Miriam’s Travels: To Drive History Home

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Homes are where history both happens and ends up. The vast majority of historic events are not composed of battles or major discoveries, but rather consist of the ordinary acts of living. As such, houses contain the history of the world.

The very idea of home is ancient. Regardless of where people have lived and at what point in time, they created homes. And yet, while nearly everyone has an idea of what a home is, defining it is difficult. At museums where homes are recreated such as at the Tenement Museum, the staff face the challenge of presenting and interpreting domestic life authentically.

This task recently brought together a group of historians and museum practitioners at the University of Bern in Switzerland as part of the Sinergia Project’s Doing House and Family Conference. We pondered: What is a home and what makes it authentic? Can we ever know what domestic life was truly like? What stories should be told within exhibits of home and what agendas mediate these interpretive decisions?  And, lastly how should visitors be allowed to engage with the spaces and its objects?

Throughout the conference, we grappled with understanding the full complexity of homes and the multitude of meanings each contains. The way a space is composed, its acoustics, and even its smells are essential sources for understanding domestic life. Homes bear witness and demonstrate the transformation of public and private space and of spheres for humans and animals, as well as the creation of a nuclear family. They also illustrate changing notions of aesthetics and legal rights. And while decorations and furnishings change more rapidly than architecture, they are the stuff of material culture and key sources of home life.

While nearly all of us shared the ideal of evoking a home in a specific period of time, we differed in our approach to being site-specific, telling stories of real people, and in creating the context of the domestic sphere. For example, at the Geffrye in London, an old almshouse contains exhibits of multiple living rooms that never belonged to real people. Visitors explore the spaces through the lens of an invented story that is representative of time and place outside of the museum’s location. In contrast, at the Tenement Museum in New York City, the Birmingham Back to Backs , and at the Chateu de Prangins, the stories of real families that once lived inside the location are presented. The Robie House in Chicago offers a different combination of place-based stories of real people by giving little emphasis to the Robie family that lived inside, and instead using the space to illustrate its architect’s vision, Frank Lloyd Wright.

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It was though our visit to Ballenberg, the Swiss Open-Air Museum, which left me puzzling the paradox of preserving living spaces by removing the life within them and freezing them at one moment in history. This museum includes 100 homes from across Switzerland that date from 1455 to the present. While it has the records of some of the stories of the people that once lived inside, the majority of homes are divorced from the stories of specific residents and all have been relocated from their original setting. Nevertheless, the museum’s emphasis on creating the context of domestic life by having real animals on the grounds, growing gardens, and giving visitors access to engage with the contents of the home was striking. The museum professional in me was shocked and amazed to discover that in some houses I could open pantries and look inside, that the smell of smoke was coming from an actual lit stove, and that real oil lamps provided the lighting. As I sat in a house, knowing nothing of the actual family that once called it home, I gained the knowledge that only comes from physically sitting on a hard wooden chair at the kitchen table and looking at its window onto its garden.

Like with all good museum visits, my curiosity was piqued, and I left with more questions about how museums present and interpret homes, then with answers.

Meet The Tenement Museum Staff: Kevin McCallister, Facilities Manager

Kevin McCallister, Facilities Manager at the Lower East Side Tenement Museum

Kevin McCallister, Facilities Manager at the Lower East Side Tenement Museum

This month we will be starting a new Tenement Museum feature on the blog, called MEET THE TENEMENT MUSEUM STAFF. Every month we will profile a different staff member that works at the Tenement Museum to find out a little bit more about what they do here at the museum and who they are. For our first entry, we were fortunate enough to interview the Facilities Manager at the museum, Kevin McCallister. Kevin was able to answer all of our questions – and yes, that includes questions about how often people ask him about the movie HOME ALONE. Enjoy!

TM: What is your title?
KM: My title at the Tenement Museum is Facilities Manager.

TM: What are your job responsibilities?
KM: My main responsibility at the Museum is to ensure that all facets of the property are operating efficiently and safely for our visitors and staff members 24/7 – 365 days a year.  Other responsibilities include but not limited to are; supervisor, security guard, handyman, and a good ear for listening.

TM: Where did you work before coming to the Tenement Museum?
KM: Prior to joining the museum, for ten years I worked with the restaurant group Boqueria.  Boqueria has three locations in New York City, one in Washington, DC and one in Hong Kong.  I managed the facilities for all of the NYC locations.  When a new restaurant was being built, I would advised the partners on the build out and progress until its completion. I also negotiated fair prices for the partners on all work performed by outside vendors.

TM: Most interesting story related to your job since starting here?
KM: The most interesting story since starting this job is going on right now, with the construction project of the new exhibit and office space in 103.  As I watched the space get stripped down to the wood beams and getting a look at the bones of the building, it put a vision of what is to come.  This time next year the exhibit will be open to the public, and I will be looking forward hearing all about the visitors reactions to the new exhibits.

TM: What is your family’s immigrant history?
KM: Although I do not know when ancestors immigrated to America, I do know that my paternal grandparents were of Scottish/Irish decent and my maternal grandparents were of Norwegian decent.

TM: Where did you grow up?
KM: I grew up in Sunset Park Brooklyn, with my parents, two brothers and three sisters.  When I turned 18 years old, my parents, younger brother and I moved to Staten Island.  I moved back to Brooklyn to the Kensington area after meeting my wife Helen.

TM: What do you like doing in your free time?
KM: I enjoy going out to dine with Helen and our son Cassidy, we are always looking for a new place to add to our list of eateries.  I also enjoy fishing and crabbing here in the city and have followed the Mets & Jets for over 40 years with the ups and downs… through first and last place, with last place being a common place.

TM: Your name is Kevin McAllister the same name as the lead character played by Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone. Have you seen Home Alone and how often do people bring this up?
KM: Yes, I have seen all three Home Alone movies.  People under 30 years old have watched the movies as children and people over 45 have watched them with their kids.  Around Christmas time the movies are aired a lot, so I frequently get asked “Do you know, you have the same name as Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone?”

TM: Favorite Tenement Museum tour and why?
KM: My favorite tour was The Foods of the Lower East Side.  I was able to catch Adam Steinberg before he left, he did a great job explaining and setting the scene for each food stop, as well as getting everyone involved.  I also liked getting a free food to taste during the tour.

TM: Favorite place to go in the Lower East Side?
KM: My favorite place to go in the Lower East Side would be the path along the East River, it is a great place to walk, sit or just relax… The price of admission is great, since its free!  I am looking forward to The Lowline Park that is planned for the area.  As far as food goes, the Lower East Side has many food options, most of which are reasonably priced.

 

Q & A With Annie Polland

Annie Polland, PhD, is the Vice President of Programs and Education at the Lower East Side Tenement Museum, and has dedicated countless hours bringing to the public a modern view of American immigration history. With the development of the new exhibition at 103 Orchard Street, Annie hopes to bridge the gap between what we think of when we imagine the historical Lower East Side — an image often trapped at the turn of the century — and the diverse yet trendy neighborhood it is today.

The mid-20th century is not only a vital era for many nationalities coming to America at this time, but it also greatly altered the landscape of American culture forever. Annie took the time to answer some questions about how a museum of this nature comes into being, and what the Tenement Museum hopes to accomplish with the new exhibit.

 

Annie Polland. Photo by Benjamin Hoste.

Annie Polland, Vice President of Programs and Education at the Lower East Side Tenement Museum. Photo by Benjamin Hoste.

What is the new project at 103 Orchard St?

AP: This exhibit will focus on three families, all of whom lived in 103 Orchard Street in the post World War II era. We’ll tell the story of Kalman and Regina Epstein, refugees who survived the Holocaust and came to the Lower East Side in 1947 to start a new family. This story relies on the memory of their eldest daughter, Bella Epstein Seligsohn, who was born here on the Lower East Side and moved with her family to 103 Orchard in 1955. The next story is that of Jose Velez, who came with his mother, Ramonita Rivera, and his brother in the mid-1950s and moved into 103 Orchard in 1962. Ramonita, like many Puerto Rican women, came for the employment opportunities in the garment industry, and wanted a better life for her children. We’ll also tell the story of the Wongs, who came to New York in 1965, and moved into 103 Orchard in 1968. Mrs. Wong worked in the burgeoning Chinatown garment industry, and this will be a central part of their story.

How did this project initially get started?

AP: In many ways, the impetus for the new exhibit came from the museum founders’ original philosophy and methodology. From the very beginning they understood the importance of not focusing all exhibits on one particular time period, say, for example 1900, but rather to use the entire span of the building’s residential history, from 1863 to 1935, as the base for exhibits. This was a pretty radical idea, as so many historical houses focus on one decade as their period of significance. Further, this approach broadened the variety of families who could be featured. Were the museum simply to have chosen 1900, when the building was at its peak population, we would have only done Eastern European Jewish stories. But by broadening the time frame the Museum could create exhibits of the earlier waves of Irish and German immigrants, as well as later waves of Italian immigrants. So, both the extension of time frame, the site specificity of our exhibits and the Museum’s desire to be as inclusive as possible were baked into the original philosophy and methodology. Granted, finding another tenement that would enable us to continue the stories and reach into the present and paint a fuller picture of the Lower East Side and New York was its own very laborious project, but it was buoyed by core principles of the Museum.

What are the key steps that first go into starting a new museum exhibition?

AP: Research. Research. Research. And more research. Consulting with scholars,  more research, writing tour content, vetting tour content, training educators, revising tour content, Focus Groups, more talk with scholars.

What was different about this tour, however, was our contact and interviews with the families we are featuring. Whereas research for the 97 Orchard exhibit relies on lots of documents, in particular the census, research for 103 and the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s means that we are working on a time period in which the public does not have access to the census in all of its particularities. Here, though, what replaced the scouring of the census, were the many interviews with family members and neighborhood residents. Clearly, we never had the opportunity to interview Bridget Moore, who lived at 97 Orchard in the late 1860s, or Harris Levine, who lived in 97 Orchard in the 1890s; but we are in fact able to talk to all of the families featured in the new exhibit. It’s almost as if all the questions we’ve always wanted to ask the residents of 97 Orchard—are unleashed in this exhibit.

To put it another way, I can text Bella Epstein, call Alison Wong or email Jose Velez and have a response within minutes; yet sadly I have no way of accessing Fannie Rogarshevsky or Caroline Schneider, and I can therefore only imagine their responses. Once we open the exhibit and field all of our visitors’ questions, I’m sure there will be opportunities to turn to the families anew, and enrich the tour content. So it’s exciting to think about how responsive this exhibit will be to visitors’ questions and ideas.

Inside 103 Orchard Street. Photo by Wijnanda Deroo.

Inside 103 Orchard Street. Photo by Wijnanda Deroo.

What would you give as the central thesis behind 103?

AP: The Lower East Side in the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s fades from historical and collective memory. People have a historical image of the pushcart-laden streets of the turn of the 20th century, and people also have a sense of a contemporary Lower East Side with its boutiques, art galleries and cafes. But the forgotten middle decades of the 20th century were fascinating: an array of newcomers started new lives.

What is particularly exciting about the mid-20th century is that the Lower East Side was becoming one of the most diverse neighborhoods in New York City. A New York Times article in 1957 discussed a significant, though decreasing, Jewish population and estimated that Puerto Ricans composed 20% of the population, African Americans from the South 10% and also listed Italians, Chinese and European refugees as important groups. Thus, as much as our exhibit will delve into the particularities of the stories of our individual families, we are also focusing on what it means to live in a diverse apartment building, attend a diverse school, hear a range of languages and smell a range of cooking aromas through the air shafts. What is the everyday experience of diversity and what do these families have to teach us? We’re especially intrigued by Bella’s stories of befriending Barbara, an African American girl, at the park, Jose’s stories of learning to cook lobster from a Chinese neighbor and Alison Wong’s story of attending a diverse PS 42.

With what do you hope visitors will walk away from 103 that they wouldn’t necessarily get out of another historical site, or 97 Orchard?

AP: Having the opportunity to engage with the more recent past… Although we connect past to present in 97 Orchard, by virtue of the fact that visitors are standing in a 19th century building, the experience feels historical. By contrast, in 103 Orchard, when our fabulous furnishings curator Pam Keech has done her magic, visitors will stand in rooms pegged to time periods many of them or their parents have experienced. So while the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s are definitely in the past, they’re a more accessible past. We hope to offer the opportunity to reflect on more recent events, and to consider how the recent past shapes the present.  Again, often visitors make connections between what they learn about in 97 Orchard to today, but we expect that those connections will be much more vital in the new exhibit.

Why do you personally believe these stories are important to tell now?

AP: America is an immigrant nation. That continues to be the case today, with 13% of our country made up of immigrants and 37% of our city. Understanding how newcomers seek and create opportunity provides a fascinating lens on American identity. Further, telling these stories through real families allows us to study immigration in a compelling, engaging and human way. We’ve always known that our visitors’ identification with the families was core to the experience at 97 Orchard, and understanding history; now we have the opportunity to engage more contemporary issues in as compelling a manner.

Why was it important to utilize new technologies in this exhibit?

AP: As we interviewed Chinese immigrants and their children, we realized how central the story of the garment industry was to this neighborhood and to their lives. Early on, we recognized the importance of recreating a section of a garment shop to fully grasp the issues of daily life—work, economy, family. Technology enables us to recreate this garment shop, allowing visitors to sit at sewing machines and other garment stations and access the stories—through video and audio—of dozens of garment workers and their children. Technology, then, enables us to tell a wider array of stories and to give voice to the “ordinary,” though extraordinary people who worked in the industry and lived in the tenements.

103 Orchard Street. Photo by Liz Clayman

103 Orchard Street. Photo by Liz Clayman

Getting ahead of ourselves here, but do you hope one day to include more communities at the Museum?

AP: New York City has become more diverse than ever, and to fully represent the experiences of all New Yorkers we’d have to acquire more and more buildings, and to expand to Queens or Brooklyn, something that isn’t practical at the moment.

Perhaps more important than real estate, though, are the real stories that the Museum and our visitors share. Our visitors—especially our New York City schoolchildren—have incredible migration and immigration stories, and to feature them, we’ve created a new website, Your Story, Our Story, that has visitors select an object that tells their families stories. We have amazing objects, almost 1000, representing the Great Migration from the South, and immigration from the Caribbean, South America, Russia, Pakistan, Bangladesh, you name it. What we love about this website is that it represents both the diversity of our origins, but also shows what we share, and how we value our family stories through objects that show our everyday food, work, religious and cultural life. Please share your story too.

 

Gettin’ Schooled: A History Lesson

Grammar school class photo of Sam Jaffe, born on 97 Orchard Street in 1891. He went on to become nominated for an Academy Award in 1951. Back of the photo reads "about 1909". Photo from the LESTM.

Grammar school class photo of Sam Jaffe, born on 97 Orchard Street in 1891. He went on to become nominated for an Academy Award in 1951. Back of the photo reads “about 1909”. Photo from the Lower East Side Tenement Museum

You might remember a Staples commercial that came out a few years ago: a goofy dad dancing around the aisles in a store with his shopping cart, his two kids looking on sad and depressed. Overheard, the Christmas jingle played, “It’s The Most Wonderful Time of the Year.”

My parents loved this commercial. It didn’t air in December, though. Every August it went on the air, advertising the most wonderful time for many parents: back to school.

It’s difficult to fathom that the current school system in place in the United States is relatively new, not even a hundred years old. It’s also hard to believe that the push for free access to education for all children was met with controversy and dissent. But the right to an education (you can assure your children) was hard fought over many years throughout the 19th and early 20th centuries.

The use of child labor during the Industrial Revolution is a black mark on one of the most important time periods in Western history, and the development of Child Labor Laws and Compulsory Education Laws were a synchronized movement to combat this problem over a period of several decades. Before then, children were either taught at private institutions for those who could afford it, by religious organizations, or instructed at home.

But many children — such as those living on 97 Orchard Street during this time period — would often be working long days, every day to help provide for their family’s food and home, some of them working in factories for 70 hours a week. Factory work was not like the farming work children have done with their families since hunter-gatherer times that continues to this day; instead kids were working in difficult, dangerous, and dirty conditions with very little compensation. They didn’t have much time for resting, let alone going to school or having fun the way kids should.

Glass factory, working at midnight. Lewis Hines. Photo courtesy of the NYPL.

Glass factory, working at midnight. Lewis Hines. Photo from the New York Public Library

Compulsory education laws were seen as a way to try and curb the abuse of child labor. These laws state that every child, with some exceptions like homeschooled children, must attend a public or private institution for a specific period of time. The first was enacted in Massachusetts in 1852 and the last in Mississippi in 1917, and they were seen as a way to prevent factory owners from exploiting children, since their school attendance was mandatory.

It took a long time for these state laws to be instituted on a national scale. Twenty-eight states had regulated child labor by 1899, but it wasn’t until 1938 that the Fair Standards Labor Act fixed the minimum age requirements for children at no younger than 14 for some jobs. This national policy was in part a way to cure the child labor ill but it also served to open up the job market to adults during the Great Depression.

Coinciding with the Industrial Revolution was a major wave of immigrants entering the country and inhabiting large urban areas during this time period. The number is estimated to be close to 20 million between 1880 and 1920. Many native-born Americans were concerned with the growing diversifying population, and access to American schools became a great way for immigrant children or the now native-born children of immigrants to become assimilated into American culture.

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“Laying Down The Law.” 1880. Photo from the New York Public Library.

One of the things these foreign children were taught in this time period was how to read and speak English, and an appreciation for American history, government, and rhetoric — as well as other subject matters not unfamiliar to children today, such as basic arithmetic and literacy skills. Textbooks from the 19th century show just how similar school subjects were to today, although the classroom setting was very different from how we’re educated these days. A single classroom often had kids of various ages and education levels, with the older students helping teach the younger ones in what’s known as the Lancasterian model. Teachers were mostly young, unwed, pious women who administered much harsher disciplines for unruly students, and there were no aisles of school supplies for parents to dance around.

Of course, if one has any questions about what life was like for an immigrant child attending American schools at the height of the immigrant influx into the country, they could always Meet Victoria Confino and ask her all about it.

 

Parks and Preservation

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August 2016 celebrates the centennial of the National Park Service, which has spent the last 100 years ensuring beauty and history are maintained in the United States. The Lower East Side Tenement Museum has been classified a National Historic Site and is officially a part of the National Park Service and the National Register for Historic Places.

On the surface, it may seem like there is a great difference between the Tenement Museum and a National Park — but both are dedicated to the conservation and preservation of this country’s rich cultural history. Both work to educate people on their history and their inheritance, both build a foundation of understanding for one’s heritage. (Both would also appreciate if visitors take nothing but memories and not start any fires.)

The first U.S. National Park was actually established in March of 1874 at Yellowstone in the territories of Montana and Wyoming. Afterwards, following in the footsteps of Yellowstone, many other parks, preserves, and monuments sprung up all over the country, but were split among different government agencies. Yellowstone and other similar National Parks belonged to the Department of the Interior, while other historic monuments and natural areas were a part of the War Department and the Forest Service of the Department of Agriculture.

It wasn’t until President Woodrow Wilson signed the Organic Act on August 25, 1916 that a National Park Service was established to keep all these culturally significant places under one management, whose “purpose is to conserve the scenery and the natural and historic objects” with the intention to “leave them unimpaired for the enjoyment of future generations.” This creation of a national system allowed for a broader classification of parks – areas that were not just scenically and scientifically important but historically, too.

It’s strange to think, what with our society being very nostalgia-driven, that there was a time in America when preserving our historical areas wasn’t quite as important as it is now. Following World War II, the development of the National Highway System and increasing urbanization caused the careless destruction of many historical properties throughout the country, and made negative changes to the structural identity of several cities.

plaque 2This resulted in the National Historic Preservation Act, signed by President Lyndon B. Johnson in 1966 (which turns 50 on October 15th!) Early preservation movements in this country were typically fueled by patriotism, and focused mostly on specific buildings or areas relevant to the nation’s history. Over time, this mindset eventually evolved into caring and preserving landscapes and neighborhoods.

Here is where the mission of the National Park Service and the goals of the Tenement Museum align: both work daily to uphold the integrity and innate beauty of our shared history and our shared space. New York City is a city defined by its infrastructure. Its architectural identity is deeply entwined with its history and its residents.

But to anyone who has ever been to New York City — and especially to those of us who live here — it is an area constantly changing. “It’ll be a great place,” goes the famous quip by author O. Henry, “if they ever finish it.”

Buildings are constantly renovating, repurposing, disappearing, or popping up to change the skyline. The Museum often talks about how the cultural makeup of the Lower East Side changed rapidly during the years that 97 Orchard housed some 7,000 immigrants, and the same can be said for the city’s physical attributes. Heck, you can say that so much has changed in this city since the Lower East Side Tenement Museum opened in 1988. One could say this shifting disposition could easily be considered a main characteristic of New York’s identity.

But it is also why preservation is so important. For the Tenement Museum specifically, the safeguarding of immigrant history, tenement living at the turn of the century, tenement architecture, and the vital housing reform movement all serve to foster conversation about our shared past and where our future is headed. In the Lower East Side Tenement National Historic Site Amendments Act, Congress recognized the importance of ensuring “continued interpretation of the nationally significant immigrant phenomenon associated with New York City’s Lower East Side and the Lower East Side’s role in the history of immigration to the United States.”

As the National Park Service prepares to celebrate its momentous birthday, it is still striving to achieve even greater works in their duty to the people in this country. In particular, their dedication to improving their urban spaces — the upkeep and expansion of public parks in places like New York City — is truly noteworthy. This city hugely benefits from the works of the National Park Service, whether it is the recognition of its widespread history or the preservation of its natural beauty.

The One and Only Jewish Miss America

bess2On August 15, 1945, seventy-one years ago yesterday, Bess Myerson became the most beautiful woman in America. Myerson became the first postwar Miss America, winning the same year the beauty pageant started offering its scholarship program. And she was the first ever Jewish Miss America.

She was also the last ever Jewish Miss America.

Born in 1924 to Russian Jewish immigrants, Myerson was raised in New York City to appreciate Yiddish culture and art. At her mother’s insistence, she became highly skilled at the piano. By the time she was 12 years old, she stood at  5’10″ tall. Myerson never felt comfortable in her own skin, and though she initially had no intention of participating in the Miss New York City contest, she was entered by her sister and her friend without her knowledge.

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Myerson described herself as “the wrong person in the wrong place” when she competed wearing a borrowed bathing suit. She was more interested in the scholarship money than in the competition itself. She still won advancing to the Miss America pageant.

One of the defining moments in Myerson’s career as a public figure occurred before she was ever even crowned Miss America. The director of the pageant had pulled her aside and told her she had a real chance of winning, but suggested she change her last name to something more “attractive.” What he meant was “less Jewish.”

In the 1987 book by Susan Dworkin titled Miss America, 1945: Bess Myerson’s Own Story, Myerson described the decision to ignore that advice as one of the most important she ever made.

“Already I was losing my sense of who I was; already I was in a masquerade, marching across stages in bathing suits,” she said. “Whatever was left of myself in this game, I had to keep, I sensed that. I knew I had to keep my name.”

Myerson’s coronation as Miss America took place just days after Japan’s surrender and the end of World War II. Back then, the role of beauty queen still held huge cultural significance. During the war, the Miss America pageant had gone through a kind of rebranding. The country needed to be united in the fight against the enemy, and Miss America became a valued national icon. She was a beautiful patriotic symbol to sell war bonds and bolster the American spirit, both at home and overseas. In a time of overwhelming hardships, who wore the crown bore great significance.

What made Myerson’s reign particularly significant was it came at one of most important times in all of Jewish history. Towards the end of 1945, once the war was won, everyone was discovering just how deep the atrocities against the Jewish people ran. All Jews — from the European refugees directly affected to the American Jews being blamed by Anti-Semites for causing the war — were just starting to come to terms with the sheer magnitude of loss. Jews at the time were also dealing with logistical questions of what to do next, where to go, and how do I keep my faith when something like this happens.

The image of the Jewish body in this time began to take on a horrifying shape. It’s a picture that persists to this day when people think of a Jew during World War II — the image of a starved body: gaunt, hollowed, abused. Dead or dying, with little to indicate the difference. For many Jewish Americans post-World War II, Myerson’s win as Miss America gave the world a different view of the Jewish body — beautiful, gifted, and full of hope.

Her year as Miss America, however, started off pretty rocky. Touring the country on the vaudeville circuit was unsatisfying — the crowds were more interested in her bathing suit than her musical talents. She faced anti-Semitism from all corners: businesses refused to offer her sponsorships as was customary for pageant winners, she was denied entrance to many places, and encountered open hostility for being a Jew.

Bess_Myerson_1957She was approached by the Anti-Defamation League to speak on bigotry and tolerance around the country. She spent her year as Miss America speaking at high schools and housing projects with a speech titled “You Can’t Be Beautiful and Hate”, saying, “…hate is a corroding disease and affects the way you look. … You can’t hide it – ever. It shows in your eyes. It warps your expression.”

It was on this lecture tour where she was discovered by a television producer who launched her career as a TV personality and later as the commissioner of New York City’s Department of Consumer Affairs. Throughout her long career she always presented herself as a Jewish public figure, and later in life donated much of her money to charities, including over a million dollars to the Museum of Jewish Heritage: A Living Memorial to the Holocaust. She died on December 14, 2015.

Myerson was a vital part of the Jewish American story, simultaneously changing and being affected by the discourse surrounding the Jewish community in the tumultuous post-War era. The current Anti-Defamation League national director Abraham H. Foxman spoke of how integral she was to the narrative, calling Myerson a “treasure trove” to the ADL’s goal.

“Miss America was a much bigger thing back then than it is today, and she represented the promise of that contest and the reality that the country was still racist, anti-Semitic and bigoted,” Foxman said. “She had the guts and the courage to be a proud Jew and to stand up for it.”

Interning for History

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Summer internships are a bit like summer movie blockbusters. They’re either going to be a smash hit, memorable throughout your lifetime, kick-starting future career and financial success for all those involved — or they’re going to be regrettable, forgettable mistakes. Since the goal of an internship, since monetary gains are either completely out of the question or barely noticeable, is to acquire as much of an education as possible. There is truly nothing like on-hand work experience to prepare you for the challenges and expectations of a real work environment.

So whether you luck out with the most amazing internship or — not so much, you’ll be certain to walk away with more knowledge of the real world than you had before. For example, I am much more familiar than I was before with just how unfriendly amateur lucha libre wrestlers can be when stranded in the middle of the Colorado plains during a hot, dusty September day.

The three summer interns at the Lower East Side Tenement Museum definitely had a more enriching and relevant internship experience. The Museum’s internship program strives not only to make sure our interns feel included in their work space, but are not just given busy work to stay preoccupied. Each were assigned specific projects relating to their fields of study and career goals.

Ledesma_Image_2Andrea Ledesma, a Masters student at Brown University, was our Research and Development Intern. She became interested in interning at the Museum when she first started studying public history.

Of the Museum, she said, “It’s such a unique model, blending a museum, historic home, and living history to make something that is altogether its own.”

Ledesma, hoping to pursue a career in exhibitions after graduation, spent her summer working on writing and editing the sourcebook for the new exhibit opening at 103 Orchard Street next summer. “This document compiles information for tours and educators,” Ledesma said. “I had a lot of fun with this project, listening to all the oral histories the museum has conducted, going through materials with the New York Public Library and the New York Historical Society.”

When asked what she found most fascinating about working for the Tenement Museum, she said, “I was struck by the level of detail with which the museum conducts its research for its exhibitions.  I mean, this is understandable given that the museum rests on honoring and continuing the legacy of a building, its residents, a neighborhood, and the community… [I]t showed not only all the narratives that come together that tie a family to a place, but also turn a place into a home.”

dennett headshotKathryn Dennett worked in the Archives Department for her internship, after graduating from her Masters program at the University of Texas in Austin in May. The Archives at the Lower East Side Tenement Museum works to keep track and take care of any and all documents pertaining to the history of the Museum.

“Basically, the archive preserves the history of the [Lower East Side Tenement Museum] as an institution by collecting the correspondence files, press clippings, old proposals, construction plans, and historic materials collected by curatorial teams over the years,” said Dennett. “Over the summer I’ve been working on processing over 50 boxes of materials that had been sitting on our shelves for a while.”

Working in the Archives was a rewarding opportunity for Dennett, who applied for the internship to get hands-on museum archival experience. “The variety of the records I’ve gotten to work with has been really fun,” she said.  “Opening each box is like solving a little mystery.”

The summer wasn’t without it’s challenges, both figurative and literal. Dennett walked in one morning to discover a leaking HVAC unit causing some minor damage, but even that taught her important, real-life preservation skills, and nothing was permanently damaged, thanks to Dennett.

“But the biggest overall challenge was just the scale of the project,” she added. “Ten weeks seems like a lot of time at the beginning, but the nature of archives is there’s always more stuff being created that need to be archived.”

Corwin PhotoHillary Corwin, a Masters student in Museum Studies at the Cooperstown Graduate Program, wanted to work for the Tenement Museum due to a personal love of immigrant history at the turn of the century.

“But what really made me want to work here is the uniqueness of the museum,” Corwin said, “and how the museum is able to make a connection between immigrant stories of the past with the present wave of immigration.”

Corwin’s internship got her up close and personal with many different areas of museum management, including analyzing online ticket trends and developing the script for a new page on the Museum’s website.

“What I found most fascinating was how focused everyone was to the Museum’s mission,” said Corwin. “…everyone I encountered believed in the longevity of the museum because she or he believed strongly in the mission.”

Over the course of the summer, Corwin was able to recognize the work she was given was not just busy work used to fulfill credits, but was given vital responsibilities integral to the running of the Developmental Department. Working at the Museum also helped her realize the importance of strong communication skills to ensure her department was constantly on the same page.

But one of her most valuable lessons learned this summer was something unique to the Tenement Museum. “What I will take away is the universality of the immigrant experience.  Even if you yourself aren’t an immigrant, someone in your family’s past may have been…[and] those experiences translate to the same experiences of immigrants today.”

If you are interested in interning with the Lower East Side Tenement Museum, make sure to check back with us on our Jobs and Internship page!

My Immigrant Story

Here are two stories about getting a government-issued I.D.:

1. Six years ago, I sat in the back office of the DMV in Deerfield Beach, Florida, for over an hour with the manager, trying to explain my situation. I needed official state identification in order to complete my immigration process. The only I.D. I had was from my college, which had my face and name, but no other information.

“That’s fine,” the manager of the DMV said, “just bring in your passport.”

British_passport_2002But I’ve never had a passport. I moved here from England when I was two years old on my mum’s original passport, which she had to surrender when it expired in order to get a new one. But look — here’s a dark, blurry, almost illegible photocopy of it where my name is half-visible, see?  Perfectly placed right on the fold. That smudge is me.

“Huh?” said the manager. We stared at each other some more. By this point in my citizenship status I had lost plenty of time inside identical bureaucratic offices. I was prepared to wait forever.

2. Three weeks ago, I sat in a similar chair at the mid-Manhattan branch of the New York Public Library. I had moved to New York recently, only two and a half months after my Naturalization ceremony, and still had my Florida driver’s license. But I wanted to get a New York I.D. for two reason: to register to vote and to get a library card.

The polite young man at the table in the library asked to see my license, and one proof of address, like a paystub or something. That was it. No, it’s free, don’t worry.

You mean you don’t need three different proofs of address? I wanted to cry. You don’t need a few grand in cashier’s checks? You don’t need to see several marriage licenses and passports that didn’t exist? You don’t need a cover letter and resume, work references, or my permanent record? You don’t want to know my blood type, my internet browser history? The promise of my first-born son? An offering to sacrifice to the Gods of Paperwork in return for a bountiful harvest and a piece of plastic with my picture on it?

“…just fill out this form and wait. Over there,” said the guy at the desk, handing me a single piece of paper.

The story of my generation — the so-called Millennials — is two-fold. We’re dichotomous that way. A tough job market and economy means we’re pretty used to sending out applications and forms into the wind then waiting months for any kind of response, if one comes at all. But the rapid pace in which technologies developed in our lifetime have also made us very comfortable with speed – we know how fast things have the potential to come and go, and we good with that.

So for immigrant Millennials, especially ones raised in the United States, and especially those going through the Naturalization process, we know very well things may take a very long time to happen, but that doesn’t mean we have to like it.

Fun fact: British children don't shed their outer bear skins until they reach adolescence.

Fun fact: British children don’t shed their outer bear skins until they reach adolescence.

I’m not unaware of the privilege I experienced growing up compared to other undocumented immigrants, as a white girl from an English-speaking country. It was by and large an odd immigration experience. No one ever made any assumptions based on my language and accent (if anything, I endured the opposite. The sentiment of “You’re British? But why don’t you have a cool accent??” has plagued me my entire life). We were always pretty poor, and moved constantly to new apartment complexes in the same county. There was never a thriving British community in south Florida (or maybe anywhere in the U.S. for that matter), so knowledge of my cultural heritage was left entirely in the hands of my family and relatives, many of whom had lived here for years and were already very Americanized. As a kid, the only influences from my background were my father and grandfather yelling about Manchester United, watching Monty Python at far too young of an age, and being told repeatedly how superior English candy is to American candy. Which, by the way, is perhaps the cruelest thing one could say to a child, and was always met with the despairing whine from me and my siblings, “So why did we leave?

Growing up, I didn’t feel like an immigrant. Being British was just a character quirk, an interesting fact to share about myself every first day of school. At the Tenement Museum, often the story gets told that immigrant children at the turn of the century were raised American by the school systems but kept to their heritage at home, and the same could be said for me. To this day, my parents never consider themselves American, and never encourage me or my siblings to do so. When I was a kid, contemplating my identity didn’t extend further than which Spice Girl I was most like and which Hogwarts house I belonged in (it was Ginger Spice and Gryffindor, by the way).

My national identity was divided, but the line between two Western cultures was easily blurred. The two obsessions from childhood I just mentioned, after all, are also English transplants.

Without much success, I know now my parents spent all those years quietly trying to gain legal status for us while I was happily reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. Frequent bad advice, worse lawyers, low funds, and lost paperwork made the possibility of having one uniform national identity, at least in the eyes of the law — far from my family’s reach.

Identification has been a delicate subject for me since reaching adulthood. Once I’d graduated high school, the only purpose a school I.D. really served me was getting discounts at the movie theater. I couldn’t drive until many years after I had turned 16. The most minor, though somehow the most overwhelmingly unfair of indignities, was the inability to buy myself a drink on my 21st birthday. The celebration came and went with a whimper, with nothing but schoolwork, tacos, and Star Trek reruns (not for nothing, but in retrospect, this now sounds like a great birthday.)

Not even close to being the most expensive piece of paper I've ever held. Thanks, college.

Not even close to being the most expensive piece of paper I’ve ever held. Thanks, college.

It was another year and half before I was able to buy that drink (while simultaneously juggling schoolwork and immigration bureaucracy), proudly using a green card as identification. It was another two years before I got an actual state I.D. It was another two years that included arguing with waiters and grocery store clerks that yes, it is a valid form of identification, it’s government issued, and my birthday is right there, and I would really like that piña colada please.

One main characteristic of my generation has been about establishing an identity. We are what we Tweet, what we Instagram, what we share on Facebook. I’ve probably deleted more selfies last month than ever existed of my parents at my age. While this development of a brand, so to speak, is often a very open and online endeavor, I don’t believe it exists solely in the public sphere (though of course that is a part of it). But the question of identity is one that plagues many teenagers and young adults. We are constantly wrestling with who we are socially, sexually, politically, economically, psychologically — and every output is in some way a reflection of that internal struggle.

The immigrant Millennial — or the Millennial immigrant — has another layer of identity to come to terms with: nationality. Can we wear two brands simultaneously, can the two blend, or must we eventually commit to only one of them? What do I identify with more – the shining plastic in my wallet or the smudged, crumpled photocopy?

Ordinary Objects, Extraordinary Stories: Your Story, Our Story

Educators at the museum give on average ten tours a week, to groups of up to fifteen people on each tour. That’s thousands of stories to thousands of people over the years. And although the stories we’ve told have always been based on the same dozen or so families, they unfold uniquely every single time.

The Tenement is a metaphor for America and all her ingenuity and vulnerability, her strength and her weakness; the Tenement Museum’s stories are a complicated and poignant reflection of America herself.

dreyer cross

“Brigid was believed to protect homes, and placing her symbol near the front door would protect against a house fire.” St. Brigid’s crosses are still placed in the homes of Irish descendants.

The tenement at 97 Orchard Street represents so much of what Lucas Glockner, it’s German-speaking developer and original landlord, hoped for as a hard-working, innovative immigrant in America.  One of Glockner’s earliest tenants, Bridget Moore (née Meehan), an Irish potato famine survivor, likely traveled to America alone as an unmarried teenager. Bridget had little in the way of material belongings aside from perhaps a lightweight St. Brigid’s cross, which provided both spiritual protection of her American apartment and evoked memories of the Irish home she left behind.

A few decades later, Dora Goldfein, whose husband Barnet acquired the building as a part owner in 1905, may have arrived to collect rent checks for the first time wearing the Edwardian-style hat that represented high fashion and status at the time. This hat was an ultimate symbol of being a true American, something Dora may have been proud of as someone who “made it out” of the neighborhood.

At the exact same time, one of Dora’s tenants, Harris Levin, is preparing to move his family over the Williamsburg Bridge, to Brooklyn, where he hopes his family will live a more comfortable and prosperous life.  Along with the belongings they’d collected in their 15 years on the Lower East Side, they probably packed the few items they traveled from Poland with—like Shabbos candlesticks—that embody the culture they hope to preserve as they delve further into the process of becoming American.

"In our family we go around the table saying what we're thankful for. We also sing songs, say prayers and eat challah." Many objects on YSOS are central to familial traditions, generations later.

“In our family we go around the table saying what we’re thankful for. We also sing songs, say prayers and eat challah.” Many objects on YSOS are central to familial traditions, generations later.

If any of these narratives sound familiar, it’s because despite the differences in names and places of origin, these are stories that could easily be told at dinner tables and family reunions across America.  The foundations for these stories are innocuous objects: a tenement, a cross, a hat and a pair of candlesticks.  But it’s the stories themselves, of Mr. Glockner, Mrs. Moore, Mrs. Goldfein and Mr. Levin that make them at once unique and universal.

Ultimately, that is from where the power of the Tenement Museum emerges: we all have a story to tell.  Despite being “ordinary” people—like the residents of 97 Orchard Street—we all hold the key to an extraordinary legacy.  And often that legacy includes the objects that we collect along the way.

For almost 30 years, the Tenement Museum has informally collected these stories.  On every tour, visitors are invited to share connections they make; the narratives often compel visitors to share anecdotes of their own families.  Some recognize artifacts that evoke particular memories.  Others are inspired to go do research on their own ancestors.

The Your Story, Our Story digital exhibit was born of this informal practice of collecting stories from Americans of all backgrounds and ages that demonstrate the dynamism of our objects.  Objects that on their own may seem ordinary, but with a legacy attached, become extraordinary.

Objects like Nafesa’s mother’s jolpie acer—a flavor enhancer found in abundance in Bangladesh—which became a sudden delicacy in America.  Like Joseph’s toy dog, that symbolized survival and hope for his parents arriving in the U.S. after the Cambodian genocide.  Like Alex’s school ID card, which bears the Aztec name he initially struggled to connect with as a Mexican-American.  Like Blaake-Kirstyn’s family recipes, which were created by her great-grandmother, a house slave on a Georgia plantation, and preserved by the three generations that followed her.

These are the stories of an America that has evolved considerably since 97 Orchard Street was last a residence.  And yet, they are stories that can in so many ways draw parallels to the lives of the former residents that we interpret daily at the Museum.  These connections we make across place and time are deeply meaningful—as a country of immigrants and migrants, we are rooted in what we share with each other.  We all have something to share, a story to tell, a legacy to maintain.  What’s yours?

 

  • Posted by Victoria Marin, Project Coordinator at the Lower East Side Tenement Museum

 

Accessibility at the Tenement Museum

An ASL Walking Tour offered at the Tenement Museum

An ASL Walking Tour offered at the Tenement Museum

July is a historic month for disability rights in America. In July of 1990, the Americans with Disability Act (ADA) was passed and signed into law by President George H.W. Bush. This landmark law requires access to goods, services, and benefits offered to the public and prohibits discriminatory exclusion because of a disability.

Since its founding, the Tenement Museum has strived to be on the forefront of accessibility and continues to welcome people of all backgrounds and abilities. There are many things we do and offer to make our institution accessible to as many visitors as possible.

To visit the Tenement Museum, you must take a guided tour. This puts the Museum in a unique position: visitors’ needs can be met more often because there is always an Educator present to work with the individuals on the tour to create a great experience for the whole group. Our Educators are trained to give tours that are accessible to a wide audience. However, we also have some tools which improve accessibility on tours. FM assistive listening devices are available upon request for all Museum programming, seating is available on all building tours, and large print and braille materials as well as handling objects are available for many programs.

One of the biggest challenges the Museum faces is physical accessibility. Our museum building – located at 97 Orchard Street – was built in 1863 and is a five-floor walk-up. Due to the historic character of our building, many features that make other museums physically accessible are not often possible at the Tenement Museum. But in 2012, the construction of a new exhibit, Shop Life, included a wheelchair lift from the sidewalk level to the basement level, making it the first wheelchair accessible tour that enters 97 Orchard Street.

While the above offerings can be helpful, sometimes more is necessary. The Museum offers several special programs designed to suit the needs of visitors with particular disabilities. American Sign Language (ASL) interpretation is available for any tour. Additionally, parties of 5 or more can schedule a Touch Tour or an ASL tour. A Touch Tour combines any of our building tours with handling objects and verbal imaging, and includes an introduction to the building using an architectural model of 97 Orchard Street. For an ASL tour, the Museum’s deaf educator, Alexandria Wailes, leads visitors on a building tour in ASL only. Private tours for visitors on the autism spectrum and their families are also available for building tours and the Meet Victoria program. For any of these private tours you must contact the Museum two weeks in advance.

Additionally, we offer ASL tours and Touch Tours for the public throughout the school year. These programs are free of charge, but reservations are required. They are a bit longer than a typical tour, can be more direct in meeting the needs of the visitors in the group, and include a reception which features local Lower East Side foods.

The offerings mentioned above do not cover all of the tools we use or programs we have that make the Tenement Museum accessible. To learn more about what we can offer or to see it in a different format, please visit the Accessibility page of our website, particularly, this handy chart.

If you have any questions about our accessible tours, or would like to talk about how we can make your upcoming visit to the Tenement Museum meet your access needs, please contact Ellysheva Zeira, Education Associate for Access, through email ezeira@tenement.org or by phone 646-518-3038.

As the Tenement Museum expands with a brand new exhibit, our accessibility efforts will expand and continue as well. We will take what we’ve learned about accessibility in our current building, along with new technologies and methods, and create new programs that adhere to the highest accessibility standards.

  • Post by Ellysheva Zeira, Education Associate for Access at the Lower East Side Tenement Museum