Tag Archives: early american history
Spirit of Vincennes Rendezvous 2011 & memories from the gutter
Musicoligists disagree on what was the first musical device. They generally agree that the first musical instrument was the voice. So it’s a simple leap to believe our ancient ancestors figured out whistling, and from there, the flute. The whistle imitated birds, the flute imitated the whistle and thus, music was born.
But it’s always been my theory, without any scientific evidence mind you, that the first musical device was the drum. Consider this …
Our paleolithic ancestors are sitting around the fire, and one of them discovers that he or she can make a sound with their mouth, which will later come to be called melodic. And now this is way before anyone figures out whistling, keep in mind. So they’re humming away, and before long, another ancestor, most certainly a guy, starts making rhythmic noises with his mouth. Kind of like a prehistoric beat box. Which in turn leads another (again a male of the species) to begin drumming rhythmically on his legs. And we all know how irritating that is, unless the primitives in question had some form of libation, in which all of them would soon be beating on their legs. Next thing you know someone picks up a couple of sticks and musical instruments are born.
What does all this have to do with the 2011 Spirit of Vincennes Rendezvous, in Vincennes, IN?
Like most historical reenactments, the participants fall into two camps. The first is those demanding authenticity, most notably in dress. And in this The Spirit of Vincennes Rendezvous does pretty darned well, at least among the reenactors. The merchants are a different story, but that’s neither here nor there.
The other camp doesn’t really give a fig for authenticity, as long as it looks right. Or in the case of music, sounds like what people expect period music to sound like. And reenactments aren’t the only victim of this. No less notable a personage than Ken Burns, with his award-winning PBS specials blows it when it comes to musical authenticity.
So at the Spirit of Vincennes Rendezvous, let’s face it, the music isn’t authentic (discounting Common Stock, a wonderful pair who I have to believe are as authentic as you’re likely to find). Ironically enough, the guitar might not have been entirely unknown in colonial Vincennes, as the French quite possibly brought it when Vincennes was still trading in furs. But the whole ensemble playing would likely never have happened. And perhaps most inconceivable to many people, the bodhran, or Irish frame drum would never have been played in an ensemble setting. We all would love to believe that the instrument has been accompanying early music for centuries, but it likely dates from no earlier than the 1960s.
Now cast your mind back in time to the Spirit of Vincennes Rendezvous, 2001 or therabouts. Your author is playing non-traditional music for non-traditional dancers at the event. It’s hot, and thirsty work. The day’s activities end, and we wander around the encampment and along the river, which is when the site feels most like the 18th century. Darkness falls, and libations are produced. Many libations. At the far end of the encampment, a large fire is drifting sparks up into the sky, in contrast with most of the smaller fires of the reenactors, and we wander to it, where a well-known and unnamed musical act is camping. There are kids being kids, adults being adults, and a ring of people around the fire, which we join. More libations are produced, including a fiery elixer with golden flakes suspended therein, Goldschlager. This bottle and several others are passed around the circle, along with a guitar and songs, and pretty soon, the twentieth century is long gone. I have to believe, based on as much as I can remember, that this was the most authentic experience I’ve had at any reenactment or historic site. Bar none.
I also seem to remember that I slept much of the night in a ditch, which felt pretty authentic as well. A gutter might have been more appropriate but we make do.
‘Twas an evening in October, I’ll confess I wasn’t sober,
I was carting home a load with manly pride,
When my feet began to stutter and I fell into the gutter,
And a pig came up and lay down by my side.
Then I lay there in the gutter and my heart was all a-flutter,
Till a lady, passing by, did chance to say:
“You can tell a man that boozes by the company he chooses,”
Then the pig got up and slowly walked away.”
Clark Van Ness
Of course that was long ago, and certainly not a sanctioned Spirit of Vincennes Rendezvous activity. And I’m certain that such a Bacchanalia would no longer be tolerated. The event is wonderful enough without it.
The 2011 Spirit of Vincennes Rendezvous was held this past Memorial Day weekend, and I managed to spend most of an afternoon there, before being called back on the road. It’s nice to see a historical reenactment that is so consistently great, especially considering that it’s organized almost entirely with volunteers. So perhaps the music isn’t authentic, it’s still enjoyable. And I still choose to believe that after dark, around some campfire, authenticity still reigns.
Learn more:
Spirit of Vincennes Rendezvous main page
2010 Spirit of Vincennes Rendezvous images in the History Trekker Shoppe
2011 Spirit of Vincennes Rendezvous images in the History Trekker Shoppe
Historical attractions in Gotham City: A gin-soaked stroll through New York City’s Manhattan Island
To view more photos or order prints from New York City, click here
For nearly eight years, I lived only an hour’s train ride to New York City. Yet I seldom visited there, and developed a true love/hate relationship with the place. The names associated with the place now don’t ring with the same sweet tones as the ones that came before them. There are no Gershwins, Cohens, Mailers – Dorothy Parker isn’t spilling her wit all over and under the tables of the Algonquin Hotel – even Woody Allen is increasingly abandoning the place for new inspiration.
There’s no doubt in my mind that New York is the most egotistical town in the world. Whereas Paris might consider itself the center of the art world, Milan might consider itself the center of the fashion world, New York skips the modifier and is the only city I know that calls itself the center of the world. Come to think of it, New York would try to lay claims to both those titles as well.
About a year or so ago I read a fascinating book, The Island At the Center of the World, by Russell Shorto on the founding of the Dutch colony of New Amsterdam, and how it shaped the history of what would eventually become known as New York. It turns out that American qualities such as religious freedom and tolerance of ethnic groups other than your own got their start in this country in the original Dutch colony. As well as more tawdry aspects of society such as getting loaded on strong drink and falling into the company of women of ill-repute. While their English brethren at the time living north in Massachusetts were practicing a strict, puritan form of government, the Dutch colony was allowing people to live according to their conscience, or lack thereof, and a fairly lax set of laws.
Keep this in mind the next time Christmas rolls around and people are harping about how Christmas is losing its importance and how the pilgrims who came to this country to worship as they saw fit would be appalled. Those same Christians did not tolerate any deviance from their laws, and the celebration of Christmas was outright banned. That we celebrate Christmas in this country today is a relic of the Dutch colony, whose concept of religious tolerance lives on. This is doubly curious when you consider that Holland was the country the pilgrims sailed from in order to found a new nation based on religious freedom. In other words, that Christmas exists in this country today is because of that heathen bastion now known as New York City.
Anyway, this article isn’t about religious freedom and tolerance, it’s about New York City, and where to see the history of the place, as well as historical attractions there today. It’s not as easy as you think. The original Dutch colony is almost completely gone. In fact, there are more signs of the Viking period in Dublin than there are of the Dutch in New York. When the Dutch occupied Manhattan, there were over 21 fresh water ponds and 66 miles of streams. There was a sandy beach at the southern tip of the island, and the landscape was one of gently rolling hills. The growth of Manhattan has obliterated the very landscape that the Dutch settlers found. There are the occasional discoveries of a piece of road, the foundation of a house or well, and nearly all of it is then covered over with new construction. The best place to see New Netherlands is by looking at a map, where the street layout of lower Manhattan is much the same.
The colonial period doesn’t fare much better. Even the balcony where George Washington was sworn in as our first president, outside the building where the Bill of Rights was enacted, is now remembered by a single stone tucked away in a museum. In New York, history usually plays second fiddle to real estate values.
Walking the streets of Manhattan today isn’t much different than walking the streets of any major city. You have the same chain stores – the high costs of doing business there has pushed out all but the largest retailers. There are restaurants of course, as New Yorkers increasingly define themselves by choices of eateries, few of which reflect any ethnic origins native to a particular neighborhood. The city is still a melting pot of course, but the people you see walking the streets are more than likely living elsewhere in the city or beyond, or tourists, as the cost of living has grown beyond the reach of most mere mortals.
To order prints from New York City, click here
So where do you find history in New York? Look up. Once your gaze rises above the first or second floor, the architectural history of the city comes alive. Get off the train at Penn Station and make your way to the Flatiron Building and head down Broadway for some of the best historical architecture the city has to offer. Pass the temple to one man’s retail dreams, the Woolworth Building – as intricate as a child’s dollhouse, past the looming bulk of the Municipal Building complex and wander the archetypical canyons of the financial district in lower Manhattan. Swing by Saint Mark’s Church of the Bowery, a remnant of the days when this land was owned by New Amsterdam’s last governor, Peter Stuyvesant, and the Stuyvesant-Fish house nearby which he had built as a wedding present for his daughter. Say hello to Alexander Hamilton in his final resting place outside of Trinity Church, a structure itself hoary with history. Dine at Delmonico’s which fed such figures as Mark Twain, or at Fraunces Tavern where Washington said goodbye to his officers at the end of the revolution. Or choose any of the outdoor restaurants on Stone Street which has a fairly medieval air, and get casually fed and watered before staggering your way back up the island.
Head up Fifth Avenue and see what used to be the center of the shopping world. Look up at the Empire State Building’s shorter, Art Deco sister the Chrysler Building for a peek at what skyscrapers could be when people actually gave a damn about such things as aesthetics. Stroll into the Plaza in the footstep of the stars of long ago and hold your head high as they kick your ass back out on the pavement. Stroll along Central Park West where notables still live in buildings that might as well be temples. As for Central Park itself – eh, it’s a park. It’s trees and grass and sure, it’s notable for being in the midst of one of the largest cities on earth, but in the end, it’s a park. It’s a living space for those who live here, who’ll you see in expensive recreational uniforms, or just sitting dazed knowing they’re supposed to get sun, but not entirely sure what they should do when the sunshine hits them. And of course a place for buskers to sell their wares and incredibly high priced bottles of water and soft drinks to tourists. It’s a simulation of nature, and for me, I prefer the real thing.
In short, history is still in abundance, but you have to know where to look. And you have to realize it’s not going to be coherent, nor even make sense in the modern sprawl of the city.
Perhaps New York City is best experienced in small doses. Get there in the afternoon and wander the streets into the night. Try seeing it from the top of a tour bus and avoid the lower stories altogether. See it bleary eyed from drink when emotions might be more likely to take over, and the people might seem a bit less irritating. Yes, the fabled rude New Yorker. There are certainly as many assholes per square foot in NYC as Paris. But just as I found most Parisians to be quite charming, the true New Yorker is really quite friendly as well, eager to chat or to help you find your way.
To view more photos or order prints from New York City, click here
So it’s late in the night, my last trip there, days before fleeing the east coast and New York for good and I had been walking the streets for hours, my pockets full of cash that was a going away present from the office where I worked, feeling like an emigrant in reverse, fleeing west from the city instead of eastward across the ocean. I always felt like an emigrant here, fleeing my home and poverty for a chance at a better life in the promised land. I was looking to say goodbye to the Chrysler Building when a man came stumbling onto the sidewalk in front of me, mussed-up hair and dressed in his P.J.’s, cursing each step he took, as though he was sent out by a shrew wife on some trivial errand. And yet when stopped by some tourists who had lost their way, he was as friendly and courteous as anyone I’ve met anyplace. I dined in the building which inspired Edgar Allan Poe’s The Cask of Amontillado, and spent more on it than I would a week’s worth of groceries. A black man outside of Penn Station bummed a cigarette from me and in exchange we walked down Broadway and smoked his marijuana. Waiting for the train I fell in with a group of strangers, ranging in age from 21 to 71 in a small bar and drank toast after toast, as I prepared to leave a place I could never feel a part of, but would certainly never forget. I lived in the shadow of that city for almost eight years, and never felt a part of it. But for a few hours, I was a New Yorker. I missed that train and the next, and as the little group who met as strangers and parted as friends drifted apart and I found myself slouched in a seat on the Long Island Railroad, an old song by the Pogues drifting through my fractured mind …
In Manhattan’s desert twilight
In the death of afternoon
We stepped hand in hand on Broadway
Like the first man on the moon
And “The Blackbird” broke the silence
As you whistled it so sweet
And in Brendan Behan’s footsteps
I danced up and down the street
Then we said goodnight to Broadway
Giving it our best regards
Tipped our hats to Mister Cohan
Dear old Times Square’s favorite bard
Then we raised a glass to JFK
And a dozen more besides
When I got back to my empty room
I suppose I must have cried
Lyrics from Thousands are Sailing, by Philip Chevron, recorded by the Pogues.
Listen
Posted in Hudson River Valley, New York City
Also tagged "fine art prints", art prints, historical attractions, NYCGallery, travel photographer
Leave a comment
A Contrarian’s View of History: The Myth of Independence
To view larger or order prints from the 2010 Spirit of Vincennes Rendezvous, click here
Who do we thank for our independence? Surely not the British for granting us self-rule under duress. Taxation without representation? We paid among the lowest taxes in the British empire, despite the disproportionately high costs of defending our safety. Jefferson, Addams, Franklin and the rest who signed the declaration? Curious that in this day of tea parties and general unrest that we would honor a group of men who in essence declared a war without giving representation to the people they were dragging into it (Had the actions of the Continental Congress – a cherry-picked group of mostly well-heeled, politically connected members of the wealthier classes – been under the scrutiny of the 24 hour news cycle, we surely never would have declared our independence). The soldiers? A ragtag group of citizen soldiers, described by the greatest military power of its day as terrorists (and in many cases, rightly so). An army which generally had its butt kicked up and down the east coast of this continent, which only managed to stay afloat by retreat and avoiding the fight. How about the French, a country which we in this country quite often regard as cowards, but let’s face it, handed us the victory at Yorktown on a silver platter (For the record, the French lost over 2,000,000 people in both world wars, out of a population of about 40,000,000. The U.S. lost a little over half a million out of over 130,000,000. The percentage of the French population who supported the Germans in WWII was far lower than the percentage of colonists who supported the British in the revolution). We couldn’t have done it without the Frogs. The media? How about Paul Revere’s famous print of the Boston Massacre – a deliberate distortion of the facts that would have made Fox News proud. The God of our founding fathers? Take Thomas Paine – “These are the times that try men’s souls.” Believed that observation of nature, free-thinking and reason alone could prove the existence of a supreme being, without faith nor organized religion (or try these on for size … “The United States is in no sense founded upon the Christian doctrine,” – George Washington, “It does me no injury for my neighbor to say there are twenty gods or no god. It neither picks my pocket nor breaks my leg. I do not find in orthodox Christianity one redeeming feature,” Thomas Jefferson and finally honest Abe Lincoln “The Bible is not my book, and Christianity is not my religion. I could never give assent to the long, complicated statements of Christian dogma”). George Washington, the father of our country, a second-rate soldier prior to the revolution who made his fortune marrying a rich widow whom he never showed an excess of warmth and love, a slave-owner and member of the ruling elite, who derived his power from being a successful businessman. His great dream was to assume the trappings of an English gentleman
We’ve created a mythology about the founding of our nation (as all nations do), which when leaned upon heavily, collapses like a deck of cards and threatens to take us all along with it. There was no single ideal, no single truth, no single motive that we can point to and say “that’s what this country declared our independence to preserve). No single ideal is more American than any other, at least in reference to our birth.
In truth we owe a debt of gratitude to all of the above and countless others, not for what we wish they could have been, but for what they were. To understand the founding of our country, and the miracle that it truly was, requires seeing the people behind the myths. Human beings with all their faults, foibles, idealism and intelligence. They rose to the occasion and in many cases, far surpassed what would in most circumstances have been expected of them. The Declaration of Independence wasn’t signed as part of a grand, inspired by God plan for manifest destiny, nor did it grant us independence. They didn’t sign on to forge a new nation, but to protect their own states’ and private citizens’ rights first. Doubtless they knew that a new nation of sorts would be forged, but the details were to be hammered out years later, and fought about still to this day. It was a step along the way, a milestone in what we were to become. What we do with our independence – now as much as then – is still up to us.
Living history at the 2010 Spirit of Vincennes Rendezvous
To view larger or order prints from the 2010 Spirit of Vincennes Rendezvous, click here
The Spirit of Vincennes Rendezvous, held in Vincennes, Indiana, a charming town on the banks of the Wabash River full of historic attractions and living history, always feels like a homecoming.
Which it is for myself, as I spent several years living and working there. But it’s not just me. I see the same spirit in the re-enactors, the merchants – even the crowd itself. It had been about seven years since I found myself near Vincennes in May, and I was itchy for it weeks before the event. And I wasn’t disappointed. Meeting up with people I hadn’t seen in half a decade was like coming home. As was seeing the faces that travel the re-enactor’s circuit, many of which I last saw the last time I was here. Vincennes has always been a crossroad for history. And it’s a crossroads still.
Held on Memorial Day Weekend, right when the weather turns hot and muggy, the activities spill out from the historical site into the town itself.
Vincennes breathes history. From its earliest native American roots, still visible in a couple of impressive mounds on the outskirts of town (as well as some smaller ones still visible around town), to its beginnings as a French fur trapping settlement, to the American Revolution, and its later history as a river town, Vincennes has witnessed more than its share of history.
Let’s run down a partial list. Vincennes was the first capital of the Indiana Territory, had the first Catholic and Presbyterian churches in Indiana, the first newspaper in Indiana, the first masonic lodge in Indiana, first bank in Indiana, first post office and sheriff’s department in Indiana, the first European settlement in Indiana, home of president William Henry Harrison, the site that he staged his troops for the Battle of Tippecanoe, and the site of his famous meeting with the Indian leader Tecumseh. Plus the birthplace of Red Skelton, which the locals will not let you forget.
The event remembered in the Spirit of Vincennes Rendezvous is the taking of Fort Sackville in the Revolutionary War. In the winter of 1779, George Rogers Clark and his group of of Kentucky volunteers, marched through the icy Wabash River bottoms to take the British fort at Vincennes. There was a strategic advantage to holding the fort to be sure, but another important benefit to the war effort was that it became proof of success which George Washington could use to persuade the French to join the conflict.
And it gives a legion of merchants, re-enactors of living history and those who like brats and buffalo burgers, a reason to gather in the balmy midwestern heat for a couple days each year. The reenactment of the battle is of course, nothing close to authentic since the fort is long since gone, but instead more of a demonstration of military tactics of the period. Still impressive all the same. The merchants and entertainers, while not always authentic to the time period, are certainly abundant. And it’s all held more or less, on the site of Clark’s victory over the British.
2010 Spirit of Vincennes Rendezvous
George Rogers Clark National Historic Park in Vincennes is the home of one of the last classical memorials created by the United States government, built of granite and encircled by sixteen fluted Doric columns, under a dome of glass. Inside it’s just as breathtaking, with a bronze statue of Clark by Hermon Atkins MacNeil, surrounded by marble wainscoting and murals of the events of Clark at Vincennes. The view from the top of the stairs includes the cathedral and old burial ground, and the Lincoln memorial bridge crossing the Wabash.
Best of all though is the acoustics at the top of the stairs, against the walls of the memorial. At the end of the official activities on Saturday evening, when the troops have all been fed, an unadvertised treat awaits those who linger. Gradually, members of the various fife and drum corps make their way to the memorial for an impromptu jam session of sorts, where the drums ricochet off the building and the fifes swirl around on top, in a deafening cacophony of military music.
Situated adjacent to the old, downtown area of Vincennes, and a short walk from the other historic sites in town, a visitor is able to wander freely after hours, and take part in a variety of events. At the ball in the yard of William Henry Harrison’s home, Grouseland, there were at times pushing a hundred people, some in period dress, some just wandering in off the street, following the calls of dances two hundred or more years old. The various historical buildings were open for candlelit tours, and what was supposed to have ended for me at five in the afternoon, finally wrapped up with much sadness about ten.
Which I might add, was better than some of the times when I was more involved with the after hours activities. There was the year for instance, when I nearly slept on the grass, under the stars someplace in the vicinity of the encampment, with the smell of wood fires and the sound of music being played around campfires wafting in and out of my brain. As I said, it was a sort of homecoming for me as well, and my old home was staggering distance from the site. But I digress …
Mark your calendar for next year – Memorial Day weekend, Vincennes, Indiana, two days of historic attractions, roasted dinners, dancing, baking heat and usually a thunderstorm or two. Look for me on the steps of the memorial, just about sundown.
