When <em>Who's Buried in Grant's Tomb?</em> Is More Than a Trivia Question
In the summer of 2006, my best friend and I stumbled upon a book called, <em>Who's Buried in Grant's Tomb</em>. The book summarizes the post-presidential lives of the American Presidents, details their passing and funerals, and finishes with a commentary on each. After reviewing how close many of them were to our apartment in Virginia, we decided to embark on a pilgrimage to the burial sites. What followed has been a decade plus journey throughout the country to the biggest of big cities, New York, to the smallest of small towns, Plymouth Notch, to visit these final resting places. <br /><br />Each site, like the president memorialized is unique in its own way. Some presidents, like Lincoln, have giant memorials that match their legacies where others, like Coolidge, are the definition of unpretentious. Some, like Washington, are on sprawling plantations. Others, like Van Buren, are in rural cemeteries. This is a testament to the impact that power and privilege play even in death. <br /><br />Traipsing through countless cemeteries, I have often reflected on the role that memory and memorialization play in our lives. Mixed in with some presidents are people whose stories have long been forgotten or, perhaps worse, were never even told. I wonder: Who are these people? Why are they buried here? What was their life like? Thankfully public historians are actively seeking to rectify this. <br /><br />When I mention my macabre hobby I inevitably get asked, "Why?" The easy answer is that it blends my interest in the presidency and my love of travel. The more philosophical answer? I suppose there is a particular unexpectedness of observing the humanities in a cemetery, yet what is more universally human then death? For it is on these trips with my best friend, other friends, family, and my wife that I have felt the greatest connection to people. Be it laughing with friends on a car trip, eating and connecting with the local townspeople, or meeting and reflecting with other history aficionados. <br /><br />So who is buried in Grant's tomb? Well, not even Ulysses Grant as he is interred above ground.
Brian Lamb
<em>Who's Buried in Grant's Tomb?: A Tour of Presidential Gravesites</em>
Summer 2006
Bradley T. Swain, 38, Social Studies Teacher at West Springfield High School
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The Virginia State Capitol: Past and Present
An architectural design conveys the meaning or purpose of a building. The designer want us to experience something when we see, enter, or tour a building. But it strikes me that the architecture itself can have many meanings and that historical events and people who live and work in buildings can transform their original intent. The humanities should teach us to appreciate architecture and understand the meaning of public buildings, but they also give us the tools to see beyond the edifice, the structure, the artistic beauty. When we look beyond the purpose of the building to the people inside, we are likely to find a new and different meaning and purpose.
I had been to the Virginia State Capitol many times since I moved to Richmond in 1989. I’ve viewed proceedings in the House and Senate chambers, held meetings for students, given several lectures in the meeting rooms, and toured the building with family, friends, and students. Yet, until I took part in the Humanities in Class project with the National Humanities Center, I had not thought carefully about why the building was so important, both to me and to the people of Virginia. Just recently I visited the Capitol with a group of students and as I looked up at huge white columns and wandered through the building, I began to think more deeply about the transformative nature of this place. I looked past the architecture, the museum pieces and the contemporary issues debated in the General Assembly to the problem of race in the history of Virginia. I also began to think of its ability to transform the lives of my students.
An architectural design conveys the meaning or purpose of a building. The designer want us to experience something when we see, enter, or tour a building. But it strikes me that the architecture itself can have many meanings and that historical events and people who live and work in buildings can transform their original intent. The humanities should teach us to appreciate architecture and understand the meaning of public buildings, but they also give us the tools to see beyond the edifice, the structure, the artistic beauty. When we look beyond the purpose of the building to the people inside, we are likely to find a new and different meaning and purpose.
Thomas Jefferson with Charles-Louis Clerriseau
The Virginia State Capitol
July 2017
<a href="http://nationalhumanitiescenter.org/humanities-in-class-guide-thinking-learning-in-humanities/">Daniel J. Palazzolo</a>, 56, professor of political science at the University of Richmond
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Why We Always Come Back to Abraham Lincoln
Ken Burns describes how lines from a historic speech given by 29-year-old Abraham Lincoln have “haunted and inspired” him for nearly 40 years. Expanding on what is revealed in those sentences, Burns discusses how they speak not only to Lincoln’s basic character and optimism, qualities that proved essential to his presidency. He goes on to note that Lincoln’s words, here and elsewhere, are suggestive of what is best in the American character.<br /><br />“A handful of sentences” from Lincoln’s 1838 Springfield speech on national security left a deep imprint on the filmmaker’s own philosophy. For Burns, Lincoln’s narrative illustrates how, as a nation, we are “still stitched together by words and, most important, their dangerous progeny, ideas.” Time and again, Lincoln’s eloquence and vision has guided Burns as he enlists documentary film to tell the story of the United States and its citizens.
Abraham Lincoln's 1838 speech on national security delivered in Springfield, Illinois
Ken Burns, documentary filmmaker
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Embracing the Complexity and Chaos of the Humanities Through a Photo
On May 8th, 1957, South Vietnamese President Ngo Dinh Diem was greeted by President Dwight Eisenhower (along with Secretary of State John Foster Dulles) at Washington National Airport at the beginning of an official state visit for President Diem. This seemingly ordinary photo is noteworthy because it captures the complexity of the Cold War and the contested territory of Southeast Asia, and embracing that chaotic feeling is a main reason why I love the humanities.
There is much to teach about in this photo. Why would Eisenhower personally greet Diem at the airport, something he only did on one other occasion (and is almost never done by sitting U.S. presidents for heads of state)? Why is the year 1957 important? What does the United States think of Vietnam at this time? How is this photo potentially problematic? There are contrasts on many levels when dissecting this photo, and it can launch exploration in so many directions.
The photo encapsulates a conversation that I had with Vietnam historian Pierre Asselin after a talk he presented to our NEH summer seminar at the National Humanities Center. While we were discussing the challenges of teaching the Cold War to students, Professor Asselin noted, “if you study the Cold War correctly, you should be more confused as you go along, and that’s a great feeling!” This last line resonated with me, and reiterated my belief that it is important for students to understand different perspectives, sometimes without finding an answer to the question that was posed, but understanding the complexity and nuance of that question. This process is where real learning takes place, and it is important to teach students to embrace this chaos (and even to seek it out) in their own learning. Challenging our initial impressions of a source and digging deeper speaks to the lifelong value of the humanities.
July 24, 2018
Bryan Boucher, 39, Teacher
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