miner’s Daughter” (1980), Elaine May in “A New Leaf” (1971), Tom Hulce in “Amadeus” (1984) and America Ferrera in “Real Women Have Curves” (2002)

In one of my favorite tasks as Librarian of Congress, I’m delighted to share with you today the 25 new titles added to the Library of Congress National Film Registry. These films of cultural, historic or aesthetic importance to the nation span a century of filmmaking, from 1903 to 2003, and join a roster of 750 films that have been added to this registry by the Library during the past three decades.

The National Film Registry has become an important record of American history, culture and creativity. Unlike many other honors, the registry is not restricted to a time, place or genre. It encompasses 130 years of the full American cinematic experience – a virtual Olympiad of motion pictures. With the support of Congress, the studios, artists, distributors, educators and other archives we are ensuring that the nation’s cinematic history will be around for generations to come.

We heard from several of the creative people involved with some of the films selected for this year’s registry, and I wanted to share their thoughts with you.

[image error]Kimberly Peirce, writer and director, “Boys Don’t Cry” (1999):

“Twenty years later, it still feels like a miracle ‘Boys Don’t Cry’ got made.

I fell in love with Brandon Teena and his desire to live and love as himself in a time and place where that was impossible. I felt a powerful conviction to bring Brandon to life on screen, so audiences would love him as I did and share my horror at his rape and murder.

“To our amazement, the world embraced Brandon. It is meaningful to me as a filmmaker, a genderqueer, and as a person that the Library of Congress has recognized ‘Boys Don’t Cry’. This moment is a culmination, unimaginable and wonderful.”

[image error]Albert Magnoli, writer and director, “Purple Rain” (1984):

“I am deeply honored that ‘Purple Rain’ has been selected for inclusion in the National Film Registry in 2019. Thirty six years ago, I went to Minneapolis, Minnesota to meet Prince, The Revolution and The Time in order to understand their lives and their music, and then write and direct a film that emerged from their honesty and authenticity. All of us strived to create a film that would capture the attention of what we believed at the time was a small audience.

“History has shown that the audience was much larger, deeply committed to what was produced, and desirous to return to it again and again.  None of us expected this longevity.  We simply worked hard every day to get it right, and this honor is a testament to the music, story and characters that were created by all of us so many years ago.”

[image error]Apollonia Kotero, actor, “Purple Rain” (1984):

“As a young Latina actress, being cast in ‘Purple Rain’ was the opportunity of a lifetime.  Roles for women that looked like me were scarce in the 80s. Prince was never afraid of taking risks. He created a melting pot of cultures and racial interactions within his purple world.

“Thank you to the fans who have supported us throughout the years. It is truly a great honor that ‘Purple Rain’ has been selected for inclusion in the National Film Registry in 2019. Prince would be thrilled.”

[image error]Martin Scorsese, director, “The Last Waltz” (1978):

“The National Film Registry is an essential American enterprise that officially recognizes the rich depth and variety, the eloquence and the real greatness of American cinema and the filmmakers who have created it, film by film. I’m proud to serve on the National Film Preservation Board, which advises the Librarian of Congress on registry selections and preservation policy.  The board is comprised of representatives from across the film community—studios, archives, guilds and artists—and that’s vitally important because it allows all of us to work together on one great cause: the preservation of one of our most precious sources of sustenance and inspiration—our cinema.”

We’re honored to announce all 25 of this year’s National Film Registry titles, which include blockbusters, documentaries, silent movies, animation and independent films. Get the entire list of 2019 entries and read more about them at today’s news announcement.

Name That Actress…If You Can

[image error]

The most mysterious woman? Readers have been unable to identify her.

This is a guest post by Cary O’Dell, assistant to the National Film Preservation Board and the National Recording Preservation Board. He’s also the maestro of our “Mystery Photo” series.

Does the woman above look familiar? Probably. But do you know her name?!

We found this picture, without any identifying information, in a large collection of film and TV stills that included pictures of stars such as Mary Pickford, Bette Davis, Annette Funicello, and Mary Tyler Moore, so we assume, by association, that the subject is an actress. But that’s about all we can guess. In fact, I’ve nicknamed her “The Most Mysterious Woman in the World” for how powerfully elusive her identity has proven to be. The problem isn’t that she looks so unusual that no one has any idea who she might be; it’s that she looks so much like so many other actresses that no one has been able to set her apart from them.

Here’s a short list of actresses who readers have suggested she might be: Stephanie Zimbalist, Sherry Jackson, Linda Harrison, Nancy Roth, Shelley Fabares, Carla Borelli, Bonnie Bedelia, Diana Canova (despite what one website says), Lucie Arnaz, Sigourney Weaver, Michele Carey, Stefanie Powers, Jeanne Rainer, Jane Merrow, Tina Sinatra, Dana Delany, Lynn Loring, Evie Sands, Sheila Larken, Katharine Ross, Kim Darby and Susan Saint James. None of those are correct.

Responses are still pending from Anna Maria Alberghetti, Pamela Tiffin, Lesley Ann Warren, Lana Wood and from the estate of Carrie Fisher. Fisher has been a popular guess, but the timing appears off. Fisher was born in 1956. If this photo is from around 1970, as most of us think it is, she would have barely been a teenager. Our mystery woman looks much older.

Some other nominations: Sherry Bain, Ann Prentiss, Gail Hire, Gloria Dell, Linda Marsh, Myrna Fahey, Melinda Fee, Brenda Scott, Juanin Clay, Annabelle Garth, Lori Martin, Joan Prather, Lisa James, Lynn McRee, and Linda Peck. Many of these women are deceased, making the search more difficult. Still, we have not been able to find this photo identified as one of them.

To authenticate our mystery woman’s identity, we would need the subject telling us, “Yes, that’s me,” or we would need a publication that used this photograph (or a slightly different pose from the same session) and named the subject.

It’s possible that this mystery will never be solved, though it does seem strange in this day and age of mass communication that she could have faded into complete anonymity. Surely someone knows her!

Post your best guess in the comments — but please review above to make sure your suggestion hasn’t been eliminated. We’ll track down fresh ideas and report back.

Subscribe to the blog— it’s free! — and the largest library in world history will send cool stories straight to your inbox.

Rosa Parks, In Her Own Words: A Short Documentary

{mediaObjectId:'98FB4C1EEECB017CE0538C93F116017C',playerSize:'mediumStandard'}

Rosa Parks was one of the major figures of the American 20th Century, which the Library’s new exhibit demonstrates. But she’s really not the “quiet seamstress” of popular myth. From childhood, when she sat up nights with her shotgun-toting grandfather who was ready to defend his family from KKK attackers, she was an intense, committed activist with a deep sense of social justice.

In this six-minute documentary, Condoleezza Rice, Bryan Stevenson, Ken Burns, Jacqueline Woodson, Sharon Robinson and Parks biographer Jeanne Theoharis read from her private writings and talk of the woman behind the icon. As Burns says, “It’s imporant that we liberate Rosa Parks, and liberate ourselves, from the tyranny of superficial history.”

Subscribe to the blog— it’s free! — and the largest library in world history will send cool stories straight to your inbox.

Thomas Jefferson: A Man of the Pasta

This post is adapted from an article in the Library of Congress Magazine’s November/December issue.

“The best pasta in Italy,” Thomas Jefferson opined around 1787, “is made with a particular sort of flour, called Semola, in Naples.”

It was the beginning of a short treatise on how to create a “maccaroni” maker, of which he would eventually have a similar one at Monticello. The man’s personal library formed the basis of what would become the modern Library of Congress, and his papers today reside in the Manuscript Division. They contain, among thousands of perhaps more significant things, this sketch for his proposed pasta machine.

[image error]

Jefferson’s diagram for a pasta machine.

Throughout his life, Jefferson possessed an insatiable curiosity about technology and a compulsion to figure out how things work and to make them work better.

Jefferson designed, among many other things, a swiveling Windsor chair, a folding campstool, an improved plow, a revolving clothes rack, a folding ladder, an encryption apparatus and the great clock and mechanized double doors that still grace his home at Monticello. He even designed the portable lap desk on which he wrote the Declaration of Independence.

This rendering of a macaroni maker reveals a future president with an inquiring mind, an aptitude for mechanical things, a knack for technical drawing — and a foodie’s interest in the kitchen.

As U.S. minister to France from 1785 to 1789, Jefferson acquired a taste for continental cooking and, back in America, had his own cooks trained in the French culinary arts.

At home and in the White House, he liked to serve the best European wines and to dazzle guests with delicacies such as macaroons, ice cream and peach flambé — the delectable fruits of an inquisitive spirit and practical mind.

[image error]

Jefferson’s notes on how to design a pasta machine.

Subscribe to the blog— it’s free! — and the largest library in world history will send cool stories straight to your inbox.

Inquiring Minds: Writing Stories of Trailblazing Women

[image error]

Louisa Treger

Louisa Treger has worked as classical violinist, and she has a Ph.D. in English from University College London. But she is neither a musician now, nor an academic. Instead, she will soon publish her third novel. Like its predecessors, it will tell the story of a trailblazing woman from history — in this case the American journalist Nellie Bly. Here Treger answers questions about the evolution of her career and her research in the Library’s collections.

Tell us a little about your background.

I trained as a classical violinist, working as a freelance orchestral player and teacher. This stage of my life came to an abrupt and traumatic end when I was in my early ‘20s: I caught a virus, which turned into chronic fatigue syndrome, and I had to take a year out. However, something incredibly positive came out of it because I realized that I wanted to work with words, not music.

I went back to studying, earning a Ph.D. in English at University College London, where I focused on the writing of Dorothy Richardson, whom Virginia Woolf considered an innovator of modernism. Soon afterward, I gave birth to twins. I would use the thick volumes of my thesis to prop up the babies’ cribs when they had colds and were more comfortable sleeping upright. I remember thinking, “Well, at least I’m using my Ph.D. for something!” But all the while, I was musing about Richardson, about what a fascinating and boundary-breaking woman she was, and about the fact that someone should tell her story. My babies grew up and went to school, and I sat down to write. This is how my first novel, “The Lodger,” based on Richardson’s life, was born.

What inspires you to write about historical women?

I seem to stumble across the subjects of my books by chance. I discovered Richardson while searching for an angle on Woolf for my Ph.D. thesis that hadn’t been written about before.

My second novel, “The Dragon Lady,” was inspired by the life of Lady Virginia Courtauld, whom I discovered through being told about a collection of paintings that she and her husband had donated to the National Gallery of Zimbabwe. Courtauld was beautiful and rebellious with a scandalous past and a snake tattoo running the length of one leg, which sealed her reputation as a trailblazer. After a brief marriage to an Italian count, she wed Stephen Courtauld, a war hero, mountaineer, orchid collector and heir to a textile fortune. Ostracized for being a divorcee at the time of Edward VIII and Wallis Simpson, Virginia and Stephen moved to Rhodesia, where their philanthropic attempts to improve the lives of all the colony’s inhabitants, black and white, led to misunderstandings, anonymous death threats and a shooting.

The more novels I write, the more it becomes apparent that a pattern is emerging. I am drawn to writing about strong women who have been forgotten by history, women who refused to conform and who struggled to find their place in the world — groundbreakers and pioneers. So maybe my accidental discoveries are not actually accidental? Maybe some inner drive is compelling me toward these women?

[image error]

Nellie Bly, circa 1890

How did you decide to write about Nellie Bly?

I discovered Bly by chance. A friend in London asked me if I’d heard of her and suggested that I look her up — “She’s the sort of woman you write about,” she added. I began to research Bly on the web and was instantly hooked.

The Library of Congress was the starting point for my research for this novel. My son is currently a student at Georgetown University in Washington, D.C. (the same child whose cot I used to prop up with my Ph.D. thesis), and I combined a trip to see him with book research.

Which collections did you use at the Library?

I spent a fruitful couple of days looking at historical newspapers online. I also found a wide range of articles in the Library’s online materials, as well as every book that had been written by and about Bly. This was a huge amount of valuable material and an incredibly rich starting point.

How does your background in music influence your writing?

Music was fantastic training for being a writer, not least because it taught me the discipline to glue my bottom to a chair and spend hours alone, honing my craft. There are numerous parallels between music and writing, such as rhythm, tone, color and mood; alliteration, onomatopoeia and refrains. Also dialogue: The give-and-take between instruments in a Mozart string quartet is a perfect example of the kind of musical conversation I take inspiration from. Above all, music training is about precision. It sharpens the perception of minute acoustic differences that distinguish sounds, and this heightens one’s attention to the nuances of language.

Can you comment on your experience of the Library?

The British Library has been my favorite library ever since I can remember, but once I saw the Library of Congress, I have to say that my allegiance started to shift. I was blown away by the beauty and scale of the buildings and by the amazing research resources — it was like being able to dip into an enormous treasure trove. It was also a little bewildering to a newcomer, and I owe librarian Amber Paranick huge thanks for helping me navigate it with such patience and grace.

 

The Mystery of Lincoln’s First Inauguration Photograph

This is a guest post by Adrienne M. Lundgren, senior photograph conservator in the Conservation Division. 

Abraham Lincoln’s first inauguration on March 4, 1861, marked a pivotal moment in the nation’s history. A country on the brink of a civil war had all eyes looking to the new president as either the preserver of the nation or as an enemy of the South. Threats of assassination loomed; a plot had been discovered and narrowly averted a month earlier.

The photo taken of that moment has become an icon of U.S. history: Lincoln, a tiny dot in front of the unfinished Capitol Building; the faint slant of sunshine; the crowds crammed into every available vantage spot, including two men perched in a leafless tree. Here’s the New-York Tribune describing it: “The avenue in front of the portico was thronged with people, the crowd extending to a great distance on either side and reaching far into the Capitol grounds, and every available spot was black with human beings, boys and men clinging to the rails, mounting on fences, and climbing trees until they bent beneath their weight.”

Only three prints of this negative are known to survive. One is at the Library, a salted paper print kept in the Benjamin B. French album in the Prints and Photographs Division. (French headed the inauguration preparations.)

[image error]

Iconic photo of Lincoln’s first inauguration, now believed to be taken by government photographer John Wood.

Alexander Gardner, then employed at Mathew Brady’s Washington gallery, is most often credited as the man behind the lens, though he never actually said that he was. Over time, it became attributed to him, which seemed reasonable. He took Lincoln’s portrait many times, he recorded some of the most lasting images of the Civil War and he photographed Lincoln’s second inauguration.

However, my recent research in the Library’s collections has shown that he did not take the historic image of the first inauguration. That photographer, instead, was the unheralded John Wood.

If you’ve never heard the name, don’t worry. He’s virtually unknown in American photography. If five of his images did not appear in “Gardner’s Photographic Sketch Book of the War,” he might not be mentioned at all.

But Wood was the government’s first official photographer. Montgomery C. Meigs, chief engineer for the capitol extension, hired him on May 14, 1856, to document major building projects in and around D.C. I first came across his work in 2016, while researching Civil War photographers who used their craft to make maps. After seeing Wood’s pictures of the Capitol construction, I was shocked that he had not earned a more prominent position in the annals of American photography. His work on architectural subjects was magnificent. His use of large formats, as large as 11 x 14 inches, also made him noteworthy.

Perhaps he isn’t widely known because he was a government photographer, a faceless bureaucrat of sorts. And while his views are captivating, they certainly were not profitable in a 19th century photographic marketplace focused largely on portraiture.

In any event, when I saw his photograph of the 1857 inauguration of James Buchanan, I was struck.  It was taken from an elevated platform to the right of the president — just like the Lincoln inauguration photo. Further, I was able to identify Wood as the photographer of several other images in the French album.

Next, there’s the very paper it’s printed on — salted paper. This technique of printing was common in 1857, but by the time 1861 rolled around, Gardner and most other photographers had transitioned to albumen papers. Wood, however, was still using it. It was here that I began to think that the Lincoln photo might be by Wood, but I wasn’t at all sure.

[image error]

Illustrated Times Weekly, April 6, 1861, from photo by “Mr. J. Wood.” Manuscript Division.  

The proof came after a year of searching. In the April 6, 1861, edition of the Illustrated Times, a British weekly, I located a woodcut engraving that was almost an exact match of the famous photograph. The caption: “Inauguration of the Hon. Abraham Lincoln, as President of the United States, at Washington, on March 4, 1861 — (From a photograph by Mr. J. Wood.)” The woodcut took a few artistic liberties, such as making Lincoln prominent and filling in the blurred American flag, but the rest is exact. Remember the newspaper story describing men climbing trees to get a better view? Compare the two in the lower left corner. As with so many other details, it’s a precise match.

Lastly, this photograph was clearly taken from an elevated platform, meaning the photographer had privileged access. It makes sense that this honor would be given to the Capitol’s official photographer, who had worked the previous inauguration from much the same vantage point. The New-York Tribune story confirms there was such a platform: “A small camera was directly in front of Mr. Lincoln, another at a distance of a hundred yards, a third of huge dimensions on his right, raised on a platform built especially for the purpose.”

[image error]

News reports mention a camera about 100 yards away from the portico; this is likely it. From the Montgomery C. Meigs papers. Manuscript Division.

Wood did indeed work with a large camera. And so it’s my conviction that it was him on the platform that day, opening the shutter for two or three seconds, the light streaming onto a collodion glass plate negative, preserving the image of a man, and a nation, poised on the precipice of a new world order.

These early photographers deserve our consideration, and it gives me great pleasure to bring another one of them who was lost in the shadows back into the light.

Subscribe to the blog— it’s free! — and the largest library in world history will send cool stories straight to your inbox.

“The Crown” At the Library

[image error]

Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Philip disembark from the ship “Susan Constant” at Jamestown, Virginia, 1957. New York World-Telegram and the Sun Newspaper Photograph Collection. Prints and Photographs Division.

This is a guest post by Ryan Reft of the Library’s Manuscript Division.

“On days like today you ask yourself, ‘In the time I’ve been on the throne, what have I actually achieved?’ ” queries the middle-aged Queen Elizabeth II in the trailer for Season 3 of the popular Netflix series “The Crown.”

In that unsettling trailer, over a dirge-like version of the Bob Dylan classic “The Times They Are a-Changin’,” disembodied voices opine about the state of the United Kingdom. “The country is bankrupt. Our national security is in tatters,” notes one grizzled voice, which may or may not be that of Prime Minister Harold Wilson. Miners are on strike. The royal household is filled with strife. “This country was still great when I came to the throne,” the queen intones. “All that’s happened on my watch is the place has fallen apart.”

“The Crown,” which opened its third season last night, follows the long reign of Elizabeth II, which began in 1952 and is still ongoing. Season 3 tracks a period of decline from the mid-1960s into the mid-1970s, a decline that engulfed the government as well as the royal family. For those looking for some of the historical detail, it is well documented in the Anthony Lewis and the Lawrence E. Spivak papers in the Manuscript Division at the Library of Congress. Lewis was the New York Times London bureau chief from 1966 to 1972; Spivak was the co-founder, panelist and co-host of NBC’s “Meet the Press” from 1947 to 1975. Both interviewed key British leaders of the day.

In the immediate post-World War II period, behind the leadership of a Labour government helmed by Clement Attlee, the U.K. provided citizens with a generous welfare state. However, by the mid-1960s, it could no longer be sustained. The British economy “simply would not grow fast enough to keep pace with the ever increasing needs of the welfare state,” noted historian William Hitchcock.

Lewis detected trouble as soon as he took up his London posting. Writing in June 1966 that the atmosphere in London seemed “eerie in its relentless frivolousness,” Lewis noted: “What is bound to worry some who love this country is the feeling of unconcern about the problems that are Britain’s to solve.”

Months later, during an interview with Wilson at 10 Downing Street, his notes reveal the PM’s own, almost willful obliviousness. The interview started in fine high-era English fashion: “Offered drink, scotch and water, and cigar, Jamaican, before conversation began,” Lewis typed in his notes. Yet, the interview ended with a bit of skepticism. “There is no real malaise in Britain and no weakening of British character,” Wilson had asserted again and again. Lewis did not buy it, typing in a personal aside, “He repeated this so often I thought he was trying to reassure himself.”

Lewis’ papers show that he sometimes took to recording interview notes on the menus of London restaurants, such as those located in august hotels like the Dorchester and Claridge’s. These neatly bookend Wilson’s tenure. Lewis wrote in late October 1966 that the prime minister “shows intensely his delight of political triumph.” But three years later, in early December 1969, he wrote that Wilson was “good at jokes, bad when he gets pompous on actual issues.”

Devaluation, a weakening economy, militant labor unions and other forces would help to undo Wilson, as his party lost control of the government. Tory leader Edward Heath ascended to prime minister in 1970, only to be punted out four years later, as Wilson returned to power. Wilson lasted two years before being replaced by James Callaghan. He, of course, was succeeded by Margaret Thatcher, arguably the U.K.’s most famous leader since Churchill.

The queen and the royal family did not emerge unscathed during this period. Spivak’s papers show that in a November 1969 interview on the Meet the Press, Prince Philip acknowledged — evidently humorously — that the Crown too struggled mightily with finances. The joke did not travel well. Lewis Chester and John Whale of the Sunday Times wrote that his attempt at humor transformed what had been an “also ran story” into the front-page variety. “It is difficult to get a smile into print,” the two journalists observed, indicating that his jest had fallen flat when printed.

Still, to some U.K. citizens, the Crown’s cultural cache remained intact.

“I feel infuriated at the question put” to Prince Philip, wrote one North Leeds resident to Meet the Press. “I belong to the British middle class and like thousands of other British people, love our Royal Family and all they stand for. All I can conclude from the interview is envy on the part of countries, who do not have a monarchy,” she argued, adding, “and I have relatives who live in Cleveland.”

The late 1960s and 1970s proved to be challenging times for the West more broadly. Western Europe and America both struggled with widespread student unrest, economic uncertainty and political dissent. In the United States, one could add the travails of deindustrialization, the Vietnam War and the political scandal of Watergate.

Season 3 will no doubt offer fireworks. For historians and others looking for key background insights into the era, few resources provide clearer insights into the dilemmas faced by Britain and the United States than the Lewis and Spivak papers.

New! A Gorgeous Guide to the Kislak Collection

[image error]

Olmec figurine, Mexico. 2,600-3,100 years old. Kislak Collection. Photo: Lee Ewing.

This is a guest blog by Tamia Williams, a junior at Washington College. She was an intern in the Library’s publishing office this summer.

Everything has a history, a story that it can tell across the ages, if one knows how to listen for it. John Hessler, curator of the Jay I. Kislak Collection of the Archaeology & History of the Early Americas, spends his days evaluating the history behind artifacts that are hundreds, if not more than a thousand, years old. He searches to discover their origins, weaving together each piece of information to create full stories.

His new book, “Collecting for a New World: Treasures of the Early Americas,” published by the Library in association with D Giles Limited, is out this week. Filled with short essays and brilliant color photographs, it invites readers to become explorers, time-travelers and investigators—to discover what’s in the blank space between an artifact’s origin and its arrival at the Library.

I went on my own trip to find the motivation behind “Collecting.” I headed to the basement of the Madison Building, past the giant globe outside the Geography and Map Division reading room and into the vaults of the collection. This is Hessler’s turf, home to the Kislak Collection, with over 4,000 books, manuscripts and materials that span early history from pre-Columbian times to the 18th century in vaults or on shelves. Hessler has written and edited several books on maps and the history of the Americas – “The Naming of America,” “A Renaissance Globemaker’s Toolbox,” “Map: Exploring the World” – and his enthusiasm is infectious. We talked in a plain conference room, sitting at a table that held a strikingly large Mayan incense burner, adorned with masks and mica inlays. It was made between 500 and 700 years ago, and seemed to bring  the history of the era to life.

[image error]

Sculpture of Xipe Totec priest wearing flayed human skin. Central Mexican highlands, circa 1450. Kislak Collection. Photo: Lee Ewing.

“Jay Kislak was one of the premiere collectors of materials related to the early Americas,” Hessler is saying. His job, as curator, is to “throw the doors open and say, ‘Listen, this is an amazing collection. There are these issues with the collection, but scholars should come. People should come. We can learn a lot about the history of the Americas from these objects and manuscripts.’”

Hessler writes as the tour guide through the collection. Here, Mayan jade carvings from 600 to 900 A.D., made in modern-day Guatemala; there, Martin Waldseemüller’s 1507 world map, showing, for the first time in history, the separate continents of Asia and the Americas. Hessler’s point is to help readers understand the provenance behind these and other artifacts, from their culture to their significance.

The pivotal moment in the narrative, of course, is the 1492 contact between European explorers and the people of the Americas. Nothing would ever be the same for either.

“On the European side, the before is a tale of exploration, bravery, greed, the possibility of vast riches and a high-stakes treasure-seeking gambit played out on the high seas,” he writes. “The before, for the indigenous peoples of the Americas, consisted of large populations living in settlements and city-states across vast geographical sweeps of Mexico, and Central, North and South America.”

For these peoples – the Taino, Nahua, Maya, Wari, Inca – their cultures, cities, art and architecture, which had endured for thousands of years, were about to come to a vicious end: “Disease, enslavement, forced conversion to the Christian faith, torture, mass execution and the loss of their languages and rituals.”

[image error]

“The Conquest of Tenochtitlan,” unknown artist. 1650-1700. Kislak Collection.

Hessler is a traveler and mountain climber, ranging from Guatemalan jungles to the 120-degree heat of Joshua Tree National Park. This travel becomes paramount to his historical knowledge and emotional appreciation for each object.

“It’s not just purely an intellectual exercise,” he says. “There is definitely a deep connection to the stuff I study. I think that is because of the travel and what it feels like to be where it came from. When I talk to people about the objects, I try to give that passion back. I try to talk about [the artifacts] in a way that doesn’t disconnect them from where they came from.”

It works. “Collecting” tells the story of civilizations and peoples long vanished. They can still speak to us, across the centuries.

Hessler’s self-imposed mandate: “Tell the story of the objects. Tell the story of the collection. Tell the story of what we can learn from how they got here. And those stories are really, extremely compelling.”