The Palimpsest

Boyd, Willard L

Why Bother
with Museums?
by Willard L. Boyd
Editor’s Note: W illard “Sandy” Boyd knows Iowa well 
and knows museums well. Former University of Iowa
president, he now presides over the Field Museum. 
His speech at the Congress of Historical Organizations 
in Des Moines (partially funded by the Iowa Humanities 
Board and the National Endowment for the Humanities) 
has appeared in the Des Moines Register. His views 
may not represent those of the IHB or the NEH.
W
HY BOTHER with museums?
Why bother with history? Why 
bother with local museums? Why 
bother with local history? Why 
indeed bother with these dull subjects on a 
lovely June evening
Or even more to the point, why bother with 
them during the hours museums and historical 
societies are open? After all, I am interested in 
life, not artifacts and past events. Artifacts and 
past events are the dead hand of the past with 
no relevance to my present or future.
Why should I bother with the past when life 
belongs to the living and I want to live my life to 
the fullest?
Why bother with the past? Why bother? 
Because this is my history and it tells me where 
I came from, where I am, where I may be 
going. My history tells me who I am, not just 
statistically but spiritually as well.
A historical museum or society is more than a 
place filled with artifacts and a register of past 
events. It is a place of ideas, a place of ideals. It 
is my ancestral, cultural home.
My heredity and my environment shape me. 
Both my heredity and environment were 
shaped by the past, by those who came before, 
my ancestors and their community. I am a 
product of their genes and their culture. They 
set the stage for my lifetime performance. I am 
more their progeny than my own person. I am
beginning to understand that as I wonder who I 
am now that I am sixtv.
We do not yet fully understand the impact of 
our ancestors gene pool on our daily life, yet 
the DNA impact on my life is formidable. So 
also is the impact of the culture in which I was 
raised. However imprinted on me, I cannot 
escape it. My culture is my shadow. It follows 
me everywhere, even when I move away.
My culture is here with me tonight, as you 
will sense. Five generations of my family have 
lived in Iowa, two generations before me and 
two generations after me. Jefferson and John­
son counties are our cultural life spring. The 
dates and artifacts of those five generations of 
Iowans are of only passing interest to me. Oí 
overwhelming concern to me is the mental, 
emotional, and spiritual impact of Iowa s 
culture on me and my family. You can help me
My culture is my shadow. It 
follows me everywhere, 
even when I move away.
understand my heritage, my life, because you 
are keepers of our common traditions.
Ah — tradition! In song and in prose we 
always hearken back to tradition. In song, 
Tevya in Fiddler on the Roof sings of tradition. 
In prose, Dorothy Day in her autobiography, 
The Long Loneliness, wrote:
Iradition! How rich a word that is. To a 
thinking child it means a great deal. Children 
all love to hear stories of when their parents 
were young, and of their parents before them. 
It gives the child a sense of continuity. . . .
Tradition, G. K. Chesterton says, is
140 THE PALIMPSEST
democracy extended through time. Tradition 
means giving the vote to that most obscure of 
all classes, our ancestors. Tradition is the
democracy of the dead. Tradition refuses to✓
submit to the small and arrogant oligarchy of 
those who are walking about.”
I wonder if . . . stories of our ancestors 
[takes] away the fear of death that comes to 11s 
all, or whether it mitigate[s] it.
. . . Their tragedy, their pain made their 
lives a rich and colorful tapestry for us to gaze 
at, a Berlioz requiem with its glory and 
mourning to listen to.
Did thev believe? What did thev believe?> ✓
. . . Do happy children ask these questions? 
Ecclesiastes said, “Only this I have found, 
that God made man right and he hath 
entangled himself with an infinity of ques­
tions” (pp. 15-17).
Even at sixty, I too have an infinity of ques­
tions.’ 1 need to know where 1 am coming from
Is it true as the lyrics from 
the first State Fair musical 
put it — ‘‘Everything that I 
am I owe loway”?
to know where I am going. Did my forebears 
believe in the same values I do? Did they have 
the same aspirations?
Is there reallv “an Iowa way, that certain way 
oi doing things” celebrated in The Music Man? 
t )r is it true as the lyrics from the first State Fair 
musical put it — “Everything that I am I owe 
loway”?
f  IOWA WAY is homogeneous
I  because Iowa’s people have been 
I  homogeneous. In the broad ver- 
B nacular thev have been WASP Euro-j
pean descendants of the Judeo-Christian 
tradition. They are Jewish, Protestant, and 
Catholic. Our forebears had such a strong com­
mitment to God that Iowa was an integral part
°f the Bible Belt. My father told me often of the
¥
tent evangelists and of the "aniens” of his youth 
over a hundred years ago around Fairfield.
Since I was raised to show no emotion, it is 
difficult for me to imagine northern European 
stock being emotional over religion. At any rate
we Iowans tend to be quieter about our belief 
in God today. We are ethical in our conduct 
toward each other. The Golden Buie is key to 
our relationships. We treat each other fairly — 
perhaps because we do not differ markedly in 
our background. We share a common tradition 
and a common socioeconomic condition.
Iowa’s economy began and remains heavily 
agricultural. Our European ancestors immi­
grated to farm as family entrepreneurs. They 
were the original rugged individualists revered 
in American folklore. These pioneers made it 
on their own, but they also helped each other 
out in time of need. Even though separated by 
many miles, these settlers had a sense of com­
munity.¥
While they were self-reliant, they were 
interdependent. This interdependence gave 
rise to formal communities for trading and 
schooling. Iowans prospered in farming and 
trading. Except for the weather there have 
been no extremes, no large groups of “haves 
and “have nots.”
Iowa life has been hard but it has been open. 
Nature can be brutal as well as beautiful. Natu­
ral and economic cycles of boom and bust have 
taken their toll, but Iowans respond by chang­
ing to new times rather than clinging to old 
times.
We have relied on education as a major 
means of change. We have prepared ourselves
for new opportunities elsewhere as well as in 
Iowa. Like our forebears we want “to make it 
on our own. We Iowans continue to view 
America as the land of opportunity, of mobility, 
of freedom. The frontier dominates our think­
ing, our action, our spirit.
Our traditions run deep. Our pioneering
While Iowa pioneers were 
self-reliant, they were 
interdependent. Except 
for the weather, there 
have been no extremes, 
no large groups of “haves” 
and “have nots.”
FALL 1988 141
forebears brought their deep roots with them. 
Our roots are not place-bound. They travel 
well. Our roots are in our culture, in our belief, 
and, for many, in our God.
W
HILE WE LIVE in the Iowa coun­
tryside, we constantly observe 
n a tu re ’s chang ing  d iversity . 
Humankind is a part of nature’s 
greater context. We have the opportunity to 
grow in a world of diversity and change. Each 
of us can add to our cultural legacy. The WASP 
in me tells me I have a duty to nurture a better 
cultural legacy for my progeny, my children 
and their offsprings as they are also evolving 
through my culture as well as through my 
genes.
Too often our own homogeneous culture 
limits our vision. We become narrowly 
culture-bound and fearful of diversity and 
change. In fact there is a place in our lives for 
diversity and change as well as homogeneity
and stabilitv.
*
I work in a museum about diversity and 
change. The overarching theme of the Field 
Museum of Natural History in Chicago is 
diversity: environmental diversity, cultural 
diversity. We recognize diversity as funda­
mental to life. Change is key to that diversity. 
We are a contemporary museum concerned 
with the present and future issues of the chang­
ing and diverse world of nature and cultures.
Fhe Field Museum is both a research 
institute and a public educational center. Our 
research and teaching focus on nineteen mil­
lion specimens reflecting the world’s diverse 
geology, biology, and cultures.
Together with the University of Chicago and 
the University of Illinois, we make Chicago a
world center for the study of evolutionary biol-✓ ✓
ogy. Perhaps we do more fieldwork in South 
and Central America than any other American 
institution. We are concerned with the ecology 
of the neotropics. That ecology directly affects 
the ecology of Iowa and Illinois. Indiscriminate 
cutting of tropical rain forests can adversely 
affect our rainfall, temperature, air, and bird 
life in the Middle West.
The Field Museum anthropological collec­
tions of over 600,000 objects tell us about the
A historical museum or 
society is more than a 
place filled with artifacts 
and a register of past 
events. It is my ancestral, 
cultural home.
indigenous people of the non-European world. 
In a shrinking world no longer dominated by 
Western Europe, we need to know more about 
others. In a changing Chicago where WASPs
are a minority, I need to know more about# *
others, about their roots. Several upcoming 
exhibits will give us this opportunity.
In November the Field Museum will open a 
new exhibit on a culture in which we all have 
roots. Ancient Egypt is the fount of all cultures. 
There were black pharaohs. There was Orien­
tal trade on the silk route. Egypt was the source 
of Western, Middle Eastern, and African civi­
lizations. Our Egyptian exhibit begins with a 
unique descent into the tomb of a kings son 
and next leads 11s on a tour of Egypt then and 
now. The exhibit deals with the lives of both 
nobility and commoners in the marketplace 
and the burial place.
In subsequent years, the Field Museum will 
use our extraordinary South Pacific eth- 
nographic collections to examine how the phys­
ical environment affects the life of islanders. 
We will concentrate on how the islands were 
peopled by seafaring families. Indeed, we will 
confront the debate as to whether the various
colorations of the Pacific people are due to the 
merging of races or due simply to the evolution 
of families in different places.
Later we will turn to the African-American 
community in Chicago and scholars from Africa 
to guide a remounting of our West African 
collection. Our purpose will be to relate the 
past and present culture of Africa to the culture 
of present-day African-Americans. Alex Haley 
vividly pointed out the transitional role of the 
slave culture between West Africa and contem­
porary America. Before him, W.E.B. DuBois, 
in his time, ranked black song and story a more 
significant contribution to the nation than black
142 THE PALIMPSEST
toil. Denied the right to read and write and 
worship by slave owners, blacks turned to God 
and the oral tradition to nurture their roots.
Many descendants of those slaves are now nur-✓
turing their roots in modern Chicago.
Approaching its centennial in 1993, the 
Field Museum came into being to carry for­
ward the new field of anthropology generated 
as an essential ingredient of Chicago’s World 
Columbian Exposition. The founders of our 
museum properly focused on the native peo­
ples of the Americas. In the United States and 
Canada, the first people have been over­
whelmed by later immigrants. In Meso- and 
South America, however, native people were 
able, by their larger numbers and civilizations, 
to have a greater impact on the changing 
cultures of their places. Indeed, Chicago’s 
growing Hispanic population has deep native 
roots in the Americas south of our border. A 
new Field Museum resource center allows us 
all to learn about the roots of the first peoples of 
the Americas.
As I learn more about other peoples, I find I 
have much in common with them. We share 
the same values, the same aspirations, even the 
same God. Our similarities are greater than our 
differences. But differences exist, and I respect 
them. I can even learn from those differences. 
In doing so, I will be branded as a traitor to my
You can help me 
understand my heritage, 
my life, because you are 
keepers of our common 
traditions.
culture by Secretary of Education William 
Bennett and by Allan Bloom, who in his recent 
best seller, The Closing o f the American Mind, 
closed his own mind.
Messrs. Bennett and Bloom advise us to hold 
tight to Western culture, to eighteenth-cen­
tury enlightenment, ’ and to the Judeo-Chris- 
tian tradition. Without ever mentioning God, 
Bloom believes that not enough of the best 
students in the best universities are reading 
the Bible. Yet as a frequent taxi passenger, I am
convinced that more taxi drivers per capita 
than WASPs are reading the Bible. Chicago 
cab drivers are either black Americans or new 
immigrants from the non-European world. 
Most of them have a Bible either on the front 
seat next to them or on the dashboard. The 
Muslims among them have the Koran. In 
either case, it is the same God who is every­
where.
The WASP tradition does not have a monop­
oly on wisdom. Indeed, with most Christians 
living in the Third World, we should see even
more clearly the need to reject the bad news of 
bigotry and spread the good news of the 
Golden Rule.
We do not need a shared tradition to possess
shared values. It is from shared values that a
shared tradition emerges. E Pluribus Union.
To have shared values, we must be open to
others. We must respect each other. We can
learn much from each other if we apply critical
analysis without a double standard rooted in
*
cultural bias. The WASP intellect in me tells 
me to be analytical about others. The Judeo- 
Christian ethic in me tells me to be open to 
others. Indeed as I wrote this conclusion on 
Sunday, May 29, 1988, the Daily Word told me 
to “open the windows of my mind and let in the 
fresh, new ideas.”
And that is why every day you and I should 
bother with local historv museums. That is why~ J
the citizens of other localities, whether in 
downstate Illinois or Chicago, Stockholm or
Timbuktu, bother with their local historv7. Our✓
culture is our shadow. It follows us. It changes 
with us as we change and diversify. Our 
museums help us understand where we are 
coming from and where we are going. We all 
need to bother with our local historv. □w
Too often our own 
homogeneous culture 
limits our view. We 
become narrowly culture- 
bound and fearful of 
diversity and change. *
FALL 1988 143


English

Why Bother with Museums

Smith, Michael O

You Gotta Know the Territory
Material Culture from Territorial Iowa
by Michael O. Smith 
photos by Chuck Greiner
People for the Land
So one oj the things that is taught to us 
is to he free with everything we have. In 
those clays food was regarded as one of 
the greatest gifts anyone could give; and 
so the food, if we have food, if we have 
plenty, we should not think only of 
ourselves, but of our people first. ”
Youngbear (Mesquakie), interview
Several Indian tribes lived in territorial Iowa, with dif­
ferent languages, customs, and artistic expressions. But 
all tribes followed a common native ethic of sharing. 
Work and the products of hunting, fishing, gathering, 
and gardening were shared among kin and, on certain 
occasions, among larger groups.
During religious feasts, Mesquakie food was served in a 
bowl such as the one above. Communal sharing of food 
reinforces unity among participants. Today the Mes­
quakie in l  ama County, Iowa, continue many of the 
customs that they followed 150 years ago.
SUMMER 1988 69
Within a tribe, governing was divided between military and civil tribal 
leaders. Work was divided between men, women, and children. Generally 
the men hunted and women gathered wild food and gardened. I hrough 
play and assigned tasks, children learned the skills they would need as 
adults. Men and women made the objects they used for everyday life and 
for ceremony.
Bight: Men used axes, adzes, and specially forged crooked knives’ to sculpt 
objects of utility and ceremony, such as wooden bowls for serving food, 
spoons for ceremonial feasts, and dugout canoes. This Mesquakie band adz 
was brought back to Iowa from Kansas in 1856, when the tribe bought land 
in Iowa for a permanent home.
Though not chosen for their military accomplishments, civil chiefs and other men of influence 
were often respected warriors. Clubs and bearclaw necklaces symbolized a warrior’s status. 
Above: This club, a formidable weapon, may also have functioned as a leadership emblem. It 
was carried by Chief Keokuk’s son, Moses. Below: Clan leaders and warriors of distinction 
wore bearclaw necklaces for ceremonial occasions.
70 THE PALIMPSEST
Women produced the clothing worn by men, including leggings, moccasins for festive and daily wear, beaded garters, 
and ornamental bags worn on special occasions. Above: Detail of Mesquakie breecbclotb, made of trade wool and seed 
beads. The breechcloth, part of a complete set of men s clothing, was probably made for a ceremonial occasion.
Many tribes of the Upper Mississippi 
Hiver regions made and often traded 
ornamental bandolier bags. Left: 
Detail from Santee Sioux bandolier 
bag. Geometric designs are typical of 
Sioux design. Above: Detail from 
bandolier bag, possibly Mesquakie. 
Mesquakie used both abstract geo­
metric and abstract Moral designs.
SIMMER 1988
Welly l played with dolls. . . . That is how one learns to sew, by 
practicing sewing for one s dolls/*
Anonymous Mesquakie woman
John Youngbear carved this Mesquakie doll from red cedar in the early 1900s.
72 THE PALIMPSEST
“And when I was eleven 
years old I likewise 
continually watched [my 
mother] as she would make 
hags. ‘Well, you try to 
make one, she said to me.
. . . And soon 1 knew how 
to make it very well.
Women’s tasks included weaving, 
preparing buckskin, and beadwork. 
Scraping buckskin hides removed the 
hair and softened the hide. Left: 
Basswood fiber and twine bag, hide 
scraper made from elk antler, and 
heddle with beadwork (all Mes- 
quakie).
' The first how and arrow that was 
made and given to me was when I 
was eight years old. . . .  I was told 
not to shoot at the dogs, horses, or 
people, and . . . I was taught to 
shoot the birds and rabbits and 
things to eat
Youngbear (Mesquakie), interview
Mesquakie boys practiced with small bows and 
blunt-tipped arrows by shooting at raffia-hoop 
targets rolling along the ground.
SUMMER 1988 73
Give and Take
Above: Native Americans traded for necessities that made their work easier — such as this Green River steel skinning 
knife and wool blanket cloth (then often decorated by native women with silk ribbons or beadwork). They also traded for 
items of adornment or status, such as this silver peace medal from the American Fur Company, the flintlock pistol, and 
the pipe tomahawk.
The federal Indian agent s job was to enforce policies 
and treaties that removed tribes from their land, while 
protecting native rights under those treaties. As agent, 
he might accompany tribal leaders to Washington for 
treaty signings, where peace medals with the president s 
image (left) were often given to the Indian leaders.
The army in territorial Iowa also enforced federal pol­
icies and treaties and maintained law and order. But a 
soldier probably used this hoe blade and brace and bit 
(right) more than he used the 1841 Hall cavalry carbine. 
Basically the army explored and mapped the land, built 
forts, and raised food. A soldier’s life was filled with 
boredom, bard labor, and little action or glory. *
74 THE PALIMPSEST
i
t
*
By the 1830s the fur trade in Iowa had ended, but traders such as 
Colonel George Davenport at Fort Armstrong continued to supply 
American or European manufactured goods on credit to native 
tribes. Cash replaced furs as the medium of exchange. Goods 
exchanged resulted in wealth. Each culture perceived wealth 
differently. What one culture needed or valued was not neces­
sarily useful or valuable to the other.
George Davenport used the wealth he accu­
mulated through the fur trade to buy luxury 
or status items. For instance, only gen­
tlemen owned dueling pistols. Davenport’s 
pistol (above) and his sword (right) rein- 
forced his position in the frontier commu­
nity that bore his name. His children 
inherited his wealth; silver punch urn 
(upper right) was bought by Davenport’s 
son George L. Davenport.
SUMMER 1988 75
On the Road Again
“We are finding it a little rough to have to give away a 
lot of things you have owned since you can remember, 
things valuable to yourself only.
Mary Alice Shutes, diary Whether coming by train, steamboat, 
or wagon, a first step for emigrants 
moving to Iowa was to decide what 
could be taken along. Here are some 
of the possessions emigrants chose to 
bring with them to their new homes.
Left: As a carpenter in Salem County, 
Indiana, Martin McDaniel had 
received this eight-foot mahogany 
clock as payment for work. He 
brought it to Iowa in 1839.
Opposite, clockwise from upper left:
When Captain Paul Dahl berg moved 
from Sweden to Iowa in 1843, he 
brought this 1827 map (printed in
Swedish).
In Indiana, a Mr. Wittenmyer traded 
an extra farm wagon for this riHe and 
accoutrements when he came to Iowa 
in the 1840s. A bird design appears on 
the leather pouch.
Martha Tavlor made this cotton 
applique quilt in Decatur County, 
Indiana, in the 1830s. She brought it 
to Iowa.
In Ross County, Ohio, Ann Dean had 
this wool and linen coverlet woven in 
1846 for the birth of her son. The next 
year she brought it with her to her 
new home in Des Moines.
Rhoda Chaplin Parker sat in this 
maple side chair in a wagon from New 
York to Iowa in 1840. The family of 
Abraham Henkle used this flax hackle 
first in Virginia, then moved it w it h 
them to Illinois in 1829, and then to 
Iowa in 1836. In 1844 in Ohio, V.R. 
Van Hyning packed up his wooden 
leather vise. Seated at a chair, V an 
Hyning used the vise to hold leather 
steady while he worked on it.
76 THE PALIMPSEST
vi ? Jk'1 A |>' )
* t. if II
SUMMER 1988
-
Law of the Land
Under the Land Ordinance of 1785, recently acquired 
public lands had to he surveyed before they were sold. 
Federal surveyors divided the land in orderly, square 
parcels called townships and sections.
Above: A survey crew measured and marked the land 
and made careful notes of soil and timber types, water­
ways, mineral deposits, and existing towns. Tools 
included (from left) ruler, A Treatise on Surveying, 
plumb bob, Jacob’s staff and compass, survey pins, and 
chain.
Left: Ira Cook, Iowa surveyor in the 1840s and 1850s.* /
78 THE PALIMPSEST
Farmer-Capitalist
“The best business, or surest one in this country, I think is that of farming. It is only 
necessary for you to go out a few miles from town and to make a selection of the best 
land the sun ever shone upon for your farm, build your house, and make your fence, 
plow your ground, and live unmolested, as regards payment for perhaps 2 or 3 years: 
then you will have a farm of 160 acres, worth several thousand dollars, for which you 
will have to pay but $200.”
Joseph Fales, letter
After building some kind of shelter, the pioneer farmer began plowing. Breaking the prairie sod was a major step; what 
had been an investment in land now would become a farm. Endless seasonal work and the constant need to expand and 
fence fields often required the man in the farm family to turn to other family members or neighbors lor help. Some tasks
were hired out. if the cash was available. Above: Grain shovel and breaking plow with horn handles.
SUMMER 1988 79
In 1842 Kitturah Belknap wrote in her diary, “Now my name is out as a good 
cook so am alright as good cooking makes good friends. Basic cooking 
equipment included (above) a coffee mill, copper hot water kettle, and, 
hanging from a trammel, a cast-iron Dutch oven, in which one fried ven­
ison, roasted chicken, and baked bread. Women earned cash (sometimes 
the only family income) by selling their garden produce, eggs, butter, 
cheese, and honey. Below: bee hive, butter churn, egg and field baskets.
Women were the chief laborers in a 
diverse domestic economy. Chiet 
responsibilities were to process the 
unusable raw materials produced 
outside the home into consumable 
finished goods, and to care for, nur­
ture, and develop the labor force.
.OAyV.O
. » V - '
V *
V.
.>•
sV
f.'
M
'■'SV,"
■ M m-i*. XvX-x >vjSvsvi wc*.ft R •
•:v •' »  v «v>
>v X
m
■ + y
80 THE PALIMPSEST
I
0—
“Mother bore and cared for the 
babies, saw that the floor was 
white and clean, that the beds 
were made and cared for, the 
garden tended, the turkeys 
dressed, the deer flesh cared and 
the fat prepa red for candles or 
culinary use, that the wild fruits 
were garnered and preserved or 
dried, that the spinning and 
knitting was done and the clothing 
made. She did her part in all these 
tasks, made nearly all the clothing 
and did the thousand things for us 
a mother only finds time to do. ”
George Duffield, Memoirs
Above: Women melted a year’s supply of tallow in a cauldron for 
candlemaking, then dipped wicks or filled molds. Below: Produce 
was dried, canned, salted or pickled, and packed away. Here, 
cabbage shredder, brass preserve kettle, and stoneware crock.
SUMMER 1988 81
Left: Housekeeping in a log cabin or sod bouse 
was a next-to-impossible task. Floors were 
made of roughly split slabs or, in many cases, 
dirt or sand, sometimes swept by broom into 
momentary patterns pleasing to the eye.
W‘ . '1r [2- m L
[\tp. 11 /» ' ]V c .L JLjh ^ Z
In times of illness, women acted as 
doctor, using herbal home remedies 
and store-bought medicines. Above: 
“Humphrey’s Homeopathic Heme- 
dies.”
“All this winter 1 have been spinning 
Hax tow. . . . Now the wool must be 
taken from the sheep’s back,’ wrote 
Kitturah Belknap. Women made 
most clothing and linens. Above: 
Wool blanket, tow linen towel, knit­
ted wool stockings, sewing sundries.
The children had their work to do as soon as it was possible for them to 
work,” remembered E. Mav Laev Crowder. A metal infant feeder (above) 
and a sheet iron cow bell (below ) symbolize some typical chores — caring for 
younger siblings and herding cows. In spare moments, children played with 
simple toys — ceramic marbles, wooden tops, ice skates, and dolls.
r  H E PALIMPSEST
The Urban Frontier
Not everyone who came to the new Iowa Territory was a/ /
farmer. New towns offered opportunities for business. 
They were centers for trade and distribution, provided 
crafts and services to surrounding rural areas, and 
served as regulatory centers, all of which offered a vari­
ety of non-farm occupations.
Soon after the territory opened, a broad range of man­
ufactured goods from the world’s growing industries was 
available in frontier towns. Below are some of the items 
that could be bought (clockwise from upper left):
GLASSWARE AND CHINA: French porcelain tea set, 
pressed glass salt dish, English pearlware sauce tureen, 
silver sauce ladle.
HARDWARE AND CUTLERY: Steel and brass 
padlocks, carpenter’s plane, English-made hone and 
steel forks and wood and brass brace, and Sheffield steel 
knife with rosewood handle.
.METALWARE: English pewter coffee pot, pewter 
plate, copper coffee pot.
LAMPS: Punched tin lantern, pewter fluid lamp, glass 
oil lamp, glass candlestick, brass and marble astral lamp.
SIMMER 1988 83
_____
A
I
• ' ■ ■
/  • " * ■I v f f  j ~ *J| jAM/  : v: . >.**, S . * • .; •
/  -Vi. :¿ ' ( . jgjLr. o
f t  *  * 3 5 ? ^ . - . . .  
• » - - - 
. -  .
Leatherwórker
SUMMER 1988 85
Ordain and Establish
This rosewood and brass portable lap desk was used by 
Robert Lucas, Iowa’s first territorial governor, whose 
duties included appointing judges, militia officers, sher­
iffs, and Indian agents and approving legislation.
One of the legislature’s administrative duties was to 
regulate weights and measures for the territory. The 
standard was set by official brass measures (above), kept 
at the seat of territorial government.
• *\
Everyone w as not equal under the law. Only free, w hite males over the age of tw enty-one could vote in elections. Above, 
banner from the 1840 Harrison presidential campaign, the first to use placards, rallies, and Boats.
86 THE PALIMPSEST
;
White men, elected by white men, made laws concerning rights of blacks and women, education, and criminal and 
moral acts. In their efforts to protect individual rights, some individuals were more protected than others:
On December 28, 1846, 
Iowa Territory became the 
twenty-ninth state to enter 
the Union. Here: The first 
official seal of the State of 
Iowa, with lion s head press.
“AN ACT concerning the rights of married women (1846): a married 
woman could own property, but any profits belonged to her husband. Sale 
of property required the husband s co-signature. Individual divorces were 
also granted by the legislature.
“AN ACT providing for the establishment of common schools” (1839): open 
to “all white citizens between the ages of four and twenty-one.
“AN ACT for the prevention of certain immoral practices” (1843): One 
could not work, fight, fish, shoot, or sell liquor on Sunday (unless one 
observed Saturday as the Sabbath).
“AN ACT to regulate Blacks and Mulattoes” (1839): a freedman s $500 bond 
was required of any blacks or mixed-bloods who wanted to settle or live in 
Iowa.
SUMMER 1988 87
IN THE
si i i m t ' i '  jr <k »  ¿ m n s ra D S t
lU J f tW 'J r«  j . u*.
W IL L  tak e  place on the p rem ises 0 . \  TIOi>I)AY the
U nder the superin tendence o f the B oard  o f  Commis­
sioner* o f said county, and will continue from  day to 
day until all tlic Cot*, a re  sold, (at the discretion o f  said 
Commissioners.) T his town is situated on the N orth 
W est q u a r te r  o f Seetion I 5 , Tow nship 7 9  .North, 
Kange ti B  est; Ijing  south and adjoining tlic town plat 
o f IO W A  C IT Y , and is in effect, an addition to said 
city, the principal streets being laid out paralle l and 
corresponding with the streets o f the City. T h is town 
is situated on high and dry ground, nearly level, abound­
ing with exce l len t  tim ber and w ater. In  point o f health, 
this location cannot be surpassed In any in the T e rr ito ­
ry. IOW A C IT Y  being so generally know n, we deem 
a fu rth e r description unnecessary. T h e  value and r i ­
sing prospect o f property  so advantageously situated, 
must be ap p aren t to all who a re  desirous o f  m aking 
profitable investments.
T e r m s  o f  S a l e .
O ne-fourth o f  the purchase money in hand, and the 
balance in th ree  sem i-annual instalments. B ond or 
C ertificate will be gixeu for the execution o f  a Deed 
when all the paym ents a re  made.
By o rd e r  «f
P H I L I P  C L A R K ,
JO H N  P A R R O T T ,
S. B . G a rd n e r, CfcrA’. C om m issioner*.
F e b ru a ry  8 , 1 8 4 1 .
Despite surveyors' efforts to 
square off Iowa, river towns 
tended to be laid out paral­
lel to the rivers. Portion of 
Van Buren County plat and 
Keosauqua. Inset: 1841 ad 
for land sales in the new 
capital city.


You Gotta Know the Territory: Material Culture from Territorial Iowa

McOilough, Verlene

One Boy's Search for His Roots

Ohrn, Steven

Conserving Amana's Folk Arts: A Community Remaining Faithful

Berkove, Lawrence I

news that was at all interesting, the settlers 
seldom failed to make him produce for their 
edification the very last item in his budget. It 
used to he asserted that a man who could tell a 
good ghost or murder story, might travel from 
one end of Indiana to the other without being 
charged a cent for either meals or lodging. In 
Iowa it was much the same in the early times of 
which I speak.
Being comfortably seated about the fire, as 1 
have said, I was not long in perceiving that it 
was expected 1 would proceed to relate some­
thing of my history, something of my travels, of 
the news at the river towns, or tell a story of 
some kind. All in the old Dutchman s house 
hungered for the sound of my voice — thirsted 
to hear the “stranger” talk.
Between whiffs at his pipe, the honest old 
Pennsylvanian proceeded to inform me that 
this Christmas day was the anniversary of an 
accident that had greatly shocked the settlers. 
On Christmas day, the year before, a young 
man of great promise, and a large owner of 
land, had been drowned by falling through the 
ice at a place on the river some ten miles below; 
how a friend had vainly tried to save him, 
almost losing his own life in the attempt, and in 
various ways tried to draw me out. The mother 
and daughters looked at me anxiously, and, I 
thought, somewhat reproachfully. All the faces 
about me seemed to say: “Young man, you 
certainly ought to be able to tell 1 1s some news,
a story, or something that would interest or 
amuse us. You see how we are situated here — 
away out in the wilderness, where we hear 
nothing — you must know that a little story* 
about your travels, or almost anything else, 
would be a great treat to us.
Observing the anxiety of all the family to be 
entertained, I cleared my throat by three or 
four preparatory hems, which at once attracted 
attention and greatly encouraged all present.
“Neighbor,” said I, “what you have been 
telling me about the drowning of the young 
man here in your river reminds me of an adven­
ture I once had on the Mississippi, between 
Dubuque and Galena, and, curiously, too, it 
was on a Christmas day.”
“Ah — h!” cried the Dutchman, taking the 
pipe from his mouth, nodding and smiling. 
“Ah — h, vas dot so?”
The good wife’s rapid fingers for a moment 
forgot their task, and her eager face said: “Do 
let us hear about it? The bouncing girl of eigh­
teen paused in her occupation of dishwashing, 
and stood, towel in hand, afraid to touch the 
rattling cups and saucers; the pretty modest 
lass of sixteen looked up from her sewing, her 
eyes sparkling a kind and earnest request for 
the story; the children, playing on the floor, 
paused in their sports and gazed up at me in 
round-eyed expectancy — even the great 
house-dog arose from his warm lair in the 
chimney-corner, and approaching, yawned
De Quille Sells a Christmas Story by Lawrence I. Berkove
MERICA'S LOVE of the 
tall tale is deep and long- 
established. Despite hun­
dreds, if not thousands, of excel­
lent examples of frontier humor, 
anthologies often repeat the same 
familiar ones: Davy Crockett and 
Paul Bunyan stories and Mark 
Twain anecdo tes. Dan 
De Quille’s newly rediscovered 
tragicomedy, “ A Christmas 
Story,” suggests what riches lie off 
the beaten track.
The story was originally pub­
lished in the Virginia City 
(Nevada) Territorial Enterprise 
on December 25, 1879. De Quille
had been affiliated with this 
important western newspaper 
since 1861 (a few years after he had 
left behind his West Liberty, 
Iowa, farm and his given name 
William Wright; see Fall 1988 Pal­
impsest.) In addition to covering 
local news and being the paper’s 
mining editor, De Quille also con­
tributed works of humor and fic­
tion to it. His lively sense of 
humor inclined toward the hoax 
— what was called in De Quille’s 
time a “sell” but what today we 
call a “put-on” — a sub-genre of 
the tall tale. In essence, the sell 
depended upon undetected exag­
geration. Something in the story 
had to be literally incredible, but 
the seller’s art consisted of so bur­
ying it in plausible details that it 
was not discovered until the 
audience completely “bought” it.
Selling could be a demanding 
art, and the seller had to be adept 
at gauging his audience, leading 
his listeners on and on at just the 
right pace. A single miscalculation 
could ruin the effect. De Quille, 
however, was a master among 
masters of this technique. A close 
look at this story set in the Iowa of 
his earlier days can pick up the 
signs of his skill.
188 THE PALIMPSEST
suggestively; rested his black muzzle on my 
knee, looked appealingly in my face, and began 
wagging his tail — evidently meaning by this 
last movement to say: “Let the tale’ proceed. ”
Thus appealed to and encouraged on all 
hands, I at once launched forth on a pair of 
skates of bright and ringing steel, and, with the 
old Dutchman and all his family close at my 
heels, sped away down over the broad expanse 
of new and glassy ice bridging the “Father of 
Waters.”
Many narrow escapes from gaping air-holes 
did 1 have; many times did the thin ice bend 
and crackle under my weight; often the good 
Dutchman cried: “Ah, Gott!’ Often the knit­
ting needles of the old lady were still; the dish­
washer stood with half-wiped cup in hand; the 
sewing girl bent forward with idle needle in her 
fingers; the children on the floor gazed up with 
open mouths, and the dog, in his warm corner, 
forgot to snore.
Soon, however, the danger is past, and again 
we are gliding merrily on. The sigh of relief 
Irom the father is echoed by each member of 
the family, and every face is again bright as we 
look up together through the clear frosty air at 
the spreading cedars climbing in long rows the 
many terraces of the mighty bluffs rising hun­
dreds of feet above the frozen river.
We are thus happily gliding along when sud­
denly an immense air-hole yawns but a few 
yards ahead. I see the water rippling and flash­
ing before me, but I am going at lightning 
speed and know not well how to avoid the 
danger. My first impulse is to make a bold dash 
and leap the chasm; but I have scarcely taken 
three vigorous strides before 1 see that it is too 
wide. Can I get by on either side? A quick 
glance shows it to be impossible. Again I rush 
forward, resolved to attempt it. I have delayed 
so long that to gain impetus for the final spring I
must now run to the verv brink of the hole.*
Within a foot of the edge I bow myself down, 
but when in the act of rising up for the leap, the 
ice breaks like an egg-shell beneath my feet. I 
plunge forward some feet into the ice-cold 
water, I sink, am caught by the swift current of 
the mighty river and whirled away under the 
ice.
fhe old Dutchman and his family have seen, 
and see, it all. Their eyes are riveted upon me 
— they scarcely venture to breathe. The 
cheeks of the sewing girl are white. We are in a 
situation of terrible peril. I must try to swim 
back to the air-hole. It is expected of me and I 
make the attempt.
I writhe and struggle with the current which 
is pressing so fiercely against me — pressing 
me, in spite of all my efforts, downward under 
the ice to death!
As I thus fight for life the veins swell upon 
the good Dutchman’s forehead; his teeth are 
set hard together; his hands open and close as if 
he were clutching at something, and in the
In addition to telling a humor­
ous story that turned out to he a 
hoax, De Quille s “A Christmas 
Story also tells a serious story 
about telling stories. The narrator, 
for example, is a carefully con­
ceived character. In contrast to 
the honest old Dutchman, the 
narrator is relatively well edu­
cated, traveled, and sophisticated. 
He is also observant and sensitive 
to what is going on around him. 
He understands that the family 
thirsted to hear him talk, but he 
delays until the eagerness reaches 
a peak. He waits for precisely the 
right moment, when he perceives 
an unspoken anxiety in the entire
family for ‘news, a story, or some­
thing that would interest or amuse
>>us.
When the host gives him an 
opening, the story of a drowning, 
the narrator quickly invents a 
story that fits in naturally with the 
subject. As he tells it, it “curi­
ously, too” occurred on Christ­
mas. Cast as autobiography and 
rich in plausible detail, it brings an 
authority that disarms skepticism.
By using the historical present 
tense, the narrator achieves a 
sense of immediacy which quickly 
engages his audience. His graphic 
description of his poignant strug­
gles under water grips the imag­
inations of his audience. Time is 
erased; they see, they feel, they 
struggle with him. When they 
can, they lend him support. As he 
prepares to succumb, the host 
calls, “Schtick it out!” When the 
man in the water grasps some 
object before him, the host 
quickly leaps to a conclusion in the 
romantic tradition: ”Dank Gott!
. . . it vas a rope and you vas 
safed! The narrator milks one last 
bit of suspense from the situation. 
No, it was not a rope. And then he 
springs the sell on the audience.
But who is the audience? The 
naive family is only imaginary. 
Ihe real audience is the reading
WINTER 1988 189
A Christmas Story (continued)
faces of all about me I see pictured suspense — 
suspense almost amounting to agony.
On I struggle. I seem to be gaining upon the 
cruel current; I strain every muscle; my pain­
fully distended eyes peer ahead through the 
yellow water for the light that should mark the 
opening in the ice — bravely 1 struggle, but 
cannot see that which I would give the wealth 
of the world to behold — the open water.
I am holding my breath till my eyes seem 
starting from their sockets. I would give mil­
lions on millions for a single breath of air, 
though drawn in the foulest dungeon or the 
most loathsome charnel-house the world ever 
saw. I feel that I must breathe or die, and to 
attempt to breathe is to die.
My arms are growing weak; their strokes are 
short, feeble and convulsive. I merely hold mv 
ground against the current. I am not gaining an 
inch. Oh, God! no sign of the opening I seek. 
Lost! lost! I am going backward. I will breathe 
in the cool, clear water and die.
“No! no! for God’s sake, don’t do dot! cries 
the good old Dutchman, leaping from his chair 
and rushing toward me with outstretched arms 
— “don’t do dot. Sell tick it out! Schtick it out! 
The old lady’s knitting work rolls from her lap; 
the dish-washer lets fall a plate, and it is shiv­
ered on the floor; the sewing girl rises and 
cries: “Oh, sir!’ then sits down, blushing.
We are still under the ice. The family control
their emotions and 1 continue: I am struggling 
but feebly. The temptation to breathe and at 
once end all is fast overcoming me. All that I 
have ever seen or heard seems rising before 
me. * * * But what do 1 see? Before me
and almost within reach of my hands appears a 
large black object. A few fierce strokes and I 
have gained it — have grasped it in my hands.
“Dank Gott! cries the Dutchman, “it vas a 
rope and you vas safed! The faces of all the 
other members of the family show that thev,/ j *
too, are mentally thanking God for my having 
at last found souk vhing upon which to cling.
“No,’ I answer the honest Pennsylvanian; 
“No, it was not a rope.
“Was fur ding, den, vas it dat you grabs?’
“It was the roots of an old tree that I found, 
far down there under the ice. Once I got hold of 
the roots I crawled into the forks of a large one 
and camped there till Spring. W hen the ice 
finally broke up I kept close watch and, letting 
go my hold, plunged up through the first big 
air-hole that came floating down.
The good old Dutchman took his pipe from 
his mouth, drew a long breath, gazed at me 
sorrowfully for a full minute, then said: “Young
man, in my obinion dat schtorv vot you tell is• » /
one tarn big schwindle — on top oj de ice! kat- 
terina — gals, young man, shildren — I dink 
we was all petter go to ped.
What does the reader think — taking into 
consideration the fact that to-dav is Christmas?
De Quille Sells (continued)
audience. In our eagerness to hear 
something that will amuse or 
entertain us, we drop our guard 
and make ourselves vulnerable to 
a fiction. We do this, of course, 
with every story we re told, from 
the ancient tales of the Arabian 
Nights to the most recent detec­
tive or sei-fi story. The storyteller 
always, always exploits the prefer­
red gullibility of the audience. 
Coleridge classically defined the 
condition of successful narration 
as the audience s “willing suspen­
sion of disbelief.’’ De Quille’s 
story, therefore, is didactic not 
only in showing us the process of 
how a storyteller casts a spell, but
19« THE PALIMPSEST
also in exposing how eager we are 
to be enchanted and how vulnera­
ble we then become. Mis Christ­
mas gift to us consists of showing 
us these things about ourselves 
without penalty; what might have 
ended tragically ends comically. 
But truly, we are as naive as the 
m e m hers of the “ li o nest 
Dutchman’s” family, and we are 
equally susceptible victims of the 
one who is not honest — the story- 
teller. Curiously, like the family, 
we cherish illusions and resent 
being disenchanted.
De Quilles ironic estimate of 
the human mind is shared with 
other authors of his time. The
transition from chapter 32 to 33 of 
Mark Twain’s Roughing It (1872) 
turns on exactly this point. Chap­
ter 32 ends romantically, and the
reader “buys’ it. The embarrass-✓
ing truth of the hoax is uncovered 
in the second paragraph of chap­
ter 33. And Ambrose Bierce s 
great short story of the Civil War, 
“A Son of the Gods,” originally 
subtitled “A Study in the Histor- 
ical Present Tense, reveals the 
tragic consequences of the ease 
with which the human mind is 
manipulated. De Quille, like 
Twain and Bierce, left us with sto­
ries that entertain but also teach 
us things beyond entertainment.
-T. "
«  s
*  . -V  •


De Quille Sells a Christmas Story

The Palimpsest, vol.69 no.4, Winter 1988

Plowden, David

David Plowden 
Photographs Iowa
photos by David Plowden
Buena Vista County, June 1986
For the last decade David Plowden learned about Iowa 
first-hand: he met the people, and he photographed its 
farms and towns. Plowden’s photographs show Iowa in 
great economic flux, when much that has been familiar is 
vanishing. They also show the images of Iowa that 
endure.
In the past Plowden has directed his considerable 
talent towards other subjects — bridges, trains, indus­
trial landscapes. His superb photographs are both an 
artistic experience and historically important documen­
tation — of occupations, architecture, material culture, 
humans’ interchange with their natural surroundings. 
Our thanks to David Plowden for recording for our
© 1988 DAVID PLOWDEN
descendants what 1980s Iowa looked like, and for show­
ing present-day Iowans how much we have to save.
These photos preview Plowden’s newest hook, A Sense 
of Place, copublished this November by the State Histor­
ical Society of Iowa and W. W. Norton, New York. I he 
entire collection — over 120 images — w ill be on exhibit 
in the State Historical Building in Des Moines from 
December 1988 through February 1989. A traveling 
exhibit of fifty prints is available through the Iowa 
Humanities Board. Funding for the photographs was 
provided hv the State Historical Society of Iowa and an 
Exemplary Award to the Iowa Humanities Board from 
the National Endowment for the Humanities.
— The Editor
106 THE PALIMPSEST

. .
■
* * V .*  • * * - • - • * ?< ; '
‘ v £>.: -,
*>• : : V\ * 
■-. » •
3
1 >,?'«■ 1* . \ T ■ ' ' \ *■- . ’ ’ • . ----- - ------------------
! ■ < ; I v  r- -, : .. . •• - • ;----------- ,
;  ;  . ■ . - •  ^
• • • ' ■ ■  • « . ;  • 1 f : :• •. ,  J_____________ . 1
Cedar County, May 1985 © 1988 DAVID PLOWDEN
108 THE PALIMPSEST
klalin F u ni. Cedar County, June 1986 © 1988 DAVID PLOWDEN
FALL 1988
-ì
•Biiiltuakc*MUfiln èl
-If
K _
m ttw  < ' * l
.1  (I
jlTT1
&  i  rpp?
• i f
i t . L i
■£Q\
i C Hi- V V a V*'
xít*?
7-;
/¿v<wSr> ‘ *̂ 1
Ü*w2; nb»KfH í&yw&wftf ' zteíZ-r-̂
• 7  7TY .  4 ^  ^  t r , F9 ■ . ( J ' m 1* - ' ^ A * r L ív  - -AjMB £ ZúZ-U?
«ttjfc:> r» ̂ : ■ ¡ *> ,:,w ..
«Kr.
V44
*<H. ' v , ^
9*f< iy*<t
¡«i¡^S*,î
..•4r̂ *'- í*V̂ rlJí i
v?r  '- f e  - u < J ^ r * > * í l l T ' , ' /r v . i i i ,  .* ■-.: ^ - i i .* ~ * a » «
{âtĝfab» :Â;ŝ .<a:áiinfc?%SMHj:. * '**uWW Ŝ3lb.V
®£ ? J g hpp< J; p i i n*»•* • n MrSaTi.-í■Wi
iHiy.-
&ÉÉ
,!tyNMP»* í
•***' &**% ̂ ¿ywtpfrfrVi - W  MC-. ' ■ '5 J . . Í » '  v 'SV .
■»̂ic/Aílll
110 THE PALIMPSEST
Buena Vista County, June 1986 © 1988 DAVID PLOWDEN
V  ; ♦ 1 *
gw
IWfcla if .{• * XKii * 1
Cumberland, April 1987 ®  1988 DAVID PLOWDEN
é

♦
Ossian, March 1987
114 THE PALIMPSEST
'mm**
Bill Haroff, Postmaster, Hastings, April 1987 © 1988 DAVID PLOWDEN
FALL 1988
f m\\
lìtit g -WhW m&Bm.S'V,
Methodist Episcopal Church, Winneshiek County, .March 1987 © 1988 DAVID PLOWDEN
116 TH E PALIM PSEST
1Ì
¿u ... m iB■
t p
P n
4 U .tJ
liPTTTj
Í I
g ]
í $
m
rriH
|n ) |
H U PP
f» *T*
t •* «i  » i i i j . i l l  n
VS T I«  ¿1
Í- ; j  •* • * a
ì
Farmers Co-op Elevator, Bradford, June 1986 c 1988 DAVID PLOWDEN
117FALL 1988
Kelley Bradley, Scotch Grove, May 1987 © 1988davidplowden



David Plowden Photographs Iowa

Torrence, Gaylord

A Mesquakie
Dr a w ing
by Gaylord Torrence
M
any n a t iv e  Am e r ic a n
works of art which have come 
clown to us through time 
stimulate our curiosity, invite 
our study, and excite our sense of wonder, for 
they come from a distant past and a world very 
different from our own. One such object, an 
exceptionally rare and beautiful Mesquakie 
drawing (right), is preserved in the museum 
collection of the State Historical Societv of 
Iowa. Its early date and relatively firm 
documentation establish its historic impor­
tance, while its intricate composition and 
complex imagery provide the viewer with a 
truly remarkable visual experience. But it is a 
drawing which was clearly intended to 
communicate specific information, and it is 
impossible to examine the work closely without 
also questioning its meaning.
Stylistically this drawing is extremely rare 
and may be unique in that no similar works by 
Mesquakie artists are known to exist. This fact 
alone makes the drawing difficult to interpret. 
While the Mesquakie and neighboring Great 
Lakes/Prairie tribes had a rich pictorial 
tradition in their arts which includes 
representational, as well as abstract, geometric 
imagery, figurative motifs were usually 
depicted in a different manner. Human, 
animal, and mythic images frequently appear 
on a variety of objects, but these representa­
tions are usually highly conventionalized and
not so complex in their organization. This 
specific work is unusual in the great number 
and diversity of animals depicted, the degree of 
naturalism which characterizes the drawing, 
and the inclusion of narrative autobiographical 
events. Because it does not fit within the more 
typical modes of expression, a comparison of 
this drawing with other works in which the 
pictorial system has been well documented is 
impossible, and many of the questions 
concerning its interpretation cannot be 
precisely answered. We are confronted with 
the realization that, as with many pictographic 
representations from the Great Lakes culture, 
the artist’s verbal explanation would be needed 
to convey the full meaning of this drawing. At 
the same time, certain facts are clearly 
expressed and others are strongly suggested.
fhe drawing is attributed to Wacochachi 
(pronounced Wall co shah shee), a member of 
the Mesquakie tribe. The Mesquakie are more 
commonly known as the Fox, or Sac and Fox, 
but their name for themselves is Meskwahki 
haki, translated as “Red Earths’ or “Red Earth 
People.” Together with the Sauk, a separate 
tribe with whom they were joined in formal 
alliance since the early 1700s, they migrated to 
Iowa during the last half of the eighteenth 
century. Often treated as one tribe by the 
United States government, the Mesquakie and
------------------ "■ ■! ■ . ■ l ■ -
The ink drawing (right) attributed to Wacochachi con­
sists of two panels, each 9%" high by 15%" wide.
64 THE PALIMPSEST
SUMMER 1988 65
/
Sauk constituted the most important native 
American group in Iowa during the historic 
period.
Wacochachi was a member of the Fox clan of 
the Mesquakie tribe, and, as an important war 
chief, he was one of the principal leaders of his 
tribe during the first half of the nineteenth 
century. As a man of rank and achievement, his 
name, written phonetically in a variety of spell­
ings, is recorded in at least three treaties and 
appears in other documents as well. Me was an 
individual of impressive appearance, and his 
dramatic portrait is the only Mesquakie image 
to appear in the atlas produced by Karl 
Bodmer, the artist who accompanied Prince 
Maximilian on his exploration of the American 
West in 1833-1834.
Wacochachi must have had frequent contact 
with Colonel George L. Davenport, post 
trader for the Mesquakie and Sauk tribes at 
Fort Armstrong on the Mississippi River from 
1816 until 1839. An abbreviation of his name 
appears several times in Davenport s ledgers, 
and a later event indicates that a special bond of 
friendship and respect existed between the two 
men: After Davenport s death in 1845, the 
Mesquakie tribe honored the trader with an 
elaborate ritual at his gravesite, at which time 
they erected a cedar post painted with totemic 
emblems and figures of slain enemies. It was 
Wacochachi who presided at the ceremony.
This relationship as well as the artist s ma­
terials may explain to some extent the draw­
ing's existence. It was not uncommon for 
traders and military men who were closely 
associated with Indians to purchase or commis­
sion works of art, and often they would provide 
materials such as paper, ink, pencils, and 
watercolors. It is possible that Davenport 
asked his friend Wacochachi to make the draw­
ing and gave him the materials, and then 
signed Wacochachi s name when it was 
finished. Wacochachi might also have made 
the drawing on his own initiative and later 
presented it to Davenport.
In 1973 the drawing was discovered in the 
State Historical Library in Des Moines during
a routine inventory of books in the collection.*
At some time it had been folded and placed 
between the pages of a large volume belonging 
to Colonel Davenport, and this volume was
later presented to the historical department in 
1924 through the bequest of Naomi Daven­
port, his daughter.
The drawing, sometimes referred to as a 
pictograph, was executed in pen and ink on two 
sheets of white paper joined by sealing wax. 
The overall compositional unity, the similarity 
or continuation of subject matter extending 
from one page to the other, as well as the 
identical style of drawing and scale of the fig­
ures, would suggest that the two parts were in­
tended as a single work. At the same time, each 
page seems conceptually and compositionally 
complete in itself. It is really impossible to 
know if the paper was joined before the artist 
began his work in order to provide a larger 
format, or if a second sheet was added as the 
drawing progressed, or if the two separate 
drawings depicting different events were 
joined by Colonel Davenport after their com­
pletion.
The image is basically drawn in the archaic 
Great Lakes tradition, characterized by the 
Hat, two-dimensional treatment of each figure, 
with no attempt to indicate background or 
spatial depth. Yet within the restrictions of this 
pictographic style, the figures are expressively 
drawn. While they exist only as silhouettes, 
and even though interior details are omitted, 
their sensitively rendered contours are highly 
descriptive, providing clear identification of 
each species. This is perhaps the most 
remarkable and unusual feature of the drawing; 
nearly one hundred different species are 
exquisitely delineated and combined with 
human events to form a dynamic and rhythmic/  r
composition. The artist has essentially 
recorded the vast array of animals, birds, and 
fish commonly found in the upper Mississippi 
Valley during the early nineteenth century, 
and, in doing so, has created a vivid sense of 
place. He has suggested a landscape, not 
through a naturalistic portrayal of hills, trees,
rivers, and skv as in the Euro-American artistic✓
tradition, but by depicting the creatures which 
fill these places with life and spirit. Within this 
rich environment, human events are pictured 
with varying effectiveness. In the lower panel 
the figures are especially animated, and 
Wacochachi has powerfully conveyed the 
drama and tension of the decisive moment of
THE PALIMPSEST
JOSLYN ART MUSEUM OMAHA. NEBRASKA
When Prince Maximilian met a delegation of Mesquakie 
and Sauk Indians in St. Louis at the beginning of his 
western exploration of 1833—1834, he described the 
encounter as “the first opportunity of becoming 
acquainted with the North American Indians in all their 
originality.” His companion, the artist Karl Bodmer, 
produced this striking portrait from that meeting. 
W akusasse is depicted wearing the roach headdress and 
facial paint characteristic of Great Lakes warriors. 
W akusasse (Wacochachi) is the artist who produced the 
remarkable drawing in the museum collection of the 
State Historical Society of Iowa.
battle. He lias depicted himself leaving his 
beaver trap line and charging upon his well- 
armed enemy. He has fired an arrow, striking 
bis victim, who has recoiled and doubled from 
its impact, leaving no doubt as to the outcome 
of the encounter.
Probably the most important question in
attempting to understand the content of the 
drawing is whether all the images constitute a
continuous narrative — one storv in which all✓
of the elements are sequentially related. This 
seems impossible to determine by examining 
the drawing alone because no single line of 
thought adequately explains, without 
inconsistency or contradiction, the variety of 
figures and events and the relationships 
existing between them.
It does seem apparent that the drawing is 
primarily autobiographical, showing three 
events in the life of Wacochachi. Since 
prehistoric times, it has been the tradition of 
native American warriors to record their 
victories in a variety of pictographic forms on 
shell, stone, wood, hide, and antler, and they 
continued this practice when non-Indian 
materials such as paper, pen, and ink became 
available. On each panel, the great multitude 
of creatures revolves around a principal human 
encounter in which a warrior is slaying an
enemv from another tribe. These events form✓
the visual and conceptual cen ter of 
organization for each composition, and it is 
very probable that both heroes, as well as one 
figure in a minor event, represent Wacochachi. 
In the upper panel, his name appears above 
him, in handwriting identified as Colonel 
Davenport s. Written below the name is the 
word oquiman, a phonetic spelling of the 
Mesquakie word for chief. On all three 
occasions, he is depicted wearing a “raven 
belt, a distinctive feathered ornament worn 
only by warriors of great achievement, and 
Wacochachi may have intended this as a0
pictographic means of personal identification.
Wacochachi has also indicated a spiritual 
bond between himself and many of the 
surrounding animals, and it is unlikely that he 
would presume to portray such relationships if 
he were depicting a man other than himself. In 
the lower panel this relationship between the 
warrior and several of the birds and animals has 
been established by waved lines which How 
from the various creatures and converge within 
the man. In Great Lakes art, waved or jagged 
lines universally symbolize the transmission of 
sacred power. All Great Lakes Indians, 
including the Mesquakie, perceived the 
natural world to be animated by a multitude of
SUMMER 1988 67
spirits called Manitous. They believed that the 
earth, sky, underworld, and all other elements 
of nature were sacred, and that these elements 
were personified by numerous supernatural 
beings, the Manitous, who granted power and 
bestowed blessings. These deities manifested 
themselves in a variety of physical and mythical 
forms, and various ones revealed themselves as 
spirit helpers to men and women during their 
vision quests. These guardian spirits could be 
called upon in time of need, and no warrior 
would confront the enemy in battle without 
doing so. It appears that Wacochachi first filled 
the space surrounding the battle with all of the 
common life forms which shared his world, and 
then, by adding the waved lines, indicated 
those which functioned directly as his guardian 
spirits.
In the cen ter of the upper panel, 
Wacochachi has portrayed himself in another 
battle, shooting an enemy from ambush behind 
a tree. The victim mav have been one of the
party of buffalo hunters drawn directly above. 
It was a common practice whenever possible to 
surprise enemy hunters while their concentra­
tion was focused on the events of the hunt. A 
single line connects Wacochachi with the 
image of a hawk clutching a smaller bird in its 
talons. This hawk configuration resembles a 
glyph, a pictographic symbol used to signify 
the name of the person represented, but if this 
were the case, the hawk would be in close 
proximity to the person it was intended to 
identify. Furthermore, the name Wacochachi 
is not translated as a hawk or other kind of bird 
but as “Brave Fox’ or, more completely, “The
Fox Who is Victorious in War and Will Live to
Grow Old. The name in Davenport s 
handwriting indicates Wacochachi s identity, 
and we mav assume that the hawk is not a name 
glyph but another guardian spirit. Wacochachi 
might also have drawn the line to emphasize a 
verbal narration in which he stated that he 
killed his enemv as surelv and swiftlv as the
hawk grasps its prey.
The third human encounter appears along 
the lower left side of the top panel, but it is 
difficult to determine what is occurring. It 
would appear that one man is striking or 
lancing the other, but it could also be a friendly 
meeting or an exchange. The bison hunters
dominate much of the rest of the top panel, as 
do the highly descriptive images of fishes and 
water birds, which seem to be related to the 
two scenes of men fishing. It is impossible to 
know if the events depicted, including those in 
the lower panel, occurred in direct succession 
or were widely separated by time and place. 
One may only speculate what, if any, 
relationship exists between these diverse 
images.
Even though we cannot know his exact 
intentions or the conditions which resulted in 
the creation of this drawing, Wacochachi has 
left behind a fascinating work of art. The very
factors which make it difficult to analvze also✓
account for the richness, mvsterv, andj  * *
expressive power it projects. Wacochachi has 
conveyed much more than an assemble of 
animals and a record of personal experience.
1 le has evoked for us an image of Iowa as a place 
that we will never fully know, a dynamic world 
whose pale outlines are barely visible today, an 
open land of wild, rolling prairie, dense forest, 
and unrestricted rivers, all inhabited by an 
abundance of living creatures who shared their 
world with the Mesquakie. D
NOTE ON SOURCES
The only work devoted specifically to the Wacochachi 
pictograph is Wacochachi s Talking Paper by Jack W. 
Musgrove and Mary R. Musgrove, Annals of Iowa, 42 
(Summer 1974), 325-43. The general literature on the 
various aspects of Mesquakie culture and history is 
extensive. An excellent basic source is Natalie F. Joflfe, 
The Fox of Iowa in Acculturation in Seven American 
Indian Tribes, ed. Ralph Linton (New York: Appleton- 
Century, 1940). Other valuable references are Thomas 
Forsyth, “An Account of the Manners and Customs of the 
Sauk and Fox Nations of Indian Traditions (1827)’ in The 
Indian Tribes of the Upper Mississippi Valley and Region 
of the Great Lakes, ed. Emma H. Blair, (Cleveland: 
Arthur H. Clark, 1911-1912), vol. 2, pp. 183-245; 
W illiam Jones, “Ethnography of the Fox Indians’ in 
Bureau of American Ethnology, Bulletin 125, ed. 
Margaret W. Fisher (Washington, 1939); Allison B 
Skinner, “Observations on the Ethnology of the Sauk 
Indians, Bulletin of the Public Museum of the City of 
Milwaukee, 5 (1-3) (Milwaukee, 1923-1925). Publications 
which focus on the art of the Great Lakes Indians are Art 
of the Great Lakes Indians (Flint Institute of Arts, 1973); 
Ruth B Phillips, Patterns of Power (Kleinburg, Ontario: 
McMichael Canadian Collection. 1984); and Garrick 
Mallery, Picture Writing of the American Indians, Tenth 
Annual Report of the Bureau of Ethnology to the 
Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution (1888-89) 
(reprint. New York: Dover Publication, 1972).
68 THE PALIMPSEST


A Mesquakie Drawing

The Palimpsest, vol.69 no.1, Spring 1988

Cumberland, William

Walking Straight: Claud McMillan and the Anti-Saloon League

Not a member yet