Extinct Monsters to Deep Time: Conflict, Compromise, and the Making of Smithsonian's Fossil Halls 9781789201239

Citation preview

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Museums and Collections Editors Mary Bouquet, University College Utrecht Howard Morphy, The Australian National University, Canberra As houses of memory and sources of information about the world, museums function as a dynamic interface between past, present, and future. Museum collections are increasingly being recognized as material archives of human creativity and as invaluable resources for interdisciplinary research. Museums provide powerful forums for the expression of ideas and are central to the production of public culture: they may inspire the imagination, generate heated emotions, and express conflicting values in their material form and histories. This series explores the potential of museum collections to transform our knowledge of the world, and for exhibitions to influence the way in which we view and inhabit that world. It offers essential reading for those involved in all aspects of the museum sphere: curators, researchers, collectors, students, and the visiting public. Volume . The Future of Indigenous Museums: Perspectives from the Southwest Pacific Edited by Nick Stanley Volume . The Long Way Home: The Meaning and Values of Repatriation Edited by Paul Turnbull and Michael Pickering Volume . The Lives of Chinese Objects: Buddhism, Imperialism and Display Louise Tythacott Volume . Colonial Collecting and Display: Encounters with Material Culture from the Andaman and Nicobar Islands Claire Wintle Volume . Borders of Belonging: Experiencing History, War and Nation at a Danish Heritage Site Mads Daugbjerg Volume . Exhibiting Europe in Museums: Transnational Networks, Collections, Narratives, and Representations Wolfram Kaiser, Stefan Krankenhagen, and Kerstin Poehls

Volume . The Enemy on Display: The Second World War in Eastern European Museums Zuzanna Bogumił, Joanna Wawrzyniak, Tim Buchen, Christian Ganzer, and Maria Senina Volume . Museum Websites and Social Media: Issues of Participation, Sustainability, Trust, and Diversity Ana Luisa Sánchez Laws Volume . Visitors to the House of Memory: Identity and Political Education at the Jewish Museum Berlin Victoria Bishop Kendzia Volume . The Witness as Object: Video Testimony in Memorial Museums Steffi de Jong Volume . Extinct Monsters to Deep Time: Conflict, Compromise, and the Making of Smithsonian’s Fossil Halls Diana E. Marsh

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time Conflict, Compromise, and the Making of Smithsonian’s Fossil Halls

Diana E. Marsh

berghahn NEW YORK • OXFORD www.berghahnbooks.com

First published in 2019 by Berghahn Books www.berghahnbooks.com © 2019 Diana E. Marsh All rights reserved. Except for the quotation of short passages for the purposes of criticism and review, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without written permission of the publisher. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A C.I.P. cataloging record is available from the Library of Congress British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN 978-1-78920-122-2 hardback ISBN 978-1-78920-123-9 ebook

To my parents, for taking me to the museum.

Contents List of Illustrations and Tables

ix

Foreword Jennifer Shannon

xiv

Prologue. Fieldnotes from the Badlands

xvii

Acknowledgments

xxii

List of Abbreviations

xxv

Chronology A. Lists of Relevant Leadership

xxvii

Chronology B. Geologic Time Scale

xxxi

Chronology C. Fossil Exhibits Timeline

xxxii

Introduction

1

Chapter 1. Increase and Diffusion: Early Fossil Exhibits and a History of Institutional Culture

27

Chapter 2. Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

56

Chapter 3. Group Dynamics: The Roots of Team Frictions and Complementarities

108

Chapter 4. Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes and Static Things

135

Chapter 5. Content Development: The Roots of Interpretive Frictions and Complementarities

189

viii

Contents

Chapter 6. Diffusion and Increase: Shifts in Institutional Culture from Modernization to Now

215

Chapter 7. Conclusion

248

Chapter 8. Coda: The Nation’s T. rex

258

Appendix A. Consent Form

261

Appendix B. Interview Questionnaires

265

Sample Team Interview Questionnaire

265

Sample Oral History Interview Questionnaire

270

Bibliography

272

Index

291

Illustrations and Tables Illustrations Figure 0.1. The team at the K/Pg boundary, Hell Creek Formation, July 2013. Photo by the author. xviii Figure 0.2. The team hikes across the badlands, July 2013. Photo by the author.

xx

Figure 0.3. Geologic time scale. Courtesy of the U.S. Geological Survey, Department of the Interior/USGS.

xxxi

Figure 0.4. The Smithsonian’s National Museum of Natural History, September 2012. Photo by the author.

2

Figure 0.5. Map of the Natural History Building first floor, 1936, altered to show current numbering for halls 2–6. Smithsonian Institution Archives. Image # SIA2009-4096.

3

Figure 0.6. Deep Time exhibit timeline. Courtesy of the Office of Exhibits, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

4

Figure 1.1. Comparative Osteology Hall with Basilosaurus Cast, U.S. National Museum (now Arts and Industries Building), 1896. Smithsonian Institution Archives. Image # NHB-9469.

35

Figure 1.2. Cyanotype of the Vertebrate Fossil Hall, ca. 1913. Smithsonian Institution Archives. Image # 2005-3000.

36

Figure 1.3. Diplodocus under construction, ca. 1930. Image 31024. Courtesy of the Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

39

Figure 1.4. Fossil crinoids, Springer Collection, ca. 1920. Image 30543. Courtesy of the Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

40

x

Illustrations and Tables

Figure 1.5. Top view of the Stegosaurus display. Image 29895. Courtesy of the Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

42

Figure 1.6. Norman Boss and public onlookers at the Texas Centennial Exposition, 1936. Image 32697-e. Courtesy of the Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

44

Figure 2.1. Exhibits hallway, May 2013. Photo by the author.

62

Figure 2.2. Paleobiology hallway, July 2013. Photo by the author.

64

Figure 2.3. The director’s hallway, November 2013. Photo by the author.

65

Figures 2.4a and b. “Chairs” of Paleobiology in the Cooper Room, 2013. Photos by the author.

68

Figure 2.5. Exhibit meeting in 71A, 2013. Photo by the author.

70

Figure 2.6. Angela Roberts Reeder describing hierarchies of exhibit text, April 2013. Photo by the author.

74

Figure 2.7. Exhibit Team meeting including R+P, additional Exhibits staff, and a guest media group, June 2013. Photo by the author.

77

Figure 2.8. Exhibits staff organizational chart, June 2013. Courtesy of the Office of Exhibits, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

78

Figure 2.9. Deep Time roles draft diagram, December 2013. Drawing courtesy of the Office of Exhibits, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

82

Figure 2.10. Exhibit meeting with Deep Time Temporary and Core Exhibit Teams and Sant Director Kirk Johnson, May 2013. Photo by the author.

101

Figure 3.1. Ian G. Macintyre, Eugene Behlen (standing), Kenneth Towe, Daniel Appleman, Sue Voss, and Elizabeth Hilkert (all seated ), Francis Hueber on the right, Richard Molinaroli at very back (blocked by Hueber), ca. 1981. Image 81-1709. Photo by C. Clark. Courtesy of the Office of Exhibits and Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution. 119

Illustrations and Tables

xi

Figure 3.2. Leo Hickey memo to Exhibits committee, 1979. Personal Records of Ian G. Macintyre, Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution. 120 Figure 4.1. De11ep Time content matrix, September 2013. Courtesy of Matthew Carrano, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution. 140 Figure 4.2. Draft bubble diagram, January 2013. Drawing by Fang-Pin Lee, Reich + Petch. Courtesy of the Office of Exhibits, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

141

Figure 4.3. Spectrum of Exhibit Types, February 2013. Drawing by Fang-Pin Lee, Reich + Petch. Courtesy of the Office of Exhibits, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

147

Figure 4.4. Ribbon Explorations, May 2013. Drawing by Fang-Pin Lee, Reich + Petch. Courtesy of the Office of Exhibits, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

149

Figure 4.5. TPS units, June 2013. Drawing by Richard Lewis Media Group. Courtesy of the Office of Exhibits, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

157

Figure 4.6. Team watches kids testing the App Shaker immersive screen, April 2013. Photo by the author.

163

Figure 4.7. Final 10% content diagram, April 2013. Drawing by Reich + Petch. Courtesy of the Office of Exhibits, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

178

Figure 4.8. Final 10% floor plan, April 2013. Drawing by Reich + Petch. Courtesy of the Office of Exhibits, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

178

Figure 4.9. Final 10% rendering, Halls 2–5, April 2013. Drawing by Reich + Petch. Courtesy of the Office of Exhibits, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

179

Figure 5.1. Dinosaurs and Other Fossil Reptiles, ca. 1963. Image 1155-D. Courtesy of the Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

191

Figure 5.2. Map of the fossil halls, 1963. Image 1139. Courtesy of the Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

193

xii

Illustrations and Tables

Figure 5.3. Exhibit “windows” in the Hall of Fossil Fishes and Amphibians, 1961. Image 736-G. Courtesy of the Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

194

Figure 5.4. Pre-modernization humerus label, ca. 1958. Image 50701. Courtesy of the Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

195

Figure 5.5. Post-modernization humerus label, ca. 1963. Image 1151. Courtesy of the Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

195

Figure 5.6. Deaton and Matternes Cretaceous ecosystem diorama, ca. 1963. Image 2526. Courtesy of the Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

198

Figure 5.7. Brontothere and Oligocene mammals mural (completed 1962), late 1970s. IMG 90-9513. Photo by C. Clark. Courtesy of the Office of Exhibits and Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

199

Figures 5.8a and b. Triceratops and model, ca. 1913. Image 28151. Courtesy of the Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution; Moropus and model (installed, ca. 1961), late 1970s. Image 80-6062. Photo by C. Clark. Courtesy of the Office of Exhibits and Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution. 200 Figure 5.9. Dire wolves and horse with storyboard backdrop and piano-string barrier, ca. 1967. Image “Labrea.tif.” Courtesy of the Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

201

Figure 5.10. Nearly completed fossil hall with Gurche’s “Tower of Time,” 1981. Image 81-14689. Photo by C. Clark. Courtesy of the Office of Exhibits and Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

207

Figure 5.11. Fossil Lab draft plans, ca. 1986. Smithsonian Institution Archives. Image # SIA2018-078926.

209

Illustrations and Tables

xiii

Figure 5.12. Dinosaurs: Reptiles—Masters of Land, April 2013. Photo by the author.

210

Figure 5.13. 3D scanning Hall 6, April 2013. Photo by the author.

211

Figure 6.1. Virginia schoolchildren on the Mall, 1950. Smithsonian Institution Archives. Image # SIA2009-2125.

221

Figure 6.2. O’Reilly’s draft drawing for the new Division of Public Programs, ca. 1986. Smithsonian Institution Archives. Image # SIA2018-072684.

229

Figure 6.3. Dual science and public programming strategy in the NMNH Management Agenda, 1987. Smithsonian Institution Archives. Image # SIA2018-078946.

230

Figure 7.1. The Finger of Blame, Benjamin Lawless Drawing, Bob Post Collection.

253

Figure 8.1. Entrance to the National Museum of Natural History from the third-floor balcony, 15 April 2014, 8:50 am. Photo by the author.

259

Tables Table 0.1. Hell Creek Collecting Trip Roster.

xvii

Table 3.1. Director’s Committee for Exhibits at the NMNH.

114

Table 3.2. Curatorial Staff by Exhibit Highlight for the Paleontology Hall, ca. 1978.

115

Foreword Jennifer Shannon

EXTINCT MONSTERS TO DEEP TIME is precisely the kind of ethnography we need right now. In 2016 the Oxford Dictionary announced “posttruth” as its word of the year—it is defined as “relating to or denoting circumstances in which objective facts are less influential in shaping public opinion than appeals to emotion and personal belief.” Taken together with the current political discourse around “attacks on science” and the role of museums as trusted sources for public education, Dr. Marsh’s behind-thescenes attention to how science is produced for the public is timely, and it highlights the potential of museums and their growing emphasis on public outreach. In this book, Marsh provides in-depth analysis of the communication of science in one of the most trusted institutions in the United States: the Smithsonian Institution. The history of the Smithsonian’s National Museum of Natural History is the history of science in America, and Marsh has chosen to view this history through its presentation of fossils and dinosaurs—the quintessential natural history museum objects. There is a real public fascination with dinosaurs— lots of people, especially kids, love them. They seem like pure fiction in scale and time, and yet the physical evidence of their existence in museums assures us: they are real. While the fossils, the evidence, have stayed the same, how they have been interpreted has changed over time according to new scientific discoveries and new ways of thinking about museums and how they should engage the public. To take on the reinterpretation of this beloved subject, in the most visited natural history museum in the world, is a big responsibility and a risk. Marsh both documents this history of change over time and brings us all into the room with museum staff as they grapple with that responsibility. Through the example of the Deep Time team, Marsh reminds us that exhibitions are not made by the museum, but rather they are a result of many decisions made by its staff. She invites us to see their work in motion, to sit beside them in meetings, to understand how and why the exhibition

Foreword

xv

ends up looking the way it does. Marsh combines this sense of “being there” with extensive archival work to help us see how this new exhibition illuminates and is shaped by larger histories of paleontology and museums. As such, this book is an excellent contribution to our understanding of the history of the Smithsonian Institution, the representation of paleontology, the changing dynamics of museum departments and disciplines over time, and the shift in museums from an emphasis on research to public outreach. It is also an important contribution to the genre of museum ethnography. Museums have proliferated in the last twenty years and are increasingly of interest to scholars as objects of study. While anthropology is a department within the natural history museum, its central questions and primary methodology—ethnography—can be applied to the museum, as well. Museum ethnography is an approach to studying museums that emphasizes that they are institutions of power; that they shape public understanding and reflect dominant paradigms; that the process of knowledge production should be examined in everyday social practice; and that ethnographic methods and anthropological attention to the everyday is a much-needed perspective in understanding the history, representation, and production of science. I know firsthand that it is not often easy or possible to enter into powerful institutions, into meetings and workspaces, to gain and maintain trust with colleagues who are also research participants, and report on behindthe-scenes work for such high-profile and public undertakings. So much is at stake for the institution and its staff. And so much is at stake for the researcher as well—her relationships with colleagues, her career. This book is a testament to Marsh’s hard work and the mutual respect between her and museum staff. In fact, after she earned her doctorate upon which this book is based, she was appointed to a three-year research associate position at the Smithsonian Institution Center for Folklife and Heritage. More recently, Marsh was awarded a three-year National Science Foundation postdoctoral fellowship in the National Anthropological Archives, located within the National Museum of Natural History that just a few years before was her fieldsite. This ongoing relationship with the Smithsonian and its staff attests to her ethical practice, her professionalism, and, frankly, her sense of humor. She is not only eminently competent but fun too. I am happy to report that, in the process of communicating her own experience while embedded with the Deep Time exhibition team, Marsh’s wit and sense of humor come through to the reader in moments of bureaucratically induced exasperation. The benefit of ethnography is that we document the questioning, debates, compromises, challenges, and eureka moments as they happen and

xvi

Jennifer Shannon

situate them in wider cultural, political, and historical contexts. Marsh has two main insights that emerge from this approach: first, that disciplinary friction can be creatively productive; and, second, that this case represents a larger trend, a major paradigm shift in museums from a focus on research to public outreach. In addition, Marsh charts the ascendance of teambased knowledge production and how it operates. Her illustration of how creativity can be fostered through the frictions that arise when different kinds of knowledge come together in teamwork suggests insights that will surely move beyond the museum. Marsh has come to these conclusions from the perspective of both scholar and practitioner—of both writing about and practicing museum curation. She has published articles about archives and digital heritage, curated two exhibitions at the American Philosophical Society Museum, and served on the board of the American Anthropological Association’s Council for Museum Anthropology. I had the pleasure of serving on the board with Marsh, and she and I have been in conversation for years about this project, from her fieldwork days to her final manuscript. I am delighted to see another museum ethnography published and that Marsh’s intellect and voice will travel widely through this work. Her account illustrates the broad appeal and meaningful contributions of museum anthropology beyond our discipline, and I look forward to her continuing contributions to, and on behalf of, our field. In short, it is my honor and pleasure to welcome you to Marsh’s first book. —Jennifer Shannon, May 2018 Jennifer Shannon is the author of Our Lives: Collaboration, Native Voice, and the Making of the National Museum of the American Indian (SAR Press, 2014), and Curator and Associate Professor of Cultural Anthropology at University of Colorado—Boulder.

Prologue Fieldnotes from the Badlands In the summer of , I spent a week with a team of Smithsonian staff in North Dakota (table 0.1). As an anthropologist and documentarian for the trip, I went as part of the Deep Time project, the largest exhibition project in the annals of the Smithsonian’s National Museum of Natural History (NMNH). Below are fieldnote excerpts from the trip. Table 0.1. Hell Creek Collecting Trip Roster. Last Name

First Name Reason for Including in Field Party

NMNH Position

Johnson

Kirk

Trip Leader

NMNH—Director

Lyson

Tyler

Leader, Director, Marmarth Paleobiology— Research Foundation Postdoctoral Fellow

Behrensmeyer Kay

DT Temp and Permanent Hall Core Teams

Paleobiology—Curator

Blond

Kara

DT Administrator

Acting Director, Exhibits

Bolton

Amy

DT Temp and Permanent Hall Core Teams

Education—Ed. Specialist

Love

Sally

DT Temp Core Team

Exhibits—Exhibit Developer

Moeller

Kim

Designer, for Mike Lawrence, DT Core Team

Exhibits—Designer/ Visual Info. Specialist

Price

David

Filming of field work

Education—Contractor/ Videographer

Roberts

Angela

DT Temp and Permanent Hall Core Teams

Exhibits—Writer

Olsson

Juliana

Starting with DT Exhibit Team

Exhibits—Writer

Starrs

Siobhan

DT Temp and Permanent Hall Core Teams

Exhibits—Exhibit Developer

xviii

Prologue

Sues

Hans-Dieter DT Temp Core Team

Paleobiology—Curator

Telfer

Abby

DT Temp Core Team

Paleobiology—FossiLab Manager

Marsh

Diana

Fellow in Exhibits, Documentarian for Deep Time

Exhibits/Paleobiology— Deep Time Fellow

Carrano

Matthew

DT Permanent Hall Core Team Lead Curator

Paleobiology—Curator

Rogers

Raymond

Working with Matthew Carrano

N/A—Collaborator

Wing

Scott

DT Permanent Hall Core Team

Paleobiology—Curator

Barclay

Richard

Working with Scott Wing

Paleobiology— Postdoctoral Fellow

Loughlin

Nora

Working with Scott Wing

Paleobiology—Intern

Figure 0.1. The team at the K/Pg boundary, Hell Creek Formation, July 2013. Photo by the author.

Day 1 It’s July in North Dakota. Twenty people—sweaty, dusty, and carrying backpacks and Ziploc bags full of microfossils—gather in a circle between two Chevy Suburbans, just before sunset. Kirk Johnson, Sant Director of the Smithsonian’s National Museum of Natural History (NMNH) opens a cooler and begins passing out cans of cold beer. The sun, sitting low on

Prologue

xix

the vast horizon, casts a warm glow on the group; the field team members exchange accounts of the day and play show-and-tell. Those who have been “to the field” before recount past glories . . . and embarrassments. Exhausted but exhilarated, I jot down notes in my red Moleskine and snap a few pictures before taking a much-anticipated sip of ice-cold beer.

Day 2 On the way to our first fieldsite, we pass through the same vast landscape dotted with oil grasshoppers (the piston pumps over oil wells) . . . We hike out about five minutes up and between two ridges. Scott Wing and Kirk Johnson have identified a fossilized palm. Scott asks the group whether it looks like something visitors would recognize, and Amy Bolton suggests that it might be good for Q?rius, the museum’s new education center. Tyler Lyson and Scott start piecing the fossil together. Scott reiterates that it’s something that could be good for the exhibit. Siobhan Starrs chimes in that it could be touchable. Amy notes that the museum could let visitors try to piece it back together. Scott pulls out his notebook and marks the GPS coordinates. The nonscience/novice crew (of which I am very much a part) then walks around and ducks under a fence to head back down the road the way we came . . . Back in Marmarth we feast on chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, salad, bread and butter. The table is oddly quiet—everyone’s hungry and exhausted. After dinner we take turns showering. That night at the town’s only bar, the Pastime, which Kirk calls the “Star Wars bar,” we pick songs on the jukebox and drink beer. Scott strolls in a bit later than others, glowing with energy, and proclaims “There’s nothing more fun than finding fossils.” Angela Roberts Reeder groans and counters that, actually, she can think of many things that are more fun.

Day 4 There are microfossils everywhere. The group enjoys the instant gratification this kind of work can offer. Hans Sues agrees that this is why he enjoys it. Kirk jokes that even he could be interested in the site for half an hour (even though it’s not plants). People are eager to show each other the things they’re finding. We are given ten-minute warnings and no one wants to stop collecting . . .

xx

Prologue

Figure 0.2. The team hikes across the badlands, July 2013. Photo by the author.

After everyone’s been yanked from the microfossil site, we walk across to the Mud Buttes site, which was reconstructed in a forest diorama at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science where Kirk previously worked. We hike to a spot where you can clearly see the K/Pg boundary—it’s a black stripe along the side of the rock face. We’re encouraged to taste it (to feel the little spheres of glass in our mouths). Below the boundary are dinosaurs of the Cretaceous Period (145–66 million years ago), and above it the remains of the Paleogene (66–56 million years ago), where you lose 30 percent of the flora—or plant life—Kirk explains. The thin layer at the K/Pg is filled with spherules, little marbles of hardened molten glass that traveled thousands of miles from the 180-kilometer crater where an enormous and devastating asteroid hit the Earth. This is one of the best places in the world, Kirk tells us, to ask the dinosaur extinction question. Kirk explains that the asteroid theory was posited in 1980 by fatherand-son team Luis (physicist) and Walter (geologist) Alvarez and their colleagues (chemists), who hypothesized that a cataclysmic impact devastated the Earth’s ecosystem. Their theory of mass extinction by asteroid, now accepted, was considered tabloid science by paleontologists at first. Some scientists were also guilty of calling paleontologists the “weak sisters” of science. The time it took to come to an agreement in the late 1990s about the

Prologue

xxi

asteroid hypothesis shows how much personality (and disciplinary prejudice) plays into science, Kirk says. Today, he continues, it’s much more common in science to do interdisciplinary work. There are lots of “-ologies.” The idea now is to bring a whole bunch of “-ologists” into a room. Conferences on related topics bring together people of different knowledge sets to the same place. In the case of the asteroid theory, paleontologists dismissed the physicists, while the physicists didn’t know geology. Multiple skill sets, he notes, are key. This, Kirk says, is why we are here. Bringing together multiple skills is the purpose and design of the trip. We all work better based on mutual respect for expertise. Building exhibits is not unlike multidisciplinary science work; the cumulative project is made stronger than the sum of its parts.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS It was both daunting and an absolute pleasure to do this research. I have now returned to work at the National Museum of Natural History, and have many very close relationships with my “informants,” such that the term is far too objective to describe them. In writing this book I have tried to be reflexive about these relationships as well as my own personal biases in order to paint as balanced a picture of institutional life as possible. I hope this work does my colleagues justice. I worked with so many warm people generous with both their knowledge and their time. Abby Telfer, FossiLab coordinator, once told me that the Smithsonian specializes in articulate people. It’s true. They are also sincere in their work and know their own history very well. It makes Smithsonian staff intimidating and amazing to work with. Let me begin by thanking all of those who directly supported and assisted with this research. First, I thank each of the members of the Deep Time and Temporary Exhibit (Last American Dinosaurs) Core Teams, who welcomed me as an outsider and observer into their workplace. I thank you all for your support, time, and trust in undertaking this project— Anna “Kay” Behrensmeyer, Sally Love, Angela Roberts Reeder, HansDieter Sues, Abby Telfer, and Scott Wing; a special thank you is due to Amy Bolton, Matthew T. Carrano, Michael Lawrence, and Siobhan Starrs, as well as Kirk Johnson, who reviewed a draft of this manuscript in full and provided important feedback. To the many others working on the Deep Time project who participated in this research—Kara Blond, Jonathan Coddington, Pauline Dolovich, Elizabeth Duggal, Kathy Hollis, Steven Jabo, Peter Kroehler, Fang-Pin Lee, Richard Lewis, Vincent “Skip” Lyles, Mark Ostrander, Michelle Pinsdorf, Shari Werb—I am grateful and can only hope I have conveyed your work, enthusiasm, knowledge, and creativity. I also thank Christyna Solhan and Meghan Rivers for their insights on exhibit development and project management for this book. In addition, I had the pleasure to interview, correspond with, and spend time among many brilliant people who generously shared their time and institutional insights

Acknowledgments

xxiii

with me, and thus shaped the contents of this work, even when they are not cited directly. These include Richard Bambach, Mary Bird, David Bohaska, Michael Brett-Surman, Martin Buzas, Dan Chaney, Diane Cloyd, Alan Cutler, Norman Neal Deaton, Linda Deck, Zahava Doering, Robert Emry, Richard “Dick” Fiske, William Fitzhugh, Robert “Gene” Gibson, Frederick Grady, John Gurche, Carol Hotton, Porter Kier, Pherabe Kolb, Mark Lay, Ian G. Macintyre, James Mahoney, Jay Matternes, William Merrill, Elizabeth Miles, Kimberly Moeller, Richard Molinaroli, Lawrence O’Reilly, Sally Parker, Mary Parrish, David Pawson, Andrew Pekarik, John Pojeta, Robert Purdy, Glenn Rankin, Clayton Ray, Jo Ann Sanner, Lorena “Rena” Selim, George Stanley, Robert Sullivan, Kenneth Towe, Sue Voss, William Watson, and Jonathan Zastrow. For their thoughtful suggestions, I would also like to thank Abigail Shelton, organizer, and the participants in a writing workshop at the American Philosophical Society in January 2017—Kristen Biels, Katlyn Carter, Amy Ellison, Jessica Frankenfield, David Gary, Reed Gochberg, Joshua Hudelston, Brandon Layton, Michael Madeja, Monique Scott, Hannah Sisk, Patrick Spero, and especially Richard Leventhal, who acted as respondent. I would also like to thank Brian Daniels at the University of Pennsylvania Cultural Heritage Center and Ricardo Punzalan at the University of Maryland Museum Scholarship Colloquium for inviting me to present this work, and the audiences in attendance who made important contributions through their questions and critique. I would also like to thank my Washington colleagues Joshua A. Bell, Gwyneira Isaac, and Robert Leopold at the Smithsonian, as well as Martha Morris at The George Washington University, for offering helpful insights in my development process. For their help and insight in facilitating my use of archival materials, I thank Ellen Alers, Tad Bennicoff, and Heidi Stover at the Smithsonian Institution Archives (SIA), and Thomas Jorstad in the Department of Paleobiology. I owe the greatest debt of gratitude to Michael Mason, Kate Hennessy, and Anthony Shelton for their time and theoretical insights throughout this research. I also thank Bruce Miller, Hector Williams, and Christina Kreps for their thoughtful questions, comments, and suggestions during earlier stages of this work. Susan Rowley was a fantastic advocate as I planned the research and an incredibly thoughtful and attentive mentor throughout. Further thanks are due to Raymond Rye for the many hours he spent with me unearthing institutional history, and for his close reading and correcting of the historical work presented here. Pamela Henson, Smithsonian’s institutional historian, also provided important historical guidance

xxiv

Acknowledgments

and made corrections. I am an anthropologist, not a historian, and I relied on ethnographic information and oral interviews to reconstruct certain chronological events and ideas that I have related here; I am sure that there is more work to be done to research and flesh out the historical portions of this book. I thank Jennifer Shannon for her support throughout my junior career and her careful review of this manuscript and many helpful suggestions in improving its clarity and relevance. Finally, I owe a great debt of gratitude to colleagues at Berghahn Books, including Series Editors Mary Bouquet and Howard Morphy; Senior Editor Chris Chappell; Operations Manager Melissa Gannon; Editorial Coordinator Amanda Horn; copy editor Ryan Masteller; Production Editor Elizabeth Martinez; and Archeology, Heritage Studies, and Museum Studies Editor Caryn Berg, who helped bring this work to print.

Abbreviations DT ETE FY HMSG MHT MNH NASM NHB NMAAHC NMAfA NMAH NMAI NMHT NMNH NPG NPM NZP OFEO OFI OGC OPS OP&A PAEC PETM R+P RCI

Deep Time Evolution of Terrestrial Ecosystems (Program) fiscal year Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden Museum of History and Technology Museum of Natural History National Air and Space Museum and Udvar-Hazy Center Natural History Building National Museum of African American History and Culture National Museum of African Art National Museum of American History National Museum of the American Indian National Museum of History and Technology National Museum of Natural History National Portrait Gallery National Postal Museum National Zoological Park Office of Facilities Engineering and Operations Office of Fellowships and Internships Office of General Counsel Office of Protection Services Office of Policy and Analysis Professional Accomplishments Evaluation Committee Paleocene-Eocene Thermal Maximum Reich + Petch Research Casting International

xxvi

RLMG SAAM SBV SI SIA SITES STEM USGS USNM TPS

Abbreviations

Richard Lewis Media Group Smithsonian American Art Museum and Renwick Gallery Smithsonian Business Ventures Smithsonian Institution Smithsonian Institution Archives Smithsonian Institution Traveling Exhibition Service Science, Technology, Engineering and Math U.S. Geological Survey U.S. National Museum Temporal Positioning System

Chronology A Lists of Relevant Leadership Secretaries of the Smithsonian Institution Joseph Henry 1846–78 Spencer Fullerton Baird 1878–87 Samuel Pierpont Langley 1887–1906 Charles Doolittle Walcott 1907–27 Charles Greely Abbot 1928–44 Alexander Wetmore 1945–52 Leonard Carmichael 1953–64 S. Dillon Ripley 1964–84 Robert McCormick Adams 1984–94 I. Michael Heyman 1994–99 Lawrence M. Small 2000–2007 Cristián Samper (Acting) 2007–8 G. Wayne Clough 2008–14 Albert G. Horvath (Acting) 2015 David J. Skorton 2015–

Administrators/Directors, National Museum/ Natural History Museum Assistant Director in charge of the U.S. National Museum & Director USNM Spencer Fullerton Baird 1850–87 George Brown Goode 1887–96 Charles Doolittle Walcott 1897–98 Richard Rathbun 1899–1918

U.S. National Museum, Director William de Chastignier Ravenel 1918–25 Alexander Wetmore 1925–45

xxviii

Chronology A

A. Remington Kellogg 1948–62* Frank A. Taylor 1962–71

Director of the Museum of Natural History Remington Kellogg (Acting) 1957–58* Albert C. Smith 1958–62 T. Dale Stewart 1962–65 Richard S. Cowan 1965–73 Porter M. Kier 1973–79 James F. Mello (Acting) 1979 Richard S. Fiske 1980–85 James C. Tyler (Acting) 1985 Robert S. Hoffman 1985–87 James C. Tyler (Acting) 1988 Frank Talbot 1989–94 Donald J. Ortner (Acting) 1994–96 David L. Pawson (Acting) 1996 Robert W. Fri 1996–2001 J. Dennis O’Conner (Acting) 2001–2 Douglas H. Erwin (Interim) 2002–3 Cristián Samper 2003–7 Paul Risser (Acting) 2007–8 Cristián Samper 2008–12 Kirk Johnson 2013– *After 1957 the USNM splits into two units: the Museum of Natural History and the Museum of History and Technology; Kellogg is director of both units FY 1958. After 1967 the USNM is dissolved and the director was no longer was responsible for the two. In 1969 the Museum of Natural History (MNH) became known as the National Museum of Natural History (NMNH).

Paleontology Head Curator of Geology George P. Merrill 1897–1929 Ray S. Bassler 1929–48 F. William Foshag 1948–56 G. Arthur Cooper 1956–63

Chronology A

Chair of Paleobiology G. Arthur Cooper 1963–67 C. Lewis Gazin (Acting) 1967 Porter M. Kier 1967–72 Richard E. Grant 1972–77 Martin A. Buzas 1977–82 Ian G. Macintyre 1982–87 Jack W. Pierce 1987–92 William A. DiMichele 1992–97 Richard H. Benson 1997–2001 Douglas H. Erwin 2001–2 Scott Wing (Acting) 2002 Ian G. Macintyre (Acting) 2002 Scott Wing 2003–6 Jean-Daniel Stanley 2006–7 Conrad Labandeira 2007–10 Brian T. Huber 2010–15

Exhibits Chief Exhibits Specialist, USNM John E. Anglim 1955–58

Chief, Office of Exhibits, USNM John E. Anglim 1959–68

Chief/Director, Office of Exhibits Programs, Smithsonian-wide John E. Anglim 1969–72

Chief, Natural History Laboratory James A. Mahoney 1968–70

Deputy Director, Office of Exhibits, Smithsonian-wide James A. Mahoney 1970–71

Acting Director, Office of Exhibits, Smithsonian-wide James A. Mahoney 1971–73

xxix

xxx

Chronology A

Chief, Office of Exhibits, NMNH** Harry T. Hart 1973–77 Eugene F. Behlen 1977–83 Carl Alexander (Acting) 1983–84

Assistant Director for Exhibitions, NMNH Lawrence P. O’Reilly 1984–92 Rena Selim 2006–9 Michael Mason 2009–13 Kara Blond 2013–17

Associate Director for Public Programs/Engagement, NMNH Public Programs, Robert Sullivan 1990–2006 Public Engagement, Elizabeth Duggal 2007–14 **The Office of Exhibits in the NMNH was created in 1973. The Office of Exhibits, 1955–69, and the Office of Exhibits Programs, 1969–73, were charged with natural history exhibits and all SI exhibits prior to that.

Chronology B Geologic Time Scale

Figure 0.3. Geologic time scale. Courtesy of the U.S. Geological Survey, Department of the Interior/USGS.

Chronology C Fossil Exhibits Timeline 1871 1872 October 1881 26 April 1909 15 October 1911 6 June 1961 25 June 1963 Spring 1964 ca. 1967 13 September 1974 17 April 1980 4 December 1981 30 May 1985 27 June 1986 18 May 1990 24 May 2001 11 December 2002 9 April 2009

Vertebrate fossils (casts) on display at the Castle. Vertebrate fossil mount, the Irish Elk, placed on display in the Castle. Fossils move to the USNM (now Arts and Industries Building). Fossils begin moving across the mall to the new USNM building (NHB). Fossil halls open in the new USNM building (NHB). Fossil Plants and Invertebrates, Fossil Fishes and Amphibians, and Prehistoric Mammals open.* Dinosaurs and Other Fossil Reptiles opens. Balcony to Dinosaur Hall opens. Age of Quaternary Vertebrates (Ice Age Mammals) open to the public. Ice Age Mammals and the Emergence of Man opens. The Conquest of Land and The Flowering Plant Revolution open. Dinosaurs: Reptiles—Masters of Land opens. Mammals in the Limelight opens. Early Life: Earliest Traces of Life opens. Life in the Ancient Seas opens. 3D scanned and restored Triceratops unveiled. Early Paleo halls renovation meeting. Deep Time selected as one of NMNH’s “Big Ideas.”

Chronology C

3 December 2012 26 April 2013 11 December 2013 28 April 2014 1 September 2015 8 June 2019

xxxiii

Launch of first Deep Time workshops. Final Deep Time 10% draft sent for approval. Final Deep Time 35% package submitted. Fossil halls close to the public. Proposed completion of Deep Time exhibit design. Proposed opening date for The David H. Koch Hall of Fossils—Deep Time.

*Titles of early halls throughout the text have not been italicized to conform with the convention of that time; these halls predate the practice of naming exhibition halls with formal titles.

Introduction To the United States of America, to found at Washington, under the name of the Smithsonian Institution, an Establishment for the increase & diffusion of knowledge among men. —James Smithson, Last Will and Testament, 23 October 1826 Cultures are continually co-produced in the interactions I call “friction”: the awkward, unequal, unstable, and creative qualities of interconnection across difference. —Anna Tsing, Friction: An Ethnography of Global Connection, 2005 I have touched at numerous points on the notion of discovering and reinforcing new complementarities—between fields of specialization, between internally generated projects and the needs and perceptions of the wider society, and between the increase and the diffusion of knowledge. . . . And it should be our goal to make the Smithsonian Institution a place where these activities not only coexist but work together to create a larger truth. —Robert McCormick Adams, Eighth Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, Smithsonian Year, 1985

This book is about the growing tension between research and outreach in the museum. This tension—and related debates about the balance between education and entertainment, science and spectacle, didactic and participatory learning, insularity and advocacy—has its roots in the earliest American museums. Today, it permeates all of our knowledgedriven institutions. As a cultural anthropologist, I explore this big problem through a small lens. The Smithsonian’s National Museum of Natural History (NMNH, figure 0.4), whose institutional mission is the “increase and diffusion of knowledge,” embodies the tension between research and outreach.1 It is a historically research-driven—but also the world’s most visited—natural history museum. As the museum staff has become more interdisciplinary, the tension between the museum’s research and outreach, or public engagement, functions manifests as a clash between curatorial and audiencefocused expertise. In exhibit projects, the tension plays out between curatorial staff—academic, research, or scientific staff charged with content—and exhibitions, public engagement, or educational staff—which I broadly group together

2

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Figure 0.4. The Smithsonian’s National Museum of Natural History, September 2012. Photo by the author.

as “audience advocates” charged with translating content for a broader public. I have heard Kirk Johnson, Sant Director of the NMNH, say many times that if you look at dinosaur halls at different museums across the country, you can see whether the curators or the exhibits staff has “won.” At the American Museum of Natural History in New York, it was the curators. The hall is stark white and organized by phylogeny—or the evolutionary relationships of species—with simple, albeit long, text panels. At the Field Museum of Natural History in Chicago, Johnson will tell you, it was the “exhibits people.” The hall is story driven and chronologically organized, full of big graphic prints, bold fonts, immersive and interactive spaces, and touchscreens. At the Denver Museum of Nature and Science, where Johnson had previously been vice president and chief curator, “we actually fought to a draw.” That, he says, is the best outcome; a win on either side skews the final product too extremely in one direction or the other. This creative tension, when based on mutual respect, is often what makes good exhibitions. Such exhibitions are the result of intense political work and compromise that the public never sees. When it is finished, every word, every image, and every object in an exhibition will have been battled over by a group of people visitors will never meet. Despite their desire to be more

Introduction

3

transparent, most museums, which disseminate so much public knowledge, are close-doored about this process. As a museum anthropologist, I employed the second of two facets of my field to study this problem; rather than studying human cultures through museum collections, I conducted a cultural study of a museum. I took the museum as my fieldsite, museum departments as cultural groups, and museum staff as research subjects, or what anthropologists call “informants.” I spent a year at the NMNH, where a small interdisciplinary team was planning the museum’s largest-ever exhibition renovation. Called Deep Time, the project involved a number of interrelated aspects, including: a massive building renovation to update the 1910 wing and restore it to its Beaux-Arts aesthetic; a conservation project to dismantle, conserve, and remount the hall’s fossils (many of which had been skewered with iron rods, as had been common practice in paleontology), and a complete exhibition redesign to reinterpret the collections according to current scientific knowledge of the history of Earth and in more engaging ways. The total space was thirty-one thousand square feet—including all of the halls stretching from the museum’s rotunda to the west to the back of the building (what are numbered as halls 2–6, see figure 0.5).

Figure 0.5. Map of the Natural History Building first floor, 1936, altered to show current numbering for halls 2–6. Smithsonian Institution Archives. Image # SIA2009-4096.

4

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

At the NMNH, exhibits are developed in successive phases (called 10%, 35%, 65%, and 95%, to be explained shortly). I observed only the conceptual and schematic phases of the exhibit-planning process (primarily the 10% phase), the first part of an ambitious seven-year project. Figure 0.6 gives you a sense of its scale.

Conducting Ethnography in the Museum Especially in the sciences, museum exhibitions appear to present unbiased, objective facts about the world. This public perception is intensified at the Smithsonian, the “world’s largest museum, education, and research complex” and one of the nation’s most trusted institutions.2 Yet the debates about what is presented in a finished exhibition are incredibly human. Like all scientific, and indeed all human, knowledge production, the process is political. In the 1990s, scholars were writing about the “culture wars” in museums, as shows like the Glenbow Museum’s The Spirit Sings and the Royal Ontario Museum’s Into the Heart of Africa erupted in controversy, and a Smithsonian exhibition on the Enola Gay bomber was canceled.3 Today, when facts themselves are under attack, there is even more pressure on the people who work in museums to present convincing evidence for the stories they tell. At the Smithsonian, the impacts of finished exhibitions are enormous. The NMNH attracts seven to eight million visitors each year,4 and many exhibits remain installed for thirty years—that’s up to 240 million people who might be impacted by the final product of an exhibition

Figure 0.6. Deep Time exhibit timeline. Courtesy of the Office of Exhibits, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

Introduction

5

process. An exhibition about dinosaurs—every six-year-old’s favorite subject in a natural history museum, or anywhere—involves added pressure and publicity. Fossil mounts are a natural history museum’s rock stars. The recent success of Jurassic World brought back to the fore the Jurassic Park/Walking with Dinosaurs/Barney craze of the 1990s. Shows like Dinosaur Train and the seemingly never-ending stream of IMAX films ensure that, as W. J. T. Mitchell wrote in 1998, “the world is overrun with dinosaurs—or rather, with dinosaur images.” Imagery of these iconic creatures has “escaped from the laboratory and the museum, cropping up in shopping malls, theme parks, movies, novels, advertisements, sitcoms, cartoons and comic books, metaphors and everyday language.”5 For a museum, this pop-culture baggage actually makes their display more complicated. It’s not enough that dinosaurs are big and cool. Museum staff want to know how to mobilize them to inspire an interest in more complicated topics, like evolution or climate change. This is a conundrum that plagued the exhibit team I observed. From my first entrée into the exhibit process, it was clear that Deep Time aimed to both harness this popular energy and combat diluted renderings of past worlds, focusing on an ecosystem- and climate-driven perspective. As the Deep Time project proposal read, We live at a unique moment in Earth’s 4.6-billion-year history: the point at which a single species, Homo sapiens, has the awareness and capacity to change the life support systems of the entire planet. Today, we are altering the composition and temperature of the atmosphere, the chemistry of the ocean, the distribution of ice, land and water, and the diversity of life. Geology shows that Earth is resilient, but humans have set in motion forces that are inducing a global climate that has not existed for millions of years . . .6

The tension between research and outreach, increase and diffusion, was therefore inherent in the very topic of the exhibit. I began this project to ask how changing institutional cultures impacted the public communication of science. I wanted to do an ethnographic study—or a firsthand, embedded, and detailed observational study—of a big, bureaucratic museum. Although this might sound odd coming from an anthropologist, in fact anthropologists have been studying Western cultures and bureaucracies for some time now.7 More than fifty years ago, anthropologist Laura Nader called for anthropologists to “study up”—to study our own societies and not just “primitive” ones.8 Then as now, doing ethnography at home is one way anthropologists can act as citizen scholars who make a difference in public life.9 There exist good institutional eth-

6

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

nographies of other sites, including a few heritage sites and theme parks, but there are very few ethnographies conducted in museums.10 As anthropologists Richard Handler and Eric Gable asserted, “most research on museums has proceeded by ignoring much of what goes on in them.”11 This is in part because it is difficult to get the kind of access to a museum needed to do truly embedded ethnography using participant observation—observation done by participating rather than being a “fly on the wall.”12 It’s a method we sometimes jokingly call “deep hanging out,” and it means becoming part of the cultural group you study and understanding their point of view. This book therefore builds on New History in an Old Museum, which traces the production and consumption of messages at a historical tourist site.13 However, during the research for that book, as in communication scholar Susan Davis’s work on Sea World,14 the researchers were never fully embedded in the institution’s internal culture. This book builds more closely on two important previous studies, both of which traced the production of exhibits. The first is Sharon Macdonald’s foundational museum ethnography, Behind the Scenes at the Science Museum, which took an exhibition on food at London’s Science Museum in the late 1980s as its subject.15 This study picks up where Macdonald left off, by tracking many of the shifts that have taken place since the 1980s. The second is Jennifer Shannon’s ethnographic study at the National Museum of the American Indian, which, like this book, takes an ethnographic lens to collaboration in a bureaucratic exhibit process.16 However, where Shannon made institutional collaboration with outside Native communities her subject, I look at the internal collaborative processes at a museum while also providing an anthropological approach to the study of science exhibitions. I also wanted to speak to wider trends across the museum field; to find out how many of the sweeping scholarly claims about changes in museums proved true “on the ground.”17 As institutions with origins in the nineteenth century, national museums in particular have struggled with their identity in the mid- to late twentieth century. It is no longer enough to be a place that collects and catalogues the world. The last thirty years have produced a wide-ranging literature about the drastic changes undergone by museums—most notably a shift in focus toward increasing public access amid new economic constraints. There appear to be two camps this work falls into: one aspirational, one apprehensive. On the one hand, the literature suggests that museums are democratizing, that is, increasing access to the public, encouraging collaboration, and using digital technologies that expand their public potential. Museums

Introduction

7

have embraced their educational role.18 Since the 1980s, museum scholars have questioned the all-knowing tone of museum curators and their exhibit interpretation.19 Across the museum field, it is now accepted that learning is constructivist, or shaped by visitors’ personal experiences and interests.20 In the growing field of museum education, research in informal learning and psychology has shown the centrality of visitors’ contexts, emotions, and motivations in forming new understandings.21 Knowledge-building is a co-constructed, discovery-based process that can happen only if museums think holistically about the environments and experiences they generate, which has in turn led to new innovations in educational approaches.22 Most recently, museum director Nina Simon’s idea that museums should be, at their core, participatory, community-driven spaces has taken the museum world by storm.23 In anthropology, museums are working to “decolonize,” that is, to promote new ethical paradigms, collaborate with originating communities, and embrace Indigenous models of knowledge.24 Such developments have fostered new attitudes toward the communication not only of science but of all subjects.25 These shifts are reflected in emerging forms of museum expertise, evidenced by growing programs in specialties such as museum communication, exhibition planning and design, museum management, museum education, audience research, and exhibit writing.26 On the other hand, museums have been criticized for their move to corporate sponsorship, “Disneyfication,” and resorting to “blockbuster exhibitions” or expensive rebranding schemes.27 As museum administrators face severe funding cuts, their financial self-sufficiency often dictates drastic compromises: pressure to “edutain,” adopt corporate institutional models, or solicit private funding.28 Much of this literature posits the notion that, as elsewhere in capitalist society, market logic has infiltrated institutions and spaces where it does not belong.29 Anthropologist Brian Noble’s recent Articulating Dinosaurs has investigated the ways this “specimen-spectacle tension” played out at the Royal Ontario Museum’s Maiasaur Project in the late 1990s, and the ways that increasing pressure to edutain “mutated” curator’s goals for the exhibition.30 That study is more so an anthropology of dinosaurs and their social and cultural history—focusing on the cultural imagination of Tyrannosaurus rex, “King of the Tyrant Saurians,” at the beginning of the twentieth century, and the “Good Mother Lizard,” Maiasaura peeblesorum at its end.31 Whereas Noble conducted “retrospective” interviews with staff and visitors during the run of an exhibition,32 the research in this book was conducted while embedded with a team at a project’s start. Noble also follows the trajectory of two curators and the specimens they stewarded

8

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

through exhibitions at two different historical eras. As he recognizes, the second exhibit was much more team driven, “itself telling of the shift in museum milieus from a top-down, expert-privileging modality in the early twentieth century to a more democratically configured, if market-interested, modality in the late twentieth century.”33 This book takes that shift, more than dinosaurs or their representation, as its subject. Likewise facing such trends in their recent Life on Display, historians Karen Rader and Victoria Cain analyze dioramas and other natural-life displays in the twentieth century alongside the wider museum shift toward public education and outreach.34 This book differs in two ways. First, by taking a case-study approach, I provide detailed insights into many of the tensions that Rader and Cain identify. Second, I address the science- and research-driven side of the museum and its intersections with outreach. This book thus focuses on a large-scale museum in which I witnessed how the grounded reality of institutional life corresponded with the theorization of wider change. Following historian of science Thomas Kuhn’s canonical work on scientific revolutions, I could see whether some major shift or transformation in paradigm had occurred.35 I therefore chose an ethnohistorical approach—that is, drawing on archival and oral history as well as current observation and sources—to understand whether some major sea change had indeed occurred in museums in the last thirty years and, if so, when it had taken place. An exhibition featuring dinosaurs—as one curator called them, “a gateway drug to science”—was a perfect case. In the present age of “alternative facts,” this book attempts to say something bigger about all knowledge production. This is one small contribution to a larger movement to understand the anthropology of knowledge—to reveal the social process of generating, debating, and circulating ideas.36

The Research Origins and Methods In the spring of 2011, one of the many emails I sent to institutions across the United States and Canada elicited a series of positive responses. Elizabeth Duggal, then Associate Director for Public Engagement at the NMNH, replied that my project seemed interesting from her managerial perspective. She suggested that I get in touch with Dr. Scott Wing, curator of fossil plants, who dealt frequently with students. In his usual fashion, Scott welcomed me to call him about the prospect of undertaking a project at the NMNH. That autumn, Scott met me for a casual lunch, where he told me that he was working on a new exhibit project called Deep Time, a

Introduction

9

project to reenvision the entire Fossil Hall complex. It was a massive project that had been in the works for a number of years; it turned out that some of the team had expressed interest in having the process documented. In turn, Scott introduced me to Dr. Michael Mason, then assistant director for exhibitions, whom I found to be a like-minded cultural anthropologist and who proved to be an important advocate and mentor. The planning for Deep Time was about to begin in earnest. Michael, who was committed to innovation and experimentation in exhibits, was open to inviting an ethnographer into the exhibition process. He agreed to let me join and document the process, given my background in museum studies and audience research, both as an embedded ethnographer and as an advocate for public engagement in the process. I was granted a predoctoral NMNH Visiting Student fellowship from the Smithsonian Office of Fellowships and Internships (OFI), hosted by Michael Mason as my advisor for one year: from September 2012 to September 2013. My role in the exhibition development process would be to research public engagement initiatives at other institutions; in other words, to do “horizon scanning” that would inform Deep Time decisions on how to approach public engagement. I also undertook a visitor study of the FossiLab space in the existing hall. The rest of my time would be spent on my research—documenting the development process by attending meetings, taking notes, and conducting interviews. In this way, I would be able to attend meetings with a specific role on the team, and I would be held to the same practical and ethical standards as staff. My paperwork, background check, and badge were processed through the OFI, and I was very graciously given an office in Exhibits (more on this in chapter 2). It was thus through good timing and the open-mindedness of NMNH staff that I came to take Deep Time and its planning team as a case study. Throughout, I melded ethnographic and ethnohistorical methods. In the summer of 2012, I began research in the Smithsonian Institution Archive’s (SIA) formidable collections of exhibits files, correspondence, blueprints, photographs, and annual report drafts. Of particular value were the daybooks and correspondence of the museum’s first curator of vertebrate paleontology, Charles W. Gilmore. Archival sources allowed me to construct much of the pre-1960s history as I will recount in chapter 1. Beyond that, the archives yielded a vast repository of records through the 2000s that helped to flesh out the ethnographic and oral history data that I collected at the museum.37 I quickly discovered that NMNH staff have deep institutional memory. Many retired scientific staff members who have been with the institution for more than forty years come to the museum every day. I was generously

10

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

given access to many internal and informal “archives” in the institution— staff bookshelves and desk drawers that stored rich repositories of institutional and exhibits history. In oral history interviews, these documents as well as the NMNH’s internal photographic collections proved essential for my overall research, and also served as important memory cues.38 On 13 September 2012, I began a part-time position working for the Deep Time project in the Office of Exhibits under Michael Mason’s supervision, initiating participant observation for the project. For anthropologists, being a true participant in the activities of a fieldsite is a defining method, because it allows you to understand the people you work with and their perspectives. We also take collaboration—the idea that both you and your research subjects not only understand the project but anticipate its mutual benefits—very seriously as a method.39 Working for the exhibit project would allow me to do this work ethically and in good faith. In September 2012, I began researching audience engagement initiatives at other museums for the project and attending meetings. Initiating participant observation in Exhibits took some negotiation and at times was a tense process for both me and Smithsonian staff. During my first meetings with leaders in Exhibits, there was some hesitation from staff over the prospect of having an ethnographer document the exhibit process. (This is not all that surprising, because embedded ethnography is generally an awkward enterprise, especially at first. Now that I have worked on my own exhibit projects, I see how an observer’s presence would be weird and disconcerting.) In particular, staff were concerned about how an observer would influence the dynamic of the group, especially when it was a newly formed team of people from disparate backgrounds and disciplines. There was also conversation about what, precisely, being an ethnographer would mean— would I always have my “ethnographer’s hat” on? Would hallway conversations be fair game? Would I be a participant at some meetings (or for parts) and an observer at others? While we joked about the possibility of my wearing a Dr. Seuss “ethnographer’s hat” whenever I adopted my ethnographer’s lens, the conversation had a serious tone. In the end the group decided that I should use differently colored notebooks to start—I had a red “project notebook” for use when I was doing audience engagement work, and an “ethnographer’s notebook” to make obvious to the team that I had my ethnographer’s hat on.40 We also discussed whether I ought to record audio at exhibit meetings. Once again, the issue of the group dynamic came up, as well as what I might do with the recordings. In the end, it was decided that I should only take written notes in meetings. By midyear, someone suggested that I try typing out

Introduction

11

notes, but the group immediately rejected my single-meeting experiment with this method because of its cold, impersonal, court-transcript feel. Getting official institutional permission to conduct the study was also complicated. The project (and my consent forms) received approval from the University of British Columbia’s (UBC) Behavioural Research Ethics Board as well as the Smithsonian’s Institutional Review Board. I had permission from the Department of Paleobiology and the Office of Exhibits, and their leadership. However, midway through the project the exhibit’s designers, contracted through the architecture and design firm Reich + Petch (R+P), asked a seemingly simple question—could they legally sign my consent forms? In fact, this turned out to be quite complicated. While under contract with the Smithsonian, the designers’ creative work is essentially owned by the institution. Could they, then, as independent individuals, consent to my study in their capacity as Smithsonian contractors?41 The question moved up the institutional chain to the Office of General Counsel (OGC), the Smithsonian’s legal branch. The result was a reexamination of my content forms by my PhD supervisor, UBC Legal, the acting director of Exhibits, and the OGC, who negotiated new terminology (appendix A as well as an overall “Content Sharing Agreement,” where the “subject matter content provided by Smithsonian staff and contractors in the interviews and exhibit-planning meetings (the “Smithsonian Content”) shall be owned by the Smithsonian, including copyright, in accordance with the underlying contract between the contractors and the Smithsonian,” and the actual recordings—written, audio, visual—are owned by me. We each have a “royalty-free, non-exclusive, irrevocable license to use, reproduce, and transmit” this material. Institutional trust thus required significant legal as well as social work. From the official Deep Time launch in December up to the following April, I attended all full-team Deep Time workshops. This was what might be called a “thick description” phase.42 For anthropologists, thick description is an approach to documenting and writing about a cultural field you are studying that accounts for as many contextual (rather than merely factual) details as possible. At workshops and meetings I took detailed, handwritten notes of as much as I could get down about the content of conversations and which team members were speaking.43 During this phase I also made detailed audio recordings of my reflections each day. These functioned as fieldnotes proper—or lengthier accounts of my observations of meetings and other events, as well as general observations, thoughts, ideas, and conundrums.44 During the next (called 35%) phase, I took more generalized notes to understand the broader process. The 35% phase includes the fleshing out

12

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

of more specific content for each section of the exhibit, as well as the selection of large-scale specimens and elements that determine the building and engineering infrastructure.45 From the beginning of my fellowship until its end in September 2013, I was also included in all email and document exchanges. Thanks to Michael, I had the advantage of the very gracious allotment of an office in Exhibits, which meant that I was fully immersed there from mid-September to June. When two new writers joined the Deep Time team in July and my research shifted to interviews and oral history work, I moved to Paleobiology, where I had an office from July to September. The following year, as I wrote up the research, I had an office in the director’s hallway. While not an intentional research plan, residence in very different institutional spaces helped me understand the cultural distinctions between the museum’s departments. It also brought my own positionality to the fore. I was clearly more comfortable in Paleobiology, a department filled with academics. I realized then that being an academic in training had probably put me in a dubious position when I started in Exhibits, where I’m sure they all recognized that potential bias. I also learned a great deal about organizational divisions through oral history interviews with longstanding staff in Exhibits and Paleobiology.46 During oral history interviews I tried to focus on changes over time in the priorities and roles of different departments and actors in the exhibits process, as well as overall cultural shifts in institutional culture at the museum.47 At the end of April as the 10% phase concluded, I also began conducting interviews with nearly all the Core, External/Advisory, and Approval Team members of both the Deep Time and Temporary Exhibit Teams. In these interviews, I focused on people’s particular backgrounds and expertise and their individual perspectives on the Deep Time process to contextualize their contributions to exhibit meetings. For some of the team members, these interviews were also oral history interviews, as several members of the current team had worked at the institution for upward of thirty years. All in all, in addition to countless informal conversations with current and former staff, I conducted fifty-six recorded interviews in the institution—twenty-two audio-recorded interviews with Core, Advisory/ Extended, and Approval Team members, thirty-two oral history interviews (twenty-five audio-recorded; seven written-recorded)—and had formative, formal conversations with another sixteen current and former staff.48 As the prologue relates, in July I accompanied members of the Temporary and Permanent Teams and other Smithsonian staff to the field. Hosted by the Marmarth Research Foundation on the outcrops of the Hell

Introduction

13

Creek Formation, we spent a week scouting for microfossils, digging up large vertebrates, and collecting fossil plants. On the trip I kept a detailed field diary of the group’s activities and personal reflections and took photographs of the processes of scouting and collecting as well as preparing fossils for shipment back east. In sum, the project involved three methods: first, archival research at the Smithsonian Institution Archives and internal (often informal) archives; second, oral history interviews with longstanding staff, primarily in Exhibits and Paleobiology but also across a wide range of museum roles and expertise; and third, interviews and participant observation among the Deep Time team.

The Argument At the Smithsonian, I contend, the tension between research and outreach is inherent in its twofold 1846 mission—the increase and diffusion of knowledge. In the last sixty years, these two aspects of the institution’s mission have become increasingly polarized. Placing that shift in the 1950s and not in the 1980s—as much of the literature has suggested—is one of the contributions of this study. Today, increasingly specialized experts—in subdisciplines of science, museum project management and development, exhibit design, exhibit label writing, and museum education—are responsible for planning exhibitions. Mounting an exhibition is thus a social experiment where people from different backgrounds and otherwise isolated departmental cultures, languages, and ideologies come together to plan something they all imagine differently. Tensions are also high because museum staff care deeply about what they do. For most of them, educating the public about the most important historical, scientific, political, or artistic movements of our time is more than a job—it is an aspirational worldview, a moral position, and a professional responsibility. Exhibitions are also hugely time consuming and expensive. Planning an exhibit at the Smithsonian, at the world’s most visited natural history museum, and on the National Mall means that the stakes are high. To say that every finished exhibition is the result of intense compromise is an understatement. As Michael Mason once remarked to me, “it’s more like rugby.” Exhibits projects offer unique insight into the workings of an institution because they arise in a microcosm of the museum. There, what I have called “frictions” and “complementarities” are debated, dramatized, and performed (among a small group of increasingly interdisciplinary people).

14

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

The first of these terms I borrow from anthropologist Anna Tsing, who wrote a multisited, global ethnography focusing on the “creative frictions” embedded in debates about Indonesian rainforests in the late 1980s and 1990s.49 She argues that cultures are coproduced through “friction,” which she defines as “the awkward, unequal, unstable, and creative qualities of interconnection across difference.”50 Collaboration, she shows, is “not a simple sharing of information,” because collaborators don’t necessarily “share common goals.”51 Exhibit development involves the meeting of very particular expert knowledge. I found that professionalized disciplines negotiating the development of an exhibit act as a kind of cultural diversity. Exhibit meetings are ripe with “zones of awkward engagement.”52 However, I also found that there was something more aspirational to the particular frictions I encountered in the Smithsonian’s exhibit-planning process. I came across the term “complementarities” in an annual report from 1984, as I was writing chapter 2. Robert McCormick Adams, secretary of the Smithsonian Institution during some of its most fiscally stringent years, noted the importance of complementarities to the Smithsonian: I have touched at numerous points on the notion of discovering and reinforcing new complementarities—between fields of specialization, between internally generated projects and the needs and perceptions of the wider society, and between the increase and the diffusion of knowledge. . . . And it should be our goal to make the Smithsonian Institution a place where these activities not only coexist but work together to create a larger truth.53

It struck me that this summed up the unique social field of the Smithsonian and the people who drive its activities. At the Smithsonian, distinct fields are imagined as coming together in partnership. Both the institution and its staff are often caught in the middle of paradoxical values, disciplines, and goals. Yet I chose this term because it seemed to capture aspirations of the institution and its staff to overcome these fissions.54 A word on terminology: I use the term “production” in two ways in this book. In Exhibits terminology, “production” involves the process of building, manufacturing, assembling, or physically making the exhibits, as well as the staff who work in these areas. It is also a later phase of the overall exhibit-development process. Here, the term is also used as anthropologists use it, to talk about the total social process of creating something. I often use “exhibit” and “exhibition” interchangeably, because the first term is used colloquially in the museum, although many museum professionals consider an exhibit to be a small-scale display or case, and an exhibition to be a holistically planned gallery or set of galleries. Another word I use

Introduction

15

often is “outreach.” In historical sections of the book I use it as a blanket term to describe all of the emergent professionals and departments that are involved in public-facing museum work—education, exhibits, press, programming, and so on. Today, because the former Office of Education is now called “Education and Outreach,” education staff members are also called “outreach” staff. I have tried to use terms like “audience-focused,” “audience advocates,” “education and exhibits,” “noncuratorial” or “nonscientific” staff to describe broad cultural differences across roles and perspectives in the museum that divide along these lines. This is not to say, of course, that offices such as Education and Exhibits do not have differing perspectives and expertise, because they do. In chapter 2, I outline some of these subpower divisions. However, painting this broad picture allows for tracing wider trends in museum culture. I investigate the fracture between research and outreach as it plays out in three main social arenas: first, among increasingly interdisciplinary staff; second, in debates about the exhibit content development; and third, amid a broader institutional culture. Exploring group dynamics, I trace debates that manifest through the increasingly interdisciplinary, specialized, and isolated groups involved in producing exhibits. Through content development debates, I examine what these groups debate and produce. I describe the Exhibit Team’s debates about how, under what scientific paradigm, and with what kinds of display technologies they will portray the processes and interconnectivities of the deep history of Earth in static things. Third, framing the other two (in chapters 1 and 6), I describe the context for these debates, through a close examination of the NMNH’s historical and contemporary institutional culture. I trace debates in broader strategies for exhibits at the museum, the vision for what exhibits ought to be and how they ought to communicate science within the broadest vision for the institution—its mission, goals, and place in (here primarily U.S.) society. In each arena, I describe frictions and then a few areas where complementarities allow for compromise or consensus. If managed well, I argue that friction yields to complementarity, resulting in creativity and a better, more balanced final product.

The Structure of the Book Extinct Monsters to Deep Time describes the growth of the tension between the research and outreach functions of the museum in the twenty-first century. The book provides a grounded perspective of the inner workings

16

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

of a museum and the behind-the-scenes collaborative processes of communicating science to the public. I meld ethnohistorical and ethnographic approaches to investigate the production of the Smithsonian’s fossil exhibits, focusing primarily on the radical modernization period of the postwar period to the present. The chapters intersperse ethnographic observation of the first six months of planning for the NMNH’s largest-ever exhibit renovation, Deep Time (to open in June 2019), with chapters that historically contextualize this process. In chapter 1 I explore institutional culture to the end of World War II: the early contexts for the increase and diffusion of knowledge through an account of intersections between early fossil displays and the development of the Smithsonian Institution, the public museum, and paleontology as a scientific field. I describe the early contexts for burgeoning museum expertise and modes of display. Tracing the early roots of frictions and complementarities, I show the beginnings of the museum’s mission to both increase and diffuse knowledge, at a much smaller scale and scope. In chapters 2–5 I describe two aspects of exhibits production: group dynamics and content development. I have broken both of these two arenas into contemporary and historical chapters. In chapters 2 and 3, I explore group dynamics in exhibit development, where chapter 2 describes the contemporary roles and processes for Deep Time and chapter 3 describes the contexts for interdisciplinarity. In chapter 2 I describe the dynamics between different cultures of expertise in the museum. When experts with different training who are ordinarily isolated in departments come together in the exhibit planning, the tensions among them illustrate wider divisions between research and outreach in the institution. In chapter 3 I describe exhibits expertise from the modernization revolution of the mid-1950s to the present. I focus on the increasingly professionalized and interdisciplinary experts who come together to plan exhibits, as well as on some of the shifts in perspectives and compromise this entails. These dynamics embody the shift in the Smithsonian’s mission from a narrower, scholarly notion of “increase and diffusion” to “diffusion and increase,” an era in which the institution has looked outward to reaching and understanding the broadest public. In chapters 4 and 5 I explore exhibit content development through my grounded case study of fossil displays from the late 1950s to the present; chapter 4 is about the contemporary planning for Deep Time, and chapter 5 traces the context for Deep Time from the postwar era. Chapter 4 therefore uses my ethnographic research, including meeting observations, interviews, fieldnotes, and reflections, to describe current debates about content for Deep Time. I describe four major debates. These debates gen-

Introduction

17

erated decisions about the tone and approach to the entire exhibition: (1) layers of interpretation, or the emphasis on individual real things (fossils) versus story-driven interpretation (e.g. labels, dioramas, videos); (2) levels of resolution, or the use of in-depth, detailed renderings of life on Earth at particular times or places versus narrative approaches to big trends in the history or story of Earth; (3) tone of technologies, or experimentation with heavier uses of new media versus tried-and-true, durable technologies; and (4) levels of engagement, or to what extent the exhibition would cede authority to the public or maintain its scientific authority. 1. 2. 3. 4.

Layers of Interpretation: real interpretation Levels of Resolution: detail abstraction Tone of Technologies: reliability innovation Levels of Engagement: authority participation

In each case I describe two extremes of perspective (friction) and where the team came to early consensus (complementarity). Chapter 5 uses team and oral history interviews along with archival research to reconstruct the development of many early content debates for both science and its communication. There, I describe debates on and solutions to illustrating increasingly complex and interconnected systems with objects, augmented by increasingly story-driven texts, and sophisticated audiovisual technologies. In chapter 6, having shown how teams of experts produce content today, I return to broader institutional contexts for the increase and diffusion of knowledge. I show that in mission, staffing, and administrative actions, the Smithsonian’s institutional culture has shifted its emphasis toward diffusion and outreach since the 1950s. The NMNH has resisted aspects of this shift, maintaining a fairly traditional scholarly community in its curatorial departments. The widening gap between research and outreach cultures is causing increased tensions, some productive and some highly unproductive. These chapters are framed by an introduction and a conclusion, which address the broader theoretical and museological relevance of the research. I have also included a prologue and an epilogue to the book, not only to do justice to the fieldwork experiences facilitated in undertaking this research but also to frame my analysis with a grounded description of the two ends of the Smithsonian’s mission. The process of excavating and prospecting for fossils was a window into the ways that paleobiologists today conduct research and “increase knowledge.” The epilogue, which describes the arrival in the spring of 2014 of the “Nation’s T. rex” is a window into the grounded impacts of both the world stage on which the Smithsonian now finds itself

18

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

and the continued iconic power of dinosaurs. This is one instance in which I saw the expansion of the Smithsonian’s mission of “diffusion.” As you will see in each chapter, different methods yield very different kinds of information, and that is reflected in the tone of my writing. Chapters 1, 3, 5, and 6 rely primarily on archival and oral history methods. Their tone is somewhat more detached, and each works to contextualize my ethnographic chapters in a historical framework. The prologue, epilogue, and chapters 2 and 4 are based entirely on ethnographic methods and are more personal and narrative in tone.

Deep Time and the Museum Field As a museum ethnography, this book provides a grounded look at today’s museums and the challenges they face. Taking the world’s largest and most visited natural history museum as a case study, it speaks to what is happening in museums broadly. Such transparency might cultivate more informed, critical visitors as well as better-equipped museum administrators and project managers. As a young professional in the museum field, I have found that the tensions I observed at the Smithsonian, namely between curatorial and audience-focused expertise in the museum, are ubiquitous. Across museums, stereotypes abound. Curators are perceived to relish their institutional prestige: they refuse to cut objects in exhibit projects, tend to write in overly long, inaccessible jargon that they are convinced is perfect, dislike change, talk down to other staff, and are poor team players. Audience advocates are perceived to “dumb down” exhibit content while not really understanding it, and are seen as overly demanding while being highly sensitive about their expertise, or department, and its importance. Among museum professionals, I often find myself defending curatorship as a practice and downplaying my PhD as a life course. Among academics and curators, I justify museum work as a career path, and I am often put in the awkward position of trying to explain or make light of research-outreach staff conflicts. There are valid reasons for the (mis) perceptions on both sides. Having done this research, I feel that it is my responsibility to take very seriously the knowledge of all experts at the table in museum projects. I hope that this is a bigger trend among the next curatorial generation and that this book inspires that respect. Literature about other museums reveals that what I found at the Smithsonian—new techniques and technologies for museum communication, the professionalization of museum disciplines, and changes in the organi-

Introduction

19

zational structure of the museum—are taking place elsewhere.55 Across the field, museums are grappling with their primary function: whether to be centers for research or outreach apparatuses. Understanding the ways these changes affect daily life for the people who work in museums will help us to identify the conflicts that make it difficult to do this important work. In nonprofits, libraries, museums, archives, and even universities, tensions between departments and their staffs, under increasing financial strain, can prevent the productive collaborations we aspire to. Rather than combating difference and disciplinary prejudice, we should be identifying common goals. Understanding other disciplinary perspectives and their roots promotes better work environments, richer projects, and greater impact. As an ethnography of experts and knowledge production more broadly, this book intends to reveal the power struggles inherent in all interdisciplinary institutions that seek to develop and communicate new ideas. The cross-cultural tensions I observed at the NMNH can be found not only in other kinds of museums but in hospitals, think tanks, and corporations. I hope readers will recognize aspects of the “frictions” and “complementarities” described here in their own familiar institutions. If I have done my job well, the book will also raise larger questions: Who speaks for science and how does it get represented? How does information become agreed upon and classified as fact? How do we know what we know? Or, more simply, as Shari Werb, assistant director for education, put it, “these people who are funded by the public—how do we translate their really important research in a way that the public can understand it?” In a fraught political environment, museums are well placed to set some parameters for these conversations—to be leaders in the public discourse. Through intense cross-cultural debate, every museum idea, story, or statement has been painstakingly scrutinized and translated for public consumption. It is exactly this process that should allow museums to lead global conversations about critical scientific topics such as climate change. As museums grapple with their futures in the new millennium, I hope that this small ethnography contributes to their empowerment.

Notes 1. “James Smithson, Last Will and Testament, October 23, 1826,” Smithsonian Institution Archives, retrieved 1 May 2014 from http://siarchives.si.edu/ history/exhibits/stories/last-will-and-testament-october-23-1826. 2. “Welcome,” Smithsonian Institution, retrieved 25 April 2018 from https:// www.si.edu.

20

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

3. See Eva Mackey, “Postmodernism and Cultural Politics in a Multicultural Nation: Contests over Truth in the Into the Heart of Africa Controversy,” Public Culture 7, no. 2 (1995): 403–32; Richard H. Kohn, “History and the Culture Wars: The Case of the Smithsonian Institution’s Enola Gay Exhibition,” Journal of American History 82, no. 3 (1995): 1036–63; Shelley Ruth Butler, “The Politics of Exhibiting Culture: Legacies and Possibilities,” Museum Anthropology 23, no. 3 (2000): 74–92; Steven Dubin, “Incivilities in Civil(-Ized) Places: ‘Culture Wars’ in Comparative Perspective,” in A Companion to Museum Studies, ed. Sharon Macdonald (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2008): 477–93. 4. According to the Smithsonian Organization and Audience Research Office (formally Office of Policy and Analysis), during the time I conducted this research, visitor numbers at the NMNH were 7,378,612 in FY 2012, 8,281,983 in FY 2013, and 7,047,560 in FY 2014. Whitney Watriss and David Karns, personal correspondence, 22 October 2018. 5. W. J. T. Mitchell, The Last Dinosaur Book: The Life and Times of a Cultural Icon (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998), 5. 6. “The Deep Time Project: 4.6 Million Years of Global Change,” unpublished project proposal, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC, 2009. 7. For example, in the 1980s, George Marcus and Michael Fischer’s formative Anthropology as Cultural Critique (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1986), 125–26, drew on precedents in anthropological work to ask anthropology “to study home societies with as much detail and rigor as comparative ‘other’ societies” and “to serve as a form of cultural critique for ourselves,” 1. See Marcel Mauss’s The Gift: The Form and Reason for Exchange in Archaic Societies, trans. W. D. Halls (New York: Routledge, 1990 [1954]); Margaret Mead’s Coming of Age in Samoa: A Study of Adolescence and Sex in Primitive Societies (New York: Penguin, 1954); and early work in Chicago school urban studies by William Lloyd Warner and others, e.g. William Lloyd Warner and Josiah Orne Low, The Social System of the Modern Factory: The Strike, a Social Analysis (Hartford, CT: Yale University Press, 1947), 8. Laura Nader, “Up the Anthropologist—Perspectives Gained from Studying Up,” in Reinventing Anthropology, ed. Dell H. Hymes (New York: Vintage, 1969): 284–311. 9. Ibid. 10. See, for instance: Georgina Born, Rationalizing Culture: Ircam, Boulez, and the Institutionalization of the Musical Avant-Garde (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995); Richard Harper, Inside the IMF: An Ethnography of Documents, Technology and Organisational Action (San Diego, CA: Academic Press, 1998); Annalise Riles, The Network Inside Out (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 2000); Karen Ho, Liquidated: An Ethnography of Wall Street (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2009); Barry Dornfeld, Producing Public Television, Producing Public Culture (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1998); and Bruno Latour and Steve Woolgar’s Lab-

Introduction

11. 12.

13. 14. 15.

16. 17. 18.

19. 20.

21

oratory Life: The Construction of Scientific Facts (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1986). Two formative studies of heritage sites include Aviad Raz, Riding the Black Ship: Japan and Tokyo Disneyland (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999), and Gwyneira Isaac’s ethnographic work on producing knowledge and the formation of the A:shiwi A:wan Museum and Heritage Center. See Gwyneira Isaac, Mediating Knowledges: Origins of a Zuni Tribal Museum (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2007). Richard Handler and Eric Gable, The New History in an Old Museum: Creating the Past at Colonial Williamsburg (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1997): 9. Other similar scholarly work takes the form of reflections by curators or other exhibition team members themselves in a first-person narrative as opposed to an ethnographic observation. For a relevant Smithsonian example, see, for instance, Steven Lubar “The Making of ‘America on the Move’ at the National Museum of American History,” Curator 47, no. 1 (January 2004): 19–51. Handler and Gable, New History in an Old Museum. Susan Davis, Spectacular Nature: Corporate Culture and the Sea World Experience (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997). Sharon Macdonald, Behind the Scenes at the Science Museum (Oxford: Berg, 2002). Another much shorter study (approximately two hundred hours over two years) was undertaken by Charlotte Lee, which documented a traveling natural history museum exhibition about dogs but importantly looks at communities of practice among an exhibit team. See “Reconsidering Conflict in Exhibition Development Teams,” Museum Management and Curatorship 22, no. 2 (2007): 183–99. Jennifer Shannon, Our Lives: Collaboration, Native Voice, and the Making of the National Museum of the American Indian (Santa Fe, NM: School for Advanced Research Press, 2014). On encouraging more grounded anthropological work in museums, also see Mary Bouquet, Academic Anthropology and the Museum: Back to the Future (New York: Berghahn Books, 2001). See Eilean Hooper-Greenhill, Museums and Their Visitors (New York: Routledge, 1994); Michael Ames, Cannibal Tours and Glass Boxes: The Anthropology of Museums (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 1992); George E. Hein, Learning in the Museum (New York: Routledge, 1998). For example, Eilean Hooper-Greenhill, The Educational Role of the Museum (New York: Routledge, 1999). On current approaches to museum learning, see Philip Bell, Bruce Lewenstein, Andrew W. Shouse, and Michael A. Feder, Learning Science in Informal Environments: People, Places, and Pursuits (Washington, DC: The National Academies Press, 2009); John Howard Falk, Joe E. Heimlich, and Susan Foutz, Free-Choice Learning and the Environment (Plymouth: Altamira Press, 2009); and John H. Falk and Lynn D. Dierking, Learning from Museums: Visitor Experiences and the Making of Meaning (Plymouth: Altamira Press, 2000).

22

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

21. On influential theories of childhood learning-as-process, motivation, and the importance of structured curriculum design that builds on existing knowledge “scaffolding,” see Jerome S. Bruner, The Process of Education (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999 [1960]). 22. On the construction of knowledge, context, and presenting multiple perspectives, see Rand J. Spiro, Brian P. Collins, Jose Jagadish Thota, and Paul J. Feltovich. “Cognitive Flexibility Theory: Hypermedia for Complex Learning, Adaptive Knowledge Application, and Experience Acceleration,” Educational Technology 43, no. 5 (2003): 5–10. For earlier influential development and psychology literature on this topic, see for example, Lev S. Vygotsky, “Interaction between Learning and Development,” in Mind in Society: The Development of Higher Psychological Processes, ed. Michael Cole, Vera John-Steiner, Syvlia Scribner, and Ellen Souberman (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1978): 71–91. 23. See Nina Simon, The Participatory Museum, retrieved 15 May 2014 from http://www.participatorymuseum.org; Bernadette Lynch, “Whose Cake Is It Anyway? A Collaborative Investigation into Engagement and Participation in 12 Museums and Galleries in the UK” (London: Paul Hamlyn Foundation, 2011); Christian Heath and Dirk vom Lehn, “Interactivity and Collaboration: New Forms of Participation in Museums, Galleries, and Science Centres,” in Museums in a Digital Age, ed. Ross Parry (New York: Routledge, 2010): 266–81. 24. On ethics, see Janet Marstine, The Routledge Companion to Museum Ethics: Redefining Ethics for the Twenty-First Century Museum (New York: Routledge, 2011); on collaboration, see Bernadette Lynch, “Collaboration, Contestation, and Creative Conflict: On the Efficacy of Museum/Community Partnerships,” in The Routledge Companion to Museum Ethics, ed. Janet Marstine (London Routledge, 2011): 146–63; Luke Eric Lassiter, The Chicago Guide to Collaborative Ethnography (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005), and Viv Golding and Wayne Modest, Museums and Communities: Curators, Collections and Collaboration (New York: Bloomsbury, 2013); on incorporating Indigenous models of knowledge, see, for example, Christina F. Kreps, “Non-Western Models of Museums and Curation in Cross-Cultural Perspective,” in A Companion to Museum Studies, ed. Sharon MacDonald (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2010), 457–72, and Christina F. Kreps, Liberating Culture: Cross-Cultural Perspectives on Museums, Curation, and Heritage Preservation (New York: Routledge, 2003); and Laura L. Peers and Alison K. Brown, Museums and Source Communities: A Routledge Reader (New York: Routledge, 2003). 25. On the public communication of science, see John Durant, Museums and the Public Understanding of Science (London: The Science Museum, 1992). 26. Patrick J. Boylan, “The Museum Profession,” in A Companion to Museum Studies, ed. Sharon MacDonald (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2010). 27. On corporatization, see Mark W. Rectanus, Culture Incorporated: Museums, Artists, and Corporate Sponsorships (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota

Introduction

28.

29.

30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37.

38.

23

Press, 2002); on “Disneyfication,” see Alan Bryman, “The Disneyization of Society,” Sociological Review 47, no. 1 (1999): 25–47; John Terrell, “Disneyland and the Future of Museum Anthropology,” American Anthropologist 93, no. 1 (1991); on blockbuster exhibitions and rebranding, see Nick Prior, “Postmodern Restructurings,” 515, and Steven Conn, “Science Museums and the Culture Wars,” in A Companion to Museum Studies, ed. Sharon MacDonald (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2010). Most recently on edutainment and engagement in natural history displays, see Karen A. Rader and Victoria E. M. Cain, Life on Display: Revolutionizing U.S. Museums of Science and Natural History in the Twentieth Century (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2014). On broader critiques, see Ruth Rentschler and Ann-Marie Hede, Museum Marketing: Competing in the Global Marketplace (London: Butterworth-Heinemann, 2007), 62–64; Fiona Mclean, Marketing the Museum (New York: Routledge, 2002); Victoria D. Alexander, Museums and Money: The Impact of Funding on Exhibitions, Scholarship, and Management (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1996); John Howard Falk and Beverly Sheppard, Thriving in the Knowledge Age: New Business Models for Museums and Other Cultural Institutions (Plymouth: Altamira Press, 2006); Anthony Alan Shelton, “Museums and Anthropologies: Practices and Narratives,” in A Companion to Museum Studies, ed. Sharon Macdonald (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2011). On the dominant mode of production as increasingly one of “spectacle,” see Guy Debord Society of the Spectacle, trans. Ken Knabb (London: Rebel Press, 1983 [1967]). Rosalind Krauss, “The Cultural Logic of the Late Capitalist Museum,” October 54 (1990): 3–17; on utilitarian thinking and capitalism as a cultural system, see Marshall D. Sahlins, Culture and Practical Reason (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1976); on widespread institutional cultures of audit and assessment, see Marilyn Strathern, Audit Cultures: Anthropological Studies in Accountability, Ethics, and the Academy (New York: Routledge, 2000). Brian Noble, Articulating Dinosaurs: A Political Anthropology (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2016), 357, 319. Ibid., 6. Noble conducted interviews from 1997 to 1999 about the show planned in late 1993 and opened in 1995; ibid., 178. Ibid., 23. Rader and Cain, Life on Display. Thomas S. Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2012 [1962]): 111–34. See again, Isaac, Mediating Knowledges. I was also in the privileged position as a second-generation oral historian to be able to consult Pamela Henson’s thirty years’ worth of Smithsonian oral history work. Her transcripts and recordings of interviews are invaluable for understanding earlier generations’ reflections on changes at the museum. I also scanned thousands of internal Paleobiology and Exhibits documents and photographic prints and thousands of Chip Clark photographs (the mu-

24

39. 40.

41. 42. 43.

44.

45. 46.

47.

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

seum’s long time photographer) from an internal archive in the Imaging Lab’s rapid scanner, and I selectively transcribed hundreds of pages of archival and internal document texts. See the handbook on ethical collaborative work, Lassiter, Chicago Guide to Collaborative Ethnography. At first, as a kind of facetious way of easing into this, I purchased a rusticlooking Barnes & Noble notebook with recycled, beige paper to act as my “ethnographer’s” notebook. Soon, though, I adopted black Moleskine notebooks as a more condensed and better-quality technology. Further terminology appears in individuals’ contracts. From author’s Purchase Order, 25 September 2013, “Rights-in-Data Clause,” Office of Contracting, Smithsonian Institution. Clifford Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures (New York: Basic Books, 1989). These were detailed, on-record ethnographic “scratch” notes, sometimes in the heat of discussion resembling what James Clifford calls inscription—“A participant-observer jots down a mnemonic word or phrase to fix an observation or to recall what someone has just said”—but can include much more detailed accounts of people’s turn of phrase or fully transcribed comments, described by Sanjek as “fuller observation or responses.” All notes were later reviewed, paginated, indexed, and selectively transcribed. In many cases I transcribed scratch notes directly. This has meant, particularly for meeting conversations, quoting people in phrases and partial sentences. Direct scratch note quotations are presented as direct quotes, cited using the last name of the speaker and the month, day, and year as Last Name, M.D.YY. I have tried in this book, when filling in the gaps inherent in these scratch notes, to write descriptive sentences and paragraphs and to use my audio recordings and additional notes to retain the character, meaning, and intention of people’s contributions. See Roger Sanjek, “A Vocabulary for Fieldnotes,” in Fieldnotes: The Makings of Anthropology, ed. Roger Sanjek (Ithica, NY: Cornell University Press, 1990), 95–96. This process of translation was a form of analysis and description—“the making of a more or less coherent representation of an observed cultural reality . . . for later writing and interpretation aimed at the production of a finished account.” Ibid., 97. During this process, I also had access to weekly audio-recorded curatorial content meetings, in which the Core curatorial team met with other relevant curators to focus the narrative for each exhibit section or time period. I began this stage of my research just as the 10% exhibit phase was ending in April (and as I became fluent enough in Paleo and Exhibits-speak to conduct interviews of worth). With the help of the exhibit team and many members of both departments, I quickly assembled a long list of interviewees who had worked anywhere from six months to more than forty years at the Smithsonian. I also had the opportunity in May to plan a celebration of the fiftieth anniversary of the Department of Paleobiology. Brian Huber, department chair,

Introduction

48.

49. 50. 51. 52.

53.

54.

55.

25

allowed me to help organize the program and to present my preliminary historical research. I solicited nine participants to follow my presentation with stories about the history of the department, their experiences in it, and their memories of Paleobiology exhibits at the museum. Pamela Henson generously recorded the entire event, and Brittany Hance, then an intern with the Imaging Lab, photographed it. I drew great energy and oral historical material from this event, and I was introduced to many new informants whom I would interview in the months afterward. In both contemporary interviews and oral history interviews, I kept many of the questions the same for all interviewees, in part because I was interested in how different departmental and disciplinary backgrounds intersected with people’s viewpoints and preoccupations. All interviews were reviewed and selectively transcribed; all team interviews were transcribed for more thorough analysis and coding. Interviews were conducted in a semi-structured format. Anna L. Tsing Friction: An Ethnography of Global Connection (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2005), x. Ibid., 4. Ibid., 13. Ibid., x; Tsing also shows how the “work of the universal” is created through frictions. This is an important point when considering Deep Time and the recent history of exhibitions that portray the record of life on Earth. The development of these exhibits is in many ways also a universalizing project, one that tries to unify all of human history in line with a deeper history of the Earth and its environment. While not a “globalized” fieldsite like Tsing’s, Deep Time exhibit meetings did create a space of global imagining and universal goals for a “sustainable future.” Humans must, together, understand their impact on the Earth, and what they can do to change behaviors accordingly. See Tsing, Friction, 1–2. Robert McCormick Adams, “Statement by the Secretary,” in Smithsonian Year 1985: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1985 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1986), 18–19. It also captures relevant literature on museums as fraught but productive “contact zones.” In this line of thinking, the museum is a place where different knowledges, cultural visions, and community interests are negotiated. See Mary Louise Pratt, Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation (New York: Routledge, 1992), and James Clifford, Routes: Travel and Translation in the Late Twentieth Century (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997). On trends of this kind broadly, see, for instance, Patrick J. Boylan, “The Museum Profession,” in A Companion to Museum Studies, ed. Sharon MacDonald (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2010), 415–30; on team approaches to design and managing conflict, see “Successful Team Dynamics,” in Martha Morris, Managing People and Projects in Museums: Strategies That Work (New York: Rowman & Littlefield, 2017), 113–26. On the move to new expertise in ed-

26

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

ucation, see Lisa C. Roberts From Knowledge to Narrative: Educators and the Changing Museum (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1997). See, in the UK context, Robert Geoffrey William Anderson. “To Thrive or Survive? The State and Status of Research in Museums,” Museum Management and Curatorship 20, no. 4 (2005): 297–311.

Chapter 1

Increase and Diffusion Early Fossil Exhibits and a History of Institutional Culture From the institution’s very beginnings, the Smithsonian was charged with the “increase and diffusion of knowledge.” This phrase, included in the will of James Smithson, was adopted as the primary mission of the Smithsonian at its founding, and it has become ubiquitous in institutional speeches, reports, publications, public media, and everyday conversation. It is the institution’s, and its staff’s, raison d’être. My mentor, Michael Mason, like so many others I worked with, often commented that he could think of few better ways to spend his life than pursuing this goal. Within this phrase are embedded two equal but fundamentally distinct goals of the institution. The first, increase, involves research and knowledge production. Within the mission of “increasing knowledge” is included researching, describing, identifying, and comparing things in the world, and exchanging this information with other scholars or experts. Within the mission of “diffusing knowledge” is included sharing that increasing knowledge with wider audiences—publishing, communicating, and exhibiting research for the wider world. It is in this second realm that the Smithsonian has changed most noticeably since its founding. While many elements of research culture have remained the same over the last 150 years, notions of the public and technologies for communication have undergone fundamental changes. This dual institution-wide mission is also reflected in the museum’s three historical functions. These goals, initiated by G. Brown Goode in the 1890s, are often referred to as the limbs of a three-legged stool: collections, research, and outreach (to my mind: increase and diffusion, plus objects, which contain or generate knowledge). Remington Kellogg, director of the USNM, recalled in the institution’s 1951 annual report:

28

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

As a museum of record—in which was to be housed the national treasures, scientific and historic; as a museum of research—in which a staff of specialists and scientists were to study, classify, and document these materials; and as a museum of education—to which the public could turn for self-improvement and study.1

In the museum’s early years, curators and their staff, working together in a single department, were held responsible for all of these functions. Besides publications, exhibitions served as the primary mode of diffusion for the general public. Exhibits embodied elements of the institution’s mission by aspiring to educate the public (diffusion) through the most encyclopedic and up-to-date (increase) scientific ideas and objects (knowledge). However, notions of both the public and of education, while expanding throughout the period, were limited. Making exhibits necessarily involved varied expertise (carpenters, blacksmiths, glassworkers, sculptors, artists); however, experts in these areas were often hired temporarily. Moreover these areas were not yet standalone museum disciplines. At the time, there was a clear distinction between the institution’s mission of “increase” and “diffusion,” but it was a much narrower one. At the 1927 Conference on the Future of the Smithsonian, regent Fredrick Delano summed up the institution’s activities, citing the Smithsonian’s first secretary, Joseph Henry: Henry, he remarked, “interpreted the phrase ‘increase of knowledge’ as implying study, investigation, research, into the realms of the unknown.’ The phrase ‘diffusion of knowledge’ he interpreted as the freest possible distribution of the knowledge to the waiting world.”2 At that same conference, Assistant Secretary Charles G. Abbot concisely put (and ordered) the mission thus: “1. Research, 2. Diffusion of Knowledge.”3 When Abbot went on to talk about what he meant by “diffusion,” he made it clear that he was primarily referring to publications: The increase of knowledge is only half of the Smithsonian’s purpose. The diffusion of it is of equal importance, and has been a main source of the Smithsonian’s greatness. . . . Smithsonian publications are now standard works of reference throughout the world, and scientific men everywhere look to it to publish those indispensable monographs which cannot be undertaken by private publishing firms . . .4

To increase was thus to build collections and knowledge (to conduct research through scientific collection); to diffuse was to publish or lecture on one’s findings. In an 1866 guide to the Smithsonian, these distinct elements were not to be “confounded”: It will be observed that the object of the bequest is twofold—first, to increase, and, second, to diffuse, knowledge among men. These two objects are entirely separate and distinct, and to view the case understandingly the one must not be confounded

Increase and Diffusion

29

with the other. The first is to enlarge the existing stock of knowledge by the addition of new truths, and the second, to disseminate knowledge thus enlarged among men.5

Curators corresponded with other paleontologists and preparators across the United States, but also in London, Paris, Frankfurt, Brussels, and so on. Through the Smithsonian International Exchange Service, the U.S. National Museum was able to share publications with other institutions across the world.6 Webster True, chief of the Smithsonian Editorial Division in the mid-1940s, wrote in The First Hundred Years of the Smithsonian Institution, In 1939, the last normal year before World War II, the Service handled 714,877 packages . . . this global exchange of literature, initiated by the Smithsonian Institution, has been a potent factor in the rapid growth of science through facilitating the international exchange of ideas.7

True and others throughout the early years reiterated, “The most obvious means of diffusing knowledge is by the printed word, and this is indeed the chief means employed by the Institution.”8 He went on to restate that scientific work was the heart of the institution: To the visitor, the public exhibits seem to be the important part of a museum, but the members of the scientific staff know that the soul of the museum resides in the systematically arranged study collections, where fundamental discoveries of new knowledge are constantly being made.9

The Smithsonian’s emphasis was thus squarely on its scientific pursuits.10 This chapter provides historical context for the development of the fossil halls from their beginnings to World War II, when fossil displays were primarily designed pragmatically, with an emphasis on scientific discovery and systematic display.

The Birth of the Smithsonian’s Fossil Complex Among the Smithsonian’s scientific pursuits, paleontology was a young field. It had only been around 1815 that Reverend William Buckland, a professor of mineralogy at Oxford, had discovered the “great lizard” Megalosaurus, and only in 1822 that Gideon Mantell, a physician in Sussex, England, found a tooth of what he called Iguanodon.11 Richard Owen coined the term “Dinosauria” to describe these giant “fearfully great lizards” in 1842.12

30

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

There were a few reasons the discipline matured fairly quickly at the end of the nineteenth century, and that the Smithsonian was among many museums to expand its fossil exhibitions. First, there was more access to fossil sites. The mid-nineteenth century was a period of great expansion. The colonization of the North American territories opened new commodity flows and land claims, and the expansion of railroads enabled scientific exploration and museum collecting. Some have argued that the collecting of fossils in the American West was an element of the United States’ claims to legitimacy as a nation.13 Second, there were wider networks of scientific exchange. Beginning with the Great Exhibition at London’s Crystal Palace in 1851, fairs and expositions exploded across Europe and the United States as the nineteenth century advanced.14 It was at world’s fairs that paleontological science was shared across the globe. In part as a result of these large-scale fairs and the subsequent establishment of museums in cities across the United States, Smithsonian fossil displays emerged among a wider network of newly formed institutions. And indeed, the modern museum, as a large, columned, encyclopedic and public institution, largely emerged out of such events. Although the institution had always had a museum, it was not until after the success of the 1876 Centennial Exposition (and under the influence of Secretary Joseph Henry’s successor, Spencer Fullerton Baird) that a more visible U.S. National Museum was promoted and supported by Congress.15 Third, dinosaurs and other fossils gained immense popularity. It was amid these events that some of the first dinosaurs were displayed to a broad public. Famously, the Great Exhibition’s Crystal Palace hosted Benjamin Waterhouse Hawkins’s sculptures of dinosaurs, and an account of a raucous dinner party thrown by Hawkins inside the mold of Owen’s Iguanodon caused a great splash.16 Dinosaurs were public spectacle. Meanwhile, the 1870s marked the enormous acceleration of fossil discovery and naming amid the great “bone wars”—the race between the two early rival paleontologists Othniel Charles Marsh and Edward Drinker Cope to discover and name the most new species—which vastly increased public interest in extinct animals. Up until Cope’s death in 1897, the rivals named more than fifty dinosaur species as fossils poured in from excavation sites, first from the east coast and then the west.17 Importantly for the Smithsonian, Marsh had been appointed the first vertebrate paleontologist for the United States in 1882, after which he began collecting fossils for the U.S. Geological Survey (USGS).18 In 1887, he was appointed honorary head curator of the U.S. National Museum’s (USNM) Department of Vertebrate Fossils. Because the Organic

Increase and Diffusion

31

Act of 1879 required the USGS to turn specimens no longer needed for research over to the Smithsonian, after 1886 freight car loads of fossils poured into the museum.19 When Marsh died in 1899, just two years after Cope, another eighty tons of vertebrate fossils were brought from Yale to the Smithsonian in five railcars.20 Still today, the Marsh collection is the Smithsonian’s largest single collection of dinosaur fossils. As part of this Cope-Marsh bone war publicity, fossil vertebrates became important cultural icons, and the Smithsonian housed a vast fossil collection. By 1891, fossils had their own discrete space in the USNM.21 By the turn of the century, even that new building, now the Arts and Industries Building, was bursting at the seams.22 In January 1903, Congress appropriated funds for the construction of a third, much larger building on the National Mall to house and exhibit the collections. They broke ground in June 1904 for the U.S. National Museum (USNM) building we now know as the NMNH. By 1910, when today’s Natural History Building (NHB) was about to open, fossils occupied one of the three main atrium spaces of the museum—where they would remain largely unchanged until 1961.

Early Expertise and Group Dynamics: Scientific Staff In the early years, scientific and exhibit work was highly intertwined. Early exhibits were produced by a small group of curators and preparators, with the help of a few contracted workers, some of whom are not named in records. At this time curators rarely held PhDs. They were less specialized than today’s curators, engaging in an incredible range of activities. By 1887, there were three separate departments: Invertebrate Fossils, Fossil Plants, and (with the appointment of Marsh as honorary curator) Vertebrate Paleontology.23 By 1897, the departments joined as sections within the Division of Stratigraphic Paleontology in the Department of Geology, headed by George P. Merrill.24 In 1904 and 1905, just as Congress appropriated funds for the new USNM building, Merrill hired Charles W. Gilmore and James W. Gidley as preparators and Norman Boss as assistant preparator.25 In April 1909 Gilmore and his team began the arduous task of moving their lab and the heavy collections across the mall.26 By March 1910 Gilmore wrote that the men had “[f ]inished moving. Everything here excepting material on exhibition.”27 On 18 July 1911 the team began arranging the exhibit specimens in the new space.28 By 12 October labels were “placed on every specimen on exhibition,” and on 14 October Gilmore wrote that

32

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

the hall was “ready for opening tomorrow.”29 The fossil hall opened on 15 October 1911.30 The Smithsonian was a hierarchical place, where the chain of command was clear. Merrill served as head curator, while Gilmore and Gidley served as assistant curators and Boss as preparator. The latter three largely drove the work in paleontology and the appearance of its exhibits.31 But, as today (as we will see in chapter 2), Gilmore and Gidley met with and sought approval from their superior, Merrill, for their plans.32 Gilmore and his colleagues’ daily work was relatively mundane and systematic. Gilmore’s daybooks gave me a sense of his work routine—mornings of fossil preparation and afternoons of research, offset by trips to the field, and, after 1906, time spent mounting exhibits. He, Gidley, and Boss were tasked with cleaning, organizing, cataloging, and preparing the mass of material on their hands, much of it from the Marsh collections.33 The preparators worked to process the bulk of the Marsh material by extracting bones from their surrounding rock matrix, sorting fossils into collections, and discarding “worthless material.”34 Gilmore split his time between preparing specimens for exhibit displays and writing about them in publications. His research papers, with simple titles such as “Description of Two New Species of Fossil Turtles, from the Lance Formation of Wyoming,” described the details of specimens found in the field and the probable assemblage of the bones in life.35 In the tradition of comparative anatomy, mounting a fossil specimen was part of the scientific research process. Gilmore and his team also interpreted their displays for the public. They composed, printed, and framed exhibit labels themselves. Even then, the team seemed to acknowledge how difficult it was to translate their work for visitors. As Merrill, head curator, said of this early label writing process, There are few forms of literary work, it must be added, that require greater care than that of label writing. To be able to state concisely and clearly the essential facts concerning an object is by no means an easy task as everyone knows who has made the attempt. If the label is too long it will not be read; if too short it is not sufficiently explicit.36

In addition to writing all of the exhibition text, this small team also did much of the heavy lifting themselves. Gilmore wrote, for instance, on 17 October 1910, that he “helped Gidley move Zeuglodon up stairs to exhibition hall” and the following day “helped Gidley put up iron supports for Zeuglodon.”37 The team did rely on additional staff to do their work. For example, they needed a secretary. Margaret Moodey, the first woman to work for

Increase and Diffusion

33

Paleontology, was hired in that capacity for the division in 1911. And while Gilmore and the preparators did most of the fossil excavation, mount preparation, and conceptual work in the halls, they did call on the services of a number of contracted craftspeople and workers to assist with elements of exhibit installation: blacksmiths (men named W. P. Boyd, T. J. Hughes, and William H. Wade appear in records for 1910 and 1911) for ironwork to mount fossils, as well as other metalwork for railings and steel cases; carpenters for scaffolding specimens and framing paintings, repairing wood bases, mounting large specimens and objects on the wall, and installing glass around cases and “slates” on the tops of cases and bases of mounts; plasterers for filling mount bases and backgrounds (Louis Amateis, a modeler and sculptor, often cast skeletal parts); painters to oil floors, occasionally do glasswork, and paint bases, walls, and other surfaces; artists (a man named “Weber” appears in records) to create drawings; photographers to document specimens as their mounts were completed; and “laborers” to move heavy things.38 There was even a carpenter shop in the museum.39 Each worker was contracted for part-time work and reported to a curator who oversaw it. There were certainly class and racial dimensions to this labor. In a few cases, Gilmore even noted that he had “colored men helping.”40 Some of this staffing dynamic changed between the opening of the new museum and the end of the Second World War, but mostly due to unforeseen circumstances and not ideological shifts in how a museum should be run or staffed. During both world wars, the museum lost members of its staff to the war effort and had to close some of its spaces.41 During World War I, for instance, paleontologists and geologists were called on to provide services and materials to “the Bureau of Standards, Naval Experiment Station, the Department of Agriculture, Geological Survey, the Carnegie Institution, and various arsenals” for “experimental work.”42 During World War II, much of the staff was engaged in protecting the buildings and collections. Objects kept on shelves, such as alcoholic specimens, were covered in lattice screens to prevent shaking from potential vibration; nitrate film was removed. Heavy fossil materials were removed from the fourth floor to the first and second floors to allow “free movement throughout the upper floors of the building in case of fire from incendiary bombs,” and “various items of inflammable material were eliminated.”43 More than sixty tons of material were moved offsite until November 1944, a task that also siphoned staff time.44 In 1943 the government put a ceiling on the number of employees at the museum (down to 408 from 478), and hours were cut for many employees, while the “manpower shortage” was “so present” that it was “impossible to fill many positions.”45

34

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Between the wars, there were more staff. In fact, collections and behindthe-scenes work actually flourished over the Depression years, as reduced fieldwork and government projects provided additional labor for cataloging, rearranging, labeling, and cleaning study collections. The Civil Works Administration and later the Federal Emergency Relief Administration helped to supply staff.46 Staff emphasis remained throughout the period on research and collections work. A report for the Geology Department (including both paleontology and mineral sciences) describes “Workload Definitions” for the scientific staff: Supervision Operating a department and its divisions. Includes memoranda to staff; conferences with staff; requisitions for services; conferences with M. & O.; annual, quarterly, and special reports; committee meetings and reports. Current Information Correspondence; visitors; identifications and reports; new accession contacts; special exhibitions; distribution of specimens; spot information by telephone, letter and conference; traveling and loan exhibitions and materials. Preservation of Collections Essential custodial work on collections. Includes cleaning, restoring, recording, storing, inspecting and treating specimens. Exhibition Planning, designing, research, and selection of exhibits. Includes also laboratory work, installing, labeling, inspecting, dismantling, and removal. Accessions Acquiring, receiving, preparing, classifying, cataloging, labeling, and distribution exhibition study or storage additions to the collections. Scientific Work Research on and identification and arrangement of collections. Explorations and field work. Preparation of manuscripts. Preparation and presentations of lectures. Special assignments. Backlog Work to be done. Includes reduction in accumulated specimens neither identified, classified, catalogued nor properly distributed; improvement of stored and study collection for a better utility; reduction in accumulated repairs and restorations of specimens; and acceleration of research programs on a basis more in keeping with the potential scientific value of the collections.47

This report clearly illustrates that up to World War II, research, collections preservation and management, public outreach and visitor services, and exhibits work was all being accomplished by scientific staff.

Increase and Diffusion

35

Early Exhibit Content: Emphasis on Science The first actual skeleton of an extinct animal placed on display—in the Smithsonian’s first building, the Castle—was Megaloceros hibernicus (now M. giganteus), the Pleistocene “Irish elk,” in 1872.48 The first representation of a dinosaur was a cast of Hadrosaurus foulkii, a “most extraordinary reptile,” acquired after the Philadelphia Centennial Exposition in 1876.49 By the 1890s, in the Comparative Osteology Hall of the USNM, the Smithsonian mounted its first dinosaur skeleton, the second in North America, Trachodon annectens (now Edmontosaurus annectens). At this time it was thought that the overall arrangement of these displays, as with the rest of the museum, should be systematic in order to better educate the public. An early guide to the museum explained: “The museum . . . by means of a thorough classification . . . is destined to become the most comprehensive and instructive educational exhibit in the world.”50

Figure 1.1. Comparative Osteology Hall with Basilosaurus Cast, U.S. National Museum (now Arts and Industries Building), 1896. Smithsonian Institution Archives. Image # NHB-9469.

36

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Cases were made of mahogany and sat on marble and tile flooring in plastered, tinted rooms. They were built in one size so as to be interchangeable and permit rearrangement.51 Small specimens were placed in groups in uniform, glass-covered boxes. Bigger things were mounted against backgrounds that would “afford the greatest ease to the eye of the visitor and the greatest relief and effectiveness to the object displayed.” Skulls and skeletal parts of fossil vertebrate specimens were displayed in wall and “slopetop diaphragm” cases. Labels were printed on tinted paper in “large, heavy-face type” so as to be “less wearisome to the eye than the ordinary labels in black and white.”52 As the exhibition specimens were rearranged, they were given new, more descriptive labels.53 The exception to these case displays were the large, iconic specimens. These were displayed as freestanding mounted skeletons wherever they could be most prominently shown. These “gigantic” and “extraordinary” fossil creatures were proclaimed “the most imposing objects in the Museum,”54 notable for their epic discovery stories and “extreme length.”55 Among these was the world’s first mounted Triceratops in 1905.56

Figure 1.2. Cyanotype of the Vertebrate Fossil Hall, ca. 1913. Smithsonian Institution Archives. Image # 2005-3000.

Increase and Diffusion

37

Thus, there were two kinds of fossil displays: showy (largely vertebrates) and taxonomic or systematic (largely invertebrates, plants, and vertebrate fossil bones or fragments). Gilmore and his team maintained this approach when the Smithsonian’s fossil collections were carted across the Mall to the new USNM building. When the new building opened, fossils occupied a central, skylighted hall of vertebrates (Hall 2), and a south aisle and north aisle filled with slope-top, flat, and upright cases of invertebrates (Hall 4) and plants (Hall 5) (see figure 0.5). Both of these aisles had windows on one side: for the invertebrates from the outward Mall-facing side, and for plants from the internal courtyard at the north side. The vertebrate halls featured large-scale mounts as well as collections of mammal, reptile, bird, and fish remains by group, and in a few places the depiction of a broader concept—for instance a small display illustrating evolution of the horse using limb and skull bones. The invertebrate halls (Hall 4) featured specimens ordered by biological classification while also highlighting fossilization, sedimentation, and stratigraphy. These principles were illustrated through a wall-length geological cross-section of North America. The paleobotany hall (Hall 5) featured plants arranged in stratigraphic sequence with a few larger mounted specimens on wall panels or standalone bases, along with a few drawings and illustrative specimens.57 In general, Merrill reported that the spaces were to give “the impression of roominess and broad passages” by keeping higher cases along walls and at right angles to increase light, and lower cases to the center. Additional space was left between high cases so that individual, large-scale objects could later be added: “By this plan,” Merrill wrote, “the visitor is enabled to comprehend the entire layout of any hall almost at a glance.”58 The team placed labels inside cases where they had formerly been outside to avoid a cluttered appearance.59 One of the major changes in organization in the new building had to do with a greater interest among the paleontological community in evolution. For its first hundred years, paleontology, as it has been described by Sepkoski,60 remained “agnostic” to Darwinian evolution. Paleontology tended to focus on description—studies of stratigraphy, anatomy, and morphology—regardless of whether its practitioners accepted or rejected evolutionary theory.61 Marsh’s findings, though he focused on description, had “substantiated evolution.”62 In an annual report from 1910–11, Gilmore and Gidley began to emphasize evolutionary principles in the fossil halls: “In view of the early opening of the new museum building, it is first of all necessary to place all of the exhibition collections in order . . . to illustrate different phases of geological history and evolution of the several reptilian groups.”63

38

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

By the 1930s, this arrangement was the defining characteristic of the halls. The WPA guidebook for Washington, DC, for instance, described the three halls together as “halls of evolution,” where the hall of invertebrate and plant fossils was described thus: “In the same hall is an exhibit of the evolution of life. In a case 120 feet long the dates of the origin of the various plant and animal forms are shown. It is to be noted that the epoch of human life is so brief as to occupy only the last foot of this exhibit.”64

Showy Displays: Major Fossil Discoveries Throughout the new hall, “showy” mounts underscored the prestige of the discipline of vertebrate paleontology—collecting, assembling, and naming “Extinct Monsters,”65 particularly in the vertebrate paleontology hall (Hall 2). When paleontology first moved to the new building, these large mounts were prioritized because the hall was so large and the department had too few specimens “to fill the allotted space.”66 Gilmore also stressed the importance of preparing such mounts for science. Beyond freeing up much-needed storage space—Stegosaurus, for instance, took up some three hundred boxes—there was important scientific value in assembling a large mount such as this: From a scientific standpoint, it will be of the greatest importance in clearing up many of the disputed points concerning the skeletal anatomy of Stegosaurus, besides contributing much to our knowledge of the Dinosauria.67

These completed specimens also held inherent educational value. The public had never seen such creatures before. By the 1920s, however, such mounts lost their scientific luster. It was the start of “the second Jurassic dinosaur rush.”68 Across the major museums of the United States (namely Chicago, Pittsburgh, and New York) there was a frenzy that paralleled the Cope-Marsh bone wars of the late nineteenth century, only this time the goal was to collect the biggest dinosaurs, sauropods.69 Gilmore began to tire of the showy specimens, as he and his preparators undertook the massive task of mounting Diplodocus. From 1923 to 1931, the Vertebrate Paleontology team’s time was almost entirely devoted to the recovery, preparation, and mounting of this large skeleton that would come to dominate the main hall for the next eightythree years. Indeed, between 1926 and 1934 it was the only major specimen added to the vertebrate exhibits.70 In all, it took 2,545 working days, or, “translated into Government time, means 1 man working steadily for nearly 9 years.”71 In a weary 1927 letter to a former colleague of the Carn-

Increase and Diffusion

39

Figure 1.3. Diplodocus under construction, ca. 1930. Image 31024. Courtesy of the Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

egie Museum, Gilmore wrote, “I never want to look at another Sauropod once this job is off my hands.”72 Gilmore was thus finding himself split between these two different roles—that of a scientific researcher and that of a preparer of public exhibitions: “It will make a big show piece, but otherwise it is of but little interest.”73 The public versus scientific naming of the vertebrate paleontology halls seems to capture this split. Interestingly, the phrase “Hall of Extinct Monsters” was used to describe the hall in museum guidebooks first published for the public after the installation of Diplodocus in 1931, while Gilmore and his scientific colleagues continued to use the term “hall of vertebrate paleontology” in annual reports and other internal records.74

Taxonomic Displays: Scientific Classification Much of the other display collections were organized according to scientific classification. Fossil plants, invertebrates, and assemblages of vertebrates

40

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

were classified and organized to emphasize biological or environmental relationships, with attention to specimens’ size, region, or collection, with some attention to their attractiveness. Specimens were put into categories and labeled accordingly. It is clear from the annual reports that the value of these exhibits, and the biggest improvements in the new building for the USNM in general, was their “systematic arrangement” and “comprehensive” public displays.75 It is worth making a brief note here about “quality,” “importance,” or “attractiveness” of specimens from a scientific standpoint to understand the context for the use of these value-laden terms. There were a few criteria for assessing the quality of a specimen. The first was by its uniqueness or rarity, that is, if there were few in existence or in other museum collections. The second criterion was by quality of preservation. A specimen with perfectly preserved details, shape, or form was best for scientific study and comparison. The third criterion was articulation, that is, to what extent a specimen had all of its parts attached or intact. A fourth criterion related to a collection’s completeness, that is, to what extent a specimen filled a gap in a collection or group of organisms. Lastly, if a specimen had a characteristic that led to a new scientific discovery about environments or

Figure 1.4. Fossil crinoids, Springer Collection, ca. 1920. Image 30543. Courtesy of the Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

Increase and Diffusion

41

behaviors, this was also valuable. The rarest of fossils, type specimens, are the first of their kind to be named and so serve as the primary biological reference or basis of comparison for other similar specimens subsequently discovered.76 These criteria remain relevant for paleontologists today.

Innovations in Diffusion: Pre–World War II Movements toward a Public Focus Of course, it is important not to downplay Smithsonian’s early diffusion efforts, and the role of fossils in them. Due to world events, the first forty years of fossil display in the USNM were largely marked by slow, steady growth punctuated by stagnancy. However, during the period there was a steady increase in public focus, accelerated by World War II, as staff sought to improve the educational value of the exhibits as a “compendium of reference” through organization, clarity of labeling, and a few innovative visual techniques, including photographs, maps, diagrams, drawings, models, and lantern slide projectors.77 They also developed a more coherently articulated educational approach, described for the first time in annual reports and the first publicly broadcast radio lectures. By fiscal year (FY) 1917, for instance, George Merrill reported that over five hundred new labels “combining scientific data with more popular information, easier of comprehension by the public” had been made to replace old ones in the paleobotanical exhibits.78 Two “stereomotorgraphs,” projectors “fitted with slides illustrating such phenomena as could not readily be shown by specimens,” were also installed in these and other geology exhibits.79 In 1931 these stereomotorgraphs were also renovated with new lantern slides showing phases of geology. In the late teens, Gilmore also experimented with a display that illustrated the stages in paleontological science—from field discovery to mounting to illustrative rendering. He did this by exhibiting (1) a Stegosaurus stenops in a death pose, illustrating what dinosaurs looked like when they were discovered in the field; (2) a mounted, upright, and fully prepared Stegosaurus stenops, illustrating the work that preparators do to extract bones out of the ground and fill in missing parts with borrowed, cast, or sculpted bones; and (3) a papier-mâché Stegosaurus restoration in full size originally commissioned by Merrill for the St. Louis Louisiana Purchase Exposition in 1904, which demonstrated how paleontologists interpreted what a creature would have looked like in life.80 In 1923, the museum also began to participate in a public radio program with station WRC, which had just begun airing. The Smithsonian

42

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Figure 1.5. Top view of the Stegosaurus display. Image 29895. Courtesy of the Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

established a regular 6:15 pm Wednesday evening slot. Seven staff from the museum participated in the first year, including Gilmore, who gave his talk, “Animal Terrors of Past Ages—Dinosaurs” on 14 May 1924.81 In 1925, WRC broadcast “twenty-eight of these talks, of which four were broadcast simultaneously by stations WJY and WJZ in New York City.”82 Visitorship broadened with new transportation technologies. The expanded use of automobiles drew increased attendance locally and from across the United States: “Parking spaces near the museum are crowded daily, except during the colder months, with cars that bear license tags from every State in the union.”83 In 1925 visitorship “exceeded one million.”84 Classes of students began to come “almost daily” to the museum to be taught in its exhibits.85 Museum staff even gave “informal talks” to visiting groups who came by bus. Where “the printed page alone seems utterly dull and uninteresting,” the museum could act as an “encyclopedia cut apart and spread out, except that its illustrations are real and material things.”86 Other efforts during the Depression included a new national weekly radio program produced by the Works Progress Administration, the Smith-

Increase and Diffusion

43

sonian, and the Office of Education of the Department of the Interior. “The World Is Yours” aired on the National Broadcasting Company network out of New York from 1936 to 1942. In conjunction with this program, a guest register was placed for the first time at the museum’s south entrance in order to gather information on visitors’ interest in the radio show. This register was available for ninety-eight days from February to June. During that time, 8,505 visitors registered (5 percent of total visitors to the museum), at least one from each of the then forty-eight states as well as many foreign countries, proving for the first time that the museum held wide national and global appeal.87 There was also some assistance with other kinds of innovations in the exhibition spaces. The Federal Emergency Relief Administration and the Federal Art Project assisted the museum with personnel assigned “for the preparation of drawings, paintings, sketches, and plaster casts of various kinds,” as well as lantern slides.88 Outside of the confined space of the museum galleries, there were larger-scale experiments in exhibit communication. In 1935–36, Gilmore pioneered an exhibition experiment at Dallas’s Texas Centennial Exposition, the first exposition the museum had participated in since the Philadelphia Sesquicentennial in 1926. He decided to publicly show preparators working live on unearthing a Camarasaurus specimen, with illustrative imagery and paintings as a backdrop.89 He wrote, “There will be two men actually working on the blocks of sandstone containing the specimen for the six months period of the exposition. It is a new idea in the way of an exhibit for us, and I am hoping it will turn out successful.”90 The first diorama in the fossil halls (a well-established form in other parts of the museum), showing Jurassic dinosaurs in their environments, transported back from the exposition, was thus added in the late 1930s.91 In 1938 Geology also added an installation of fluorescent materials, allowing visitors to use a switch to view materials under electric light and ultraviolet rays.92 These may have been the first interactive technologies used in the fossil halls. The attempts at new display techniques, including a whole ecosystem diorama and painting, reflected broader shifts toward more holistic approaches to the halls, both in scientific concept and its communication. Iconic dinosaur imageries were also flooding the public imagination. Disney’s Fantasia was released in 1940, featuring the iconic extinction of the dinosaurs in Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring. Sinclair Petroleum’s dinosaur signs, first shown at the Chicago Century of Progress Exposition in 1933–34 and again at the Dallas Exposition, had become nationally

44

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Figure 1.6. Norman Boss and public onlookers at the Texas Centennial Exposition, 1936. Image 32697-e. Courtesy of the Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

known icons.93 Gilmore maintained his general distaste for pandering to popular iconography, brands, or showmanship, even as the museum’s outreach efforts expanded. Other museums, including the American Museum of Natural History (AMNH), were beginning to collaborate with companies such as Sinclair for funding and public outreach activities. In Gilmore’s correspondence with Barnum Brown, famed dinosaur collector and curator at the AMNH, he cheekily remarked, “I have always felt that you took up the wrong profession. Now I know it, you should have been a promoter.”94 This stab at his friend Brown indicates that Gilmore saw paleontology as necessarily distinct from these marketing activities.

Key Shifts in World War II: Beginning to Exhibit for a Wider Public During World War II, museum displays remained much the same as they had since the museum’s opening. After the war, there was a rapid acceleration of activity at the museum. A new wave of staff was ushered in,

Increase and Diffusion

45

as it was finally possible to consider new appointments, while the Civil Service Retirement Act encouraged longtime staff to leave the museum.95 By 1947, the museum was receiving a huge amount of material because of resumed fieldwork, resumed global communication, and stable industry conditions.96 The war also drove a major shift in the museum toward greater public access to nonexperts. As one report from FY 1944 reads, work during the war included “furnishing information of all kinds to an ever-increasing number of service men and women visiting the Museum.”97 Sunday hours were increased from half days to full 9:00 am to 4:30 pm hours to allow servicemen to attend on weekend furloughs. By 1944, of the 1,532,765 total visitors, 40 percent were servicemen and -women, which meant that for the first time a true cross-section of the American population, and a larger number of people of working-class and only high school education, attended. This had a major impact on exhibits, because these new visitors were “so frank in their questions and remarks on the exhibits” that the staff began to take their advice. They learned, for instance, that “the most appealing type of exhibition label” was “a placard explaining in several lines of rather large black type the essential features of each display case.”98 Indeed, in that year the Geology report notes that alongside regular cleaning and movement toward a “more logical arrangement” and better specimens, “the preparation of more readable labels constituted the major tasks of the year.”99 This change in visitorship also triggered the first moves toward envisioning exhibits as having an illustrative or narrative pathway: The arrangement of the geological exhibit in such a way as to bring out the orderly development of life and of the earth’s mineral products has been commented upon favorably by our visiting servicemen . . . one can pass in review all the stages of life evolution upon the earth . . . a real “Parade of Life.”100

Trends that began during the war in rethinking access to museum displays became realized as staff were able to carry out work on the exhibits. Such specific changes to interpretation marked new strategies in public outreach more broadly. At the recommendation of the Smithsonian War Committee, a free guide service for servicemen was organized in July 1943. The United Service Organization, Inc. provided volunteers to act as hostesses for this new “docent service,” with a route and script for forty-five-minute tours, leaving every fourteen minutes from 11:00 am to 3:30 pm. The first tours began on 24 October 1943, and by February 1944 the tours were so popular that another hostess training class was organized. These tours lasted through July 1944.101 These small but significant initia-

46

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

tives fueled the major conceptual and professional shift that would take place in the postwar period.

Conclusion This chapter provides the historical context for frictions and complementarities from the postwar era to today. Exhibit work was part of a very small scientific staff’s efforts to display new scientific understandings of prehistoric life in “showy” and “taxonomic” displays. The halls were also largely stagnant from the 1920s to the 1940s for three reasons. First, by the late 1920s, space in the museum was already tight with the constant flow of acquisitions and additions to the exhibit halls. The museum petitioned Congress to allocate money for the addition of two new wings, approved in 1930 but not realized until the late 1950s or completed until the early 1960s. Second, the mounting of Diplodocus occupied extraordinary amounts of staff time and, once completed, filled a vast amount of the hall’s central area. Third, throughout the period, staff, funds, or other resources were not available for major reorganizations due to general funding arrangements and a number of world cataclysms—namely World War I, the Great Depression, and World War II.102 Through the 1940s there was a steady growth in the push to diffuse knowledge to the broader public, but for the most part the increase and diffusion of knowledge was largely about scholarship and its communication through simple displays, publications, tours, and lectures. All of these activities were undertaken by individual curators and their departmental support staff. With the exception of the Depression years, visitorship increased throughout the period. However, the language and tone of the halls remained focused on a scholarly public until World War II, when audiences broadened by the inclusion of servicemen came into the halls and expressed frustration with their impenetrable language and organization. The changes they inspired were finally enacted with the funding of the Exhibits Modernization Program beginning in 1953. It was thus not until major cultural and institutional changes of the 1950s that the democratizing of the institution and the expansion of the notion of the diffusion of knowledge created utterly new contexts for exhibits production. The next chapter, based on ethnographic research in 2012–13, will describe the contemporary experts that work in teams to plan exhibits and how the early split described here between research and outreach, or in-

Increase and Diffusion

47

crease and diffusion, plays out along disciplinary and departmental lines in the current exhibit development process.

Notes 1. A. Remington Kellogg, “Introduction,” in The United States National Museum: Annual Report for the Year Ended June 30, 1951 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1951), 1. 2. Frederic A. Delano, “Address,” in Proceedings of the Conference on the Future of the Smithsonian Institution (Baltimore: The Lord Baltimore Press, 1927), 43. 3. Charles G. Abbot, “The Smithsonian Institution—Its Activities and Capacities,” in Proceedings of the Conference on the Future of the Smithsonian Institution (Baltimore: The Lord Baltimore Press, 1927), 28. 4. Ibid., 34. 5. William Jones Rhees, An Account of the Smithsonian Institution: Founder, Building, Operations, Etc., Prepared from the Reports of Prof. Henry to the Regents, and Other Authentic Sources (Philadelphia: Collins, 1866), 9. 6. Ibid., 53. 7. Ibid., 54. 8. Ibid., 49. 9. Ibid., 13. 10. These were early years across the sciences in the United States; it was only in the 1840s that the term “scientist” even came into common parlance. See Mark Jaffe, The Gilded Dinosaur: The Fossil War between E. D. Cope and O. C. Marsh and the Rise of American Science (New York: Crown Publishers, 2001), 3. 11. The two fossils were named in 1824 and 1825 respectively. See William Buckland, “Notice on the Megalosaurus or Great Fossil Lizard of Stonesfield,” Transactions of the Geological Society of London, series 2, no. 1 (1824): 391; Gideon A. Mantell, “Notice on the Iguanodon, a Newly Discovered Fossil Reptile from the Sandstone of Tilgate Forest, in Sussex,” Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London, no. 115 (1825): 184; also see Jaffe, The Gilded Dinosaur, 15. 12. See Richard Owen, “Report on British Fossil Reptiles, Part II,” Report of the British Association for the Advancement of Science, no. 11 (1842): 103; it was also in 1833 that Charles Lyell was beginning to popularize the important geological principles of the fledgling field in his third volume of Principles of Geology. There he described the ways that chemical, biological, and physical forces shaped the Earth over time. Through a law proposed by Nicolaus Steno known as “superposition,” Lyell promoted the idea that new sediment is always deposited on a preexisting surface, such that in an outcrop of layered rocks, the first-formed rocks were those on the bottom, and therefore older than those above them. Lyell’s own nine “ages” in time formed one of the

48

13. 14.

15.

16.

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

first descriptions of the deep history of Earth. See Charles Lyell, Principles of Geology: The Modern Changes of Earth and Its Inhabitants (New York: D. Appleton & Co., 1853 [1830]); James Hutton, “Theory of the Earth; or an Investigation of the Laws Observable in the Composition, Dissolution, and Restoration of Land upon the Globe,” Transactions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh 1, no. 20 (1788): 209–304. For a general history, see Robert West Howard, The Dawnseekers: The First History of American Paleontology (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1975), 125–26. Jaffe, The Gilded Dinosaur; on the earlier colonial period, see Paul Semonin, American Monster: How the Nation’s First Prehistoric Creature Became a Symbol of National Identity (New York: NYU Press, 2000). In the United States, as illustrated particularly in the Chicago World’s Columbian Exposition of 1893, these events were great gestures of national and economic prestige as well as sites of exchange. See Robert W. Rydell, John E. Findling, and Kimberly D. Pelle, Fair America: World’s Fairs in the United States (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 2000); Robert W. Rydell, All the World’s a Fair: Visions of Empire at American International Expositions, 1876–1916 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987); Robert W. Rydell, “Worlds Fairs and Museums,” in A Companion to Museum Studies, ed. Sharon Macdonald (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2006); Burton Benedict and Marjorie M. Dobkin, The Anthropology of World’s Fairs: San Francisco’s Panama Pacific International Exposition of 1915 (Berkeley, CA: Scolar Press, 1983); on the exhibitionary complex, see Tony Bennett, The Birth of the Museum: History, Theory, Politics (New York: Routledge, 1995). President James K. Polk had signed an Act of Congress establishing the Smithsonian Institution on 10 August 1846. However, Joseph Henry, the institution’s first secretary, believed in acquiring natural history specimens primarily for study. It was under the influence and leadership of Spencer Fullerton Baird, crystallizing with his appointment to secretary, that the institution became dedicated to the development of a U.S. National Museum. On 3 March 1879 Congress appropriated $250,000 for the United States National Museum. See Pamela M. Henson “A National Science and a National Museum,” in Museums and Other Institutions of Natural History: Past, Present, and Future, ed. Alen E. Leviton and Michelle L. Aldrich (San Francisco: California Academy of Sciences, 2004), 34–57; Rhees, Account of the Smithsonian Institution; also see William Jones Rhees Visitor’s Guide to the Smithsonian Institution and National Museum, Washington (Washington, DC: Judd & Detweiler, 1884); on the museum as “secondary” function and the primary place of research and publication under Joseph Henry, see Curtis M. Hinsley, The Smithsonian and the American Indian: Making a Moral Anthropology in Victorian America (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1981), 64. Valerie Bramwell and Robert McCracken Peck, All in the Bones: A Biography of Benjamin Waterhouse Hawkins (Philadelphia: Academy of Natural Sciences, 2008). Also see Jaffe, Gilded Dinosaur.

Increase and Diffusion

49

17. Paul D. Brinkman, The Second Jurassic Dinosaur Rush: Museums and Paleontology in America at the Turn of the Twentieth Century (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2010), 10. 18. He collected for the USGS while processing them along with his own materials at Yale (in the museum funded by his uncle, George Peabody). 19. There were four in total in 1886, 1891, 1896, and 1898. 20. Brinkman, The Second Jurassic Dinosaur Rush, 3; Charles W. Gilmore, “A History of the Division of Vertebrate Paleontology in the United States National Museum,” in Proceedings of the United States National Museum (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution, 1942), 318. 21. In 1899 and 1902, respectively, the museum mounted a Marsh cast of the rhinoceros-like mammal Dinoceras (a uintathere, now Uintatherium) and the skeleton of a large aquatic bird, Hesperornis regalis (first on display at the Buffalo Pan-American Exposition). This resulted in the entire Southeast Court of the USNM being devoted to vertebrate fossils. This marked the first time a discrete space was devoted to fossil exhibits. See Gilmore, “History of the Division.” 22. As early as 1895, the newly appointed Schuchert noted, “All of the rooms now occupied by the various sections in the Department of Paleontology are crowded, and while here and there small areas are available for additional cases of standard drawers, more exhibition space is required. This is mostly so in the section of vertebrate fossils, since nearly all of the organisms are large and can be best housed in the exhibition series.” Charles Schuchert, “Annual Report, Department of Paleontology 1895–1896,” RU158, Box 16, Folder 2: Department of Paleontology 1895–1896, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. 23. Gilmore, “History of the Division,” 314. 24. It was Merrill who would shape the fledgling Department of Geology as its first head curator through his death in 1929, and who recruited three men who would be the main drivers of vertebrate exhibits through World War II. See Gilmore “History of the Division,” 314–15. 25. Gilmore and Boss were hired in 1904 and Gidley in 1905. Gilmore and Boss had come from the Carnegie Museum of Natural History in Pittsburgh and Gidley from the American Museum of Natural History in New York. Gilmore, “History of the Division,” 315. 26. Charles Gilmore, Daybook 1910–1911, RU156, Series 1, Box 1, Folder 6, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. While spacious, the new building would take a while to be ready for human occupancy. Gilmore’s entry for 14 October 1909 reads in thin, shaky ink, “Building so cold, that very little work done today.” 27. Charles Gilmore, “Daybook 1909–1910,” RU156, Series 1, Box 1, Folder 5, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. 28. Once in the new building, the team assembled collections previously stored off-site or in bottom exhibit drawers in new wooden exhibition and steel storage cases. As Gilmore wrote, “These commodious quarters permitted a more

50

29. 30.

31.

32. 33.

34. 35.

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

systematic arrangement of the study collections, and for the first time the preparators were provided with a well-lighted, well-equipped, roomy laboratory (27 by 77 feet). These improvements in facilities were almost immediately reflected in an improved quality as well as quantity of output,” Gilmore, “History of the Division,” 322. Charles W. Gilmore, “Daybook 1910–1911.” RU156, Series 1, Box 1, Folder 6, Smithsonian Institution Archives. Washington, DC, 1911. Charles W. Gilmore, “Daybook 1911–1912,” RU156, Series 1, Box 2, Folder 1, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. The first mention of moving specimens across the Mall to the new NHB building occurs in Gilmore’s daybooks on 26 April 1909, when he “made arrangements” to move a Ceratosaurus mount. From this date the process of moving and preparing specimens for exhibition was ongoing until the halls were completed in 1911. In August 1909, most of the men moved into their “new quarters” at the new building; Gidley joined them at the end of September. Iconic specimens such as Triceratops and the papier-mâché Stegosaurus finally moved into the new spaces in the summer of 1910. Thus, when the museum is said to have opened, on 17 March 1910, Gilmore lists the date as the “Grand opening of the National gallery of art” and makes no mention of the fossil displays being ready or open. See Charles Gilmore, Daybook 1908–1909, RU156, Series 1, Box 1, Folder 4, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC; and Gilmore, Daybook 1910–1911, SIA. After initial discussions in June, on 21 July 1911 Gilmore received notification that he was promoted, along with Gidley, from “custodian” to “assistant curator.” Boss remained as preparator. A later hire, preparator Thomas Horne also became essential to many of the fossil mounts. Other later staff also worked on labels: “Visitors to this hall will learn from the exhibition labels of the important part Mr. Horne had in the preparation and installation of many of the striking mounted specimens.” Ray S. Bassler, “Department of Geology,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1946 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1947), 50. On 28 March 1910, Gilmore and Gidley met with Merrill, head curator, about the exhibition spaces, and on 16 July 1910 their plan was approved. Gilmore, Daybook 1910–1911. When Gilmore arrived, the Marsh collections were being stored in rented buildings off-site in southwest Washington on the west side of 10th Street near C Street NW. The first floor of the brick building located there was being used as a paleontology laboratory for preparation work, while the upper two floors were filled with trays, crates, and boxes of fossil materials. Gilmore, “History of the Division,” 322. Charles W. Gilmore, “Description of Two New Species of Fossil Turtles, from the Lance Formation of Wyoming,” Proceedings of the United States National Museum 50, no. 2137 (1916): 641–46.

Increase and Diffusion

51

36. Ellis Yochelson, 75 Years in the Natural History Building (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution, 1985), 57–58. 37. Gilmore, Daybook 1910–1911. 38. For a full list of staff up to 1941, see Gilmore “History of the Division,” 316. 39. In September 1911, Gilmore mentions a “carpenter shop” in the museum; Gilmore, Daybook 1911–1912. 40. Entry, 11 November 1911, Gilmore, Daybook 1910–1911. 41. As William de C. Ravenel writes, “During the trying conditions that have prevailed in the United States since it entered the war . . . members of its staff of experts, its great collections, its laboratories, and all the information in its possession, have been placed unreservedly at the service of the executive departments and other Government agencies, and have been freely used by a number of them. Some of its exhibition halls have been closed to visitors and turned into office quarters for one of the important war bureaus of the Government. . .” William de C. Ravenel, “Operations of the Year: War Activities,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1918 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1919), 13. 42. Ibid.; also see George P. Merrill, “Department of Geology,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1919 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1920), 54. 43. Alexander Wetmore, “Operations for the Year,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1942 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1943), 11. 44. Ray S. Bassler, “Department of Geology,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1943 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1944), 59; Alexander Wetmore, “Operations for the Year,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1945 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1946), 7. 45. Alexander Wetmore, “Operations for the Year,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1944 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1945), 2. 46. Alexander Wetmore, “Operations for the Year,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1935 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1936), 9. 47. Ray S. Bassler, “Department of Geology, Gilmore Copy of Bassler Report, Submitted to John Enos Graf for the Budget Bureau May 13, 1944,” RU156, Box 6, Folder 12, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. 48. Gilmore, “History of the Division,” 343. 49. See Rhees, Visitor’s Guide, 38; also see Bramwell and Peck, All in the Bones, 102; and Jaffe, Gilded Dinosaur, 161. 50. Rhees, Visitor’s Guide, 11. According to the Annual Report for the Division of Vertebrate Paleontology for 1905–6 read, “During the month of August,

52

51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56.

57. 58. 59. 60. 61.

62. 63. 64. 65.

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

with the assistance of Mr. Boss, the exhibition series was almost entirely rearranged. In so far as was practicable the specimens were grouped in their respective classes, thus rendering a comparison of the different forms less difficult. Some little attempt was also made to arrange these separate groups according to their position in the geological scale.” Charles W. Gilmore, “Annual Report, Division of Vertebrate Paleontology 1905–1906,” RU158, Box 49, Folder 34, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. G. Brown Goode, cited in Rhees, Visitor’s Guide, 13; also Bambach 5.6.13. G. Brown Goode, cited in Rhees, Visitor’s Guide, 13. Charles Schuchert, “Annual Report, Division of Vertebrate Paleontology 1897–1898,” RU158, Box 49, Folder 27, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Rhees, Visitor’s Guide, 37. Ibid., 86. While the first Smithsonian model of Triceratops had been shown at the Buffalo Exposition in 1901, it was in 1905 that Gilmore completed Triceratops prorsus (now horridus). See Gilmore, “History of the Division,” 341. Also see “When the Dinosaurs Held Sway,” Sunday Star, 11 June 1905, Washington, DC, Department of Paleobiology Information Office, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution. George P. Merrill, “Department of Geology,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1912 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1913). Ibid., 63. Ibid. David Sepkoski, Rereading the Fossil Record: The Growth of Paleobiology as an Evolutionary Discipline (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2012), 13. “This did not mean rejecting Darwin or evolution; it simply meant not attempting to make any direct contribution to illuminating evolutionary patterns and processes”; ibid., 13. While there were attempts, even in the nineteenth century, to arrange fossils into sequences by “structural resemblances” to “extrapolate evolutionary development across morphological and stratigraphic gaps,” the rarity and poor preservation of fossils made this difficult; ibid., 17. Ibid., 19; Darwin himself had essentially claimed that paleontology could make only “limited contributions toward understanding evolution”; ibid., 13. Charles W. Gilmore, “Annual Report, Division of Vertebrate Paleontology 1910–1911,” RU158, Box 50, Folder 4, Smithsonian Institution Archives. Washington, DC, 1911 (emphasis added). Federal Writers’ Project, Works Progress Administration, Washington City and Capital: American Guide Series (Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1937), 417. Significantly, there are no records of this term being associated with the hall until well after its opening. However, the phrase was already in public use, as well as in use by Charles Schuchert, in the 1890s. Gilmore noted that he

Increase and Diffusion

66. 67. 68. 69.

70.

71. 72. 73. 74.

53

received a copy of the third edition of the book Extinct Monsters and Creatures of Other Days by Chapman and Hall on 7 November 1912. See Charles Gilmore, “Daybook 1912–1913,” RU156, Series 1, Box 2, Folder 2, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC; from the mid- to late 1920s through at least the early 1930s, Gilmore also gave an illustrated public lecture titled “Extinct Monsters of North America,” which was accompanied by lantern slides. See RU156 Series 5, Box 20, Folder 11: articles drafts, notes, speeches, and radio talks. Also see, “Men’s Club of the Foundry M. E.,” in Washington Evening Star, 18 March 1927, Chronicling America: Historic American Newspapers, Library of Congress: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/ sn83045462/1927-03-18/ed-1/seq-27/; “Extinct Monsters” as a proper title of the hall first appears in a gallery guide from 1931, with editions in 1933, 1936, 1939, 1940, 1946, 1950, 1954, 1956, and 1958 showing the same map (as well as overall textual description of the fossil halls). See, for instance, Smithsonian Institution, Brief Guide to the Smithsonian Institution: National Museum, National Gallery, Freer Gallery, National Zoological Park, 1st, 2nd, and 3rd ed. (Washington, DC: National Capital Press, 1931, 1933, 1936, respectively); to see many of these guidebooks, consult the Smithsonian Institution Archives’ Information File, Box 14, containing copies of the Brief Guide to the Smithsonian Institution: National Museum, National Gallery, National Zoological Park, Washington, D.C., National Capital Press published in 1931, 1933, 1936, 1939, 1940, 1946, 1950, 1954, 1956, 1958 (Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC). Gilmore “History of the Division,” 341. Gilmore, “Annual Report, Division of Vertebrate Paleontology 1910–1911.” Brinkman, Second Jurassic Dinosaur Rush. As Brinkman writes, “In many ways the second Jurassic dinosaur rush was more important than the first rush, and it had a greater and more lasting impact on science and society. The status of dinosaurs soared from prehistoric relic to cultural phenomenon, from arcane scientific term to household word, in the wake of the second rush . . . dinosaurs became a pop-culture marvel . . .” Brinkman, Second Jurassic Dinosaur Rush, 1–2. After spending the summer of 1923 excavating the specimen, thirty-four large boxes of bones and surrounding matrix (altogether weighing twenty-six tons) were loaded onto railcars and shipped across country in 150-mile increments. George P. Merrill, “Department of Geology,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1924 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1924), 81. Gilmore, “History of the Division,” 342. Charles Gilmore to Arthur Coggeshall, 29 September 1927, RU156, Box 7, Folder 17, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Charles Gilmore to Barnum Brown, 15 July 1925, RU156, Box 6, Folder 23, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. See, for example, Ray S. Bassler, “Department of Geology,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30,

54

75. 76. 77. 78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87.

88. 89. 90.

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

1932 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1932), 73; and Alexander Wetmore, “Operations for the Year,” Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1931 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1931), 12. For the guidebooks published with this formal title, see Brief Guide to the Smithsonian Institution. Richard Rathbun, “Inception and History,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1912 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1913), 10. For a critical history of “type” specimens in botanical contexts, see Lorraine Daston, “Type Specimens and Scientific Memory,” Critical Inquiry 31, no. 1 (2004): 153–82. Alexander Wetmore, “Operations for the Year,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1936 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1936), 9. George P. Merrill, “Department of Geology,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1918 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1919), 64. Ibid. Gilmore, “History of the Division,” 342. William de C. Ravenel, “Operations of the Year,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1924 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1924), 14. Alexander Wetmore, “Operations for the Year,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1925 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1926), 10. Ibid., 16. Ibid., 13. Alexander Wetmore “Operations for the Year,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1926 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1927), 16. Ibid., 17. These included Australia, Canada, England, France, Germany, Honduras, India, Ireland, Italy, Mexico, Norway, Palestine, Russia, South Africa, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, and Venezuela, Alexander Wetmore, “Operations for the Year,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1937 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1938), 11. Alexander Wetmore, “Operations for the Year,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1936 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1937), 7–8. Ray S. Bassler, “Department of Geology,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1937 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1938), 52. Charles W. Gilmore to Dr. A. Avinoff, 17 April 1936, RU156, Box 6, Folder 7, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC.

Increase and Diffusion

55

91. Gilmore, “History of the Division,” 342. 92. Ray S. Bassler “Department of Geology,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1937 ( Washington, DC: Government Printing Office 1938), 49–50. 93. See José Luis Sanz Starring T. rex!: Dinosaur Mythology and Popular Culture, trans. Philip Mason (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2002); Chris Manias, “The Lost Worlds of Messmore & Damon,” Endeavor (New Series) 40, no. 3 (2016): 163–77; W. J. T. Mitchell, The Last Dinosaur Book: The Life and Times of a Cultural Icon (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998). 94. Charles W. Gilmore to Barnum Brown, 5 June 1941, RU156, Box 7, Folder 5, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. 95. Alexander Wetmore, “Operations for the Year,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1946 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1947), 1–2, and 14. 96. Ray S. Bassler “Department of Geology,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1946 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office), 50–62. 97. Wetmore, “Operations for the Year,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1944 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1945), 8. 98. Ray S. Bassler. “Department of Geology,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1944 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office), 45. 99. Ray S. Bassler “Department of Geology,” FY 1943, 55. 100. Ibid., 50–51. 101. Alexander Wetmore, “Operations for the Year,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1944 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1945), 5. 102. As Gilmore wrote in his later report, “From 1910 up to the present time there has been a slow but steady growth of the exhibition collections, until at the close of the year 1940 there were more than 50 mounted skeletons, ranging in size from the small 14-inch horned rodent Epigaulus hatcheri to the 72-foot Diplodocus longus.” The interwar period was one of fewer major additions and changes to the halls. For instance, although twenty mounts were completed between 1910 and 1920, only eight mounts were completed between 1920 and 1930, and only eleven between 1930 and 1940. Gilmore, “History of the Division,” 341.

Chapter 2

Group Dynamics Exhibit Meetings and Expertise Making exhibits is a creative act, and, like most creative acts, is best done by a small group with the passion, skills, commitment, and vision to see the project through to final completion. . . . Exhibits and their development are human and, often, irrational and emotional acts, not given to easy prediction or regulation. Creating Exhibits1

This chapter is about the experts that plan exhibits. By contrast to what we saw in the last chapter, today’s National Museum of Natural History (NMNH) exhibits are planned not by scientists and their departmental staffs but by highly interdisciplinary teams from different museum offices and departments. Where the last chapter was based on archival research, here I use grounded ethnographic observation and interviews to show how exhibit projects create a unique microcosm of the museum, where ordinarily siloed disciplines and modes of communication mingle in collective translation, negotiation, and imagining. I begin by describing some of my early impressions and general findings about the ways that disciplines and expertise are siloed in the museum through space, communication styles, and perceived (and real) frictions and hierarchies. I include some of the ways that my own positionality played into these observations. I then describe how expertise manifests through the exhibit-planning process, namely through different modes of communication in textual production and speech. I draw on sociologist Erving Goffman’s work on role performance and institutional interactions,2 anthropologist Frederick Bailey’s work on the anthropology of politics,3 literary theorist Homi Bhabha’s work on “interstitiality,”4 and anthropologists Jennifer Shannon and Douglas Holmes’s work on paraethnography5 to frame these discussions. I show that exhibit meetings are a unique space of inherent friction that can potentially generate fruitful

Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

57

complementarities. In fact, it is often through tension and difficult conversations across boundaries of expertise that team members describe being inspired to work creatively.

First Impressions and Institutional Trust I began my research at the Smithsonian in the middle of a sticky DC July in 2012. Though a native east-coaster, I was struck, having just come from Vancouver, by the soupy hot air, the men and women sweating their way down the open avenues in their suits and tailored dresses, and the white-columned monumental structures looming over the streets. It’s impossible not to notice that you are in the nation’s capital. The Smithsonian’s museums sit squarely in the middle of this web of flags, national monuments, and federal offices. I felt immediately that conducting research at and about the NMNH, the third of the Smithsonian’s buildings built on the National Mall, physically and spatially carried the weight of this national context. Approaching the building on my first day, I felt a jittery excitement as I walked across the scorched grass from the Metro, flanked by the Capitol to my right and the Washington Monument to my left. It is, after all, the Smithsonian. Even after working at the museum for some time, it’s hard not to have a little glimmer of pride when you approach the iconic building or tell others at a cocktail party where you work. The Natural History Building itself is immense. On my first day, black and green banners screaming “Titanoboa! Monster Snake,” loomed large over the little popcorn vendors and line of men on bicycle carts offering rides to tourists. After climbing the entry stairs and passing through a security checkpoint, I entered the Rotunda, facing a giant elephant. To my left was a visitor services desk, and an IMAX ticket office beyond that. Hung all around the perimeter were a number of colorful banners indicating exhibit hall contents. To my right was the entrance to the fossil halls. Amid four marbled columns on this first floor were two giant signs in blue, “Ancient Seas: Ice Age” and “Fossil Plants,” each bearing a little icon. Through the columns, beneath a large rectangular entry, is a hall labeled with a rounded evergreen sign that read “Dinosaurs and Fossil Mammals.” The Rotunda was cool, and marbled walls and high ceilings gave it a feeling of airiness, even though it was swamped with visitors; their cacophonous voices filled the space with a constant reverberating drone.

58

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

This isn’t where staff usually enter, however. I was meeting with Siobhan Starrs, an exhibit developer with whom I’d be working at the Constitution Avenue entrance, where staff typically meet guests or each other. To get there, I had to dodge lines of linked schoolchildren across the Rotunda to get to the vast and very new Ocean Hall, where I rode an escalator down to the ground floor. This area was brighter, with lower ceilings and a cream-colored tile floor and white walls. On either side of the space stood a large gift shop, one for kids filled with stuffed animals, toys, knickknacks, and bouncing balls; the other, more adult-centric with cherry-blossom teacups, eccentric ties and scarves, jewelry, and coffeetable books. Through a large opening I found the Constitution Avenue back entrance, temporarily paneled in white construction walls. After shuffling around for a bit next to the Easter Island moai statue and watching some Kwakwaka’wakw coast dancing on a videoscreen at the base of the Haida totem pole that protrudes up from the lobby, I saw Siobhan. She accompanied me to the security desk, where she signed me in and gave me a month-long temporary badge till they processed my paperwork. My experience with badges—mine having been delayed—was fairly typical. Badges are no small thing at the Smithsonian, not only because the logistics of getting one are so tedious and time consuming (try going to the Office of Protection Services [OPS] at the beginning of September or January for a real treat) but because while you have one, the world seems to be your oyster. You can meander in through back entrances, around the labyrinthine back halls, through locked security doors, up and down “staff only” stairwells or elevators. It is a rude awakening when your badge expires, as my temporary one did in October. Suddenly, because you’ve forgotten entirely what it was like without a badge, the building seems an extraordinarily (if fittingly) fortified place. Badges are about institutional trust: “The Personnel Security & ID Office ensures that personnel responsible for the care of the national collections, the safety and security of visitors and employees, information systems control, and administration are trustworthy, honest, and reliable.”6 As a “pre-doctoral Visiting Student fellow”—my official status—I was considered “Non-Critical Sensitive.” But like all new staff, I required a preappointment background check and was fingerprinted. The U.S. Office of Personnel Management was contracted to conduct an investigation, the results of which would determine whether I’d gain a Smithsonian affiliation. My “staff sponsor” at the museum had to fill out and sign an ID authorization form to take back to OPS to actually issue the badge. At NMNH, when I was first issued a badge, I had to report to the head secu-

Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

59

rity manager, at that time Carl Taylor, who, in his very stately office and with a very friendly demeanor (and perhaps after offering you a Tootsie Roll), activated my badge for access to main doors in the building based on my department and security level. I was also going to receive a stipend, so in addition I had to report to the Office of Research and Training Services for more paperwork.7 After all of this, once I had a badge, I was free to come and go in most places. Of course there are many areas, such as Mineralogy or certain libraries, that require special access or keys. Going back through my audio-recorded fieldnotes, I recall that I had an early encounter where my new badge had flipped itself around, so that the back showed instead of the front. Curator Matthew Carrano asked me jokingly if I was trying to conceal my Red badge. I quickly flipped it over and assured him, “No! It’s Purple!” Not all badges are created equal, after all, even if they seem to open the same doors. There are three kinds of badges: Blue, Purple, and Red. Blue is reserved for staff, whether trust—temporary or on “soft” money—or federal employees. Blue badge employees are offered benefits like institutional health insurance and accrued paid leave. Purple badges are given to a wide range of people—interns, researchers, fellows, volunteers, or emeritus staff8—most of whom are there to learn or assist with research initiatives, but some, like volunteers, who also assist with outreach activities. Some receive stipends. Some work for free. Red badges are not to be trusted. Well, I don’t really mean it that way. Red badges are for contractors (outsiders), and the institution doesn’t officially “trust” them. There are running jokes about Red badges among museum staff, “the Red badge of shame” and “the Scarlet Letter” being my two favorites. Red-badge holders are also not supposed to attend paninstitutional events where food and beverages are provided, so they’re technically not invited to the Smithsonian’s holiday party and other such occasions.9 I describe this stigma because, in fact, the Smithsonian increasingly hires contractors to undertake its work. This is one of the major changes at the institution and in exhibits development over the last forty years. It therefore seems an artifact of an earlier system (beyond the harsh daily reality) that those charged with some of the highest budgets and longest-standing work in the museum (architectural and media designers, for instance) and others involved in public outreach are not “trusted” by the institution’s security systems. I learned about many of these oddities at happy hours with other young interns, staff, and fellows, or at the ritual museum gathering on Friday afternoons. The event is in many ways a remnant of what people sometimes call “old boys club” days, when primarily curators and scientific staff

60

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

met to have drinks on a Friday. It’s had a number of iterations since it was founded in 1968, and at one point it was shut down and then reinstated by the secretary. Today the Friday gathering is one of the few times and places where you see something that approaches a complete cross-section of ages and disciplines. It’s a biased and privileged sample, no doubt, for it still skews heavily toward scientific staff and staff involved with science departments. Abby Telfer, who runs the FossiLab, invited me early in my time at the museum to attend these gatherings. My attendance became key to understanding the cultures at the museum, because all sorts of stories are exchanged, some of which are integral to forging and understanding relationships and many of which illuminate the workings of such a complex place. It is also a great place for solving problems or talking about seemingly crazy ideas you wouldn’t pitch elsewhere. It is therefore an important kind of backstage space for social work. To return to the status of badges, when I was first negotiating my position at the museum, it was agreed that as an ethnographer and researcher I would be much better off with a Purple badge. But I didn’t really understand what that meant. It was at these gatherings that I first learned about the hierarchy of badges, along with many of the ins and outs of the museum and what was really going on with projects and people who attended. It is, I also learned, very uncool to wear your badge around at social events or on the street. It’s a very amateur, intern-y thing to do. Across Washington DC, it’s only newbies who want to show off their new badges. I certainly wore my Purple badge in public for far too long before someone clued me in. Yet, in certain settings, when I met new people for instance, I would leave it on to ensure they knew who I was, and that I belonged. In 2014–15, after my predoctoral fellowship was over and as I wrote my PhD dissertation, I worked part time under contract with a Red badge. I almost always put it away when I was going to meet new people at events.

Observing Meetings and Institutional Cultures Once I got settled in the Office of Exhibits, badge and all, I began observing the exhibition process. From the launch of the 10% phase of the Deep Time exhibit project in December 2012 to April 2013, I attended all twice-monthly two-day Core Team exhibit workshops, as well as Tuesday “standing meetings” for an hour and a half to two hours (often calling in or using video conferencing with the design and media teams). From April to

Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

61

July I attended but only took basic play-by-play notes at the 35% process meetings (which continued through December). During my time at the NMNH, I had the benefit of having an office in three different locations, and therefore I experienced three different “cultures” in the museum: Exhibits (September 2012 to June 2013), Paleo (June to September 2013), and the director’s hallway (September 2013 to August 2014). During the bulk of my fellowship, from September 2012 to June 2013, my office was in Exhibits, on the second-floor mezzanine. In June, two new writers were brought on to the Deep Time project, and it became clear that my floor would be crowded. In addition, Michael Mason, my staff sponsor, had just left his position as assistant director of Exhibits to become the new director of the Smithsonian Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage. Paleobiology curator Scott Wing graciously offered to cosponsor me for the remainder of my time at the museum and, with the blessing of the chair of Paleobiology, Brian Huber, found me desk space in Paleobiology; I was very lucky to have had an office in Paleobotany from June to September. My move from Exhibits to Paleo, as it’s colloquially called, also brought my own positionality to the fore. I noticed upon moving to Paleo that I felt more comfortable in that department. Having been raised by a professor, and having spent all of my adult life immersed in university culture, it was hard not to notice that my own background shaped my bias toward a department cluttered with old books and papers, microscopes, fossil specimens, and card catalogues . . . and staff that could get away with quirky t-shirts tucked into blue jeans. It was also populated, especially over the summer, with other fellows working on or recently completing PhDs. Despite an undergraduate background in the visual arts, I found Exhibits a bit harder to get used to. Three very different institutional homes gave me a good introduction to some of the different work cultures in the museum, but my experience remained partial, because, as educator Amy Bolton put it, “there isn’t just one culture, there’s like 10 cultures in this building.”10

Exhibits Exhibits melds office and artist culture. Its spaces are literally divided this way. On the south side of the hallway are two floors of offices. The mezzanine level is made up of a long hallway with a set of individual office doors on one side (where my office was located), and the ground level is an

62

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

open room subdivided into a walkway by flanking cubicles. On the other side of the hallway are the graphics lab and a large shop for carpentry, model-making, printing, lighting, and other in-house production work, mostly for temporary exhibits, way-finding signage, and permanent gallery upkeep. Exhibits culture is certainly more artistically oriented than most of the museum’s other departments, but there are different modes of working with exhibits in different Exhibits subdisciplines. Many of the staff are exhibit developers and project managers, who coordinate disparate departmental staffs and expertises across the institution to manage exhibit projects and their content development. They are often found hurrying from meeting to meeting—with buildings and operations managers, artists and designers, directors of various programs and departments, and curators of all the museum’s seven research areas. Graphics specialists, model-makers, and lighting and audiovisual (AV) specialists are variously more like experts in craftsmanship; staff in graphics, AV, and the production side of Exhibits even have a kind of uniform—they are issued Smithsonian work shirts, while project developers and managers, designers, and writers tend to wear office- and meeting-appropriate attire or comfortable clothes for getting office work done. Designers and exhibits writers in the

Figure 2.1. Exhibits hallway, May 2013. Photo by the author.

Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

63

department in some ways fuse the two kinds of work, translating ideas into textual and aesthetic designs to then be fabricated by production staff. The office spaces in Exhibits are plain—carpeted downstairs in gray and upstairs in burgundy, and painted in light yellows, beiges, or greens—but full of colorful remnants of past exhibitions, such as old exhibit models, graphics panels, and project binders. The walls are decorated with prints from previous exhibitions, alongside people’s personal photos, calendars, bulletin boards dotted with Post-it notes, and trinkets. The production spaces feel and look like workrooms—Graphics with large-scale drafting tables and tall open storage spaces for printing materials, and the “shop” open, dusty, and filled with carpentry equipment, partially finished products, and sheets of glass. Everywhere, whether in the offices or labs, piping and wiring is exposed along the ceiling, mainly by virtue of being on the ground floor of the “old building.” A constant nondescript rumble of generators and piping reverberates through the spaces. The whole Exhibits hallway is also near the main shipping and receiving doors, where I entered the building most days, and so lots of heavy-laden carts wheel down the concrete flooring. This lends Exhibits a feeling of constant motion and energy. This can also be a source of entertainment and frustration, especially when a set of carts or garbage cans thunders past meeting room 71A, interrupting conversation for a time.

Paleobiology The Department of Paleobiology is located in the East Wing of the museum; this part of the museum was added in the 1960s and was designed to have collections massed in the center of each floor. Windowed offices, doubling as labs, line the outer walls. Between the offices and the collections is a continuous hallway. Partly because I occupied an office here in the summer, a time when many of the scientists are away in the field, the East Wing felt quieter, and sometimes empty. This is also a result of the kinds of schedules different departments have. Many Exhibits staff take off every other Friday by working an extra hour each day—common practice in Washington, DC. Many production staff, along with many other buildings and facilities staff, are required to come in every day at 7:00 or earlier in order to work in public spaces before they open.11 Others in Exhibits come into the museum later, but they also leave much later at the end of the day. During big projects, many Exhibits staff say they work double-time, overnight, or early morning hours.12 They

64

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Figure 2.2. Paleobiology hallway, July 2013. Photo by the author.

also increasingly work odd hours to accommodate schedules of other team members, particularly curators, on exhibit projects. Curators, research staff, and students have more flexible schedules and aren’t assumed to be in the building during set hours, although, as with many academics, they tend to describe themselves as working on or thinking about their research “all the time.” Exhibits staff were held to stricter schedules—more often working from home on official telework. The differences in thinking about schedules and workflow in the institution created tension on both sides of this divide. Curators often described feeling inundated with meetings and Outlook calendar invites. (Scott Wing and I joked that if I was going to authentically portray him in this book, I should document him sitting at his desk using Outlook.) Exhibits staff often feel frustrated with curators’ lack of fixed schedules and their reluctance to use their Outlook calendars properly, if at all. It is a distinct point of privilege not to have to keep regular hours at the museum. These divides in schedule and workflow are not just between research-oriented departments and those with a practical focus, but within research departments. In Paleobiology, there was a similar divide between curators and “support staff.” Support staff include research assistants; preparators, who assist research and collections efforts by assisting with work

Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

65

out in the field, and upon returning to the museum by unwrapping, cleaning, excavating, and mounting fossil specimens; administrative assistants; information technology specialists; scientific illustrators; and collections managers. The term “support staff,” though a formal institutional term, was often used reluctantly, because it alludes to stratification or hierarchy among employees.

The Director’s Hallway The year after my fellowship, as I analyzed and wrote up my research, I worked part time as a research assistant for a project through the Consortium for World Cultures. The consortium was a central Smithsonian program administered through the Smithsonian Castle, which houses centralized Smithsonian administration, but I was given an office in the NMNH director’s hallway. The director’s hallway is another place entirely—it’s nicely carpeted, looks freshly painted, and is the sort of place where people wear pencil skirts and ties. The polished and more formal setting is fitting because the director’s hallway is where the museum’s executive staff and development team have their offices. It is often simply re-

Figure 2.3. The director’s hallway, November 2013. Photo by the author.

66

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

ferred to as “upstairs.” It is not uncommon in meetings and interviews for staff to express frustration with people or decisions coming from upstairs.

Other Institutional Cultures and Contexts There are also other museum contexts and institutional hierarchies that I will not focus on at length in the book—namely those of race and gender. Especially in research departments, there are more men than women. This is particularly true for curatorial positions. Male staff on the whole seem to have greater freedom and encouragement to speak out, not just in exhibit meetings but anywhere in the institution. Overall, the NMNH has not had an easy transition from its “old boys club” days to its culture of commitment to “strengthen the hiring process and grow the diversity of the staff and volunteers through targeted recruiting.”13 Many of the museum’s departments and offices are remarkably and noticeably white. Many staff of color work in security positions. A survey conducted by the Office of Policy and Analysis in 2012 found that only 56 percent of respondents felt that diversity was valued at the NMNH. Of the 707 NMNH staff, visiting fellows and scholars, interns, volunteers, and contractors who participated, 72 percent identified as White only, while 10 percent identified as Black or African American only, 7 percent Hispanic (all races), 6 percent Asian only, 5 percent Other. There was “low agreement,” only 25 percent, that recruitment of senior positions was from a diverse candidate pool.14 I did not focus on these issues in my research, and to delve into them properly would require another book. But I think it is important to mention in my general impressions that other broader institutional hierarchies permeate the museum. Within curatorial departments, there are often tensions between subdisciplines and other factions that may be generational or topical. Although I noted this to some extent, it was not as prevalent in the early stages of the process as it can be in later phases. There are also dynamics between outreach-oriented departments that I was not fully able to capture during my research due to my placement in Exhibits. The most crucial tension is between Exhibits and Education. Education has been increasingly included in the exhibits process, and both departments feel committed to public communication, but there is ongoing discussion about how that happens and what aspects should be divided between the departments in practice. A word here about departmental terminology. Throughout my time at the NMNH, I heard Exhibits and Education referred to colloquially as a “department” (as I have just done and continue to do in this book).

Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

67

Paleobiology is in fact a department by Smithsonian terminology, but Exhibits is not—it is an “office.” Offices tend to manage logistical aspects of the museum, as opposed to collections and research departments. Another colloquialism is that terms such as “Paleo” and “Exhibits” have different meanings in different contexts. The term “Exhibits,” for instance, can at different times refer to: 1. A department/organizational unit within an institutional structure: e.g., “I work in Exhibits.” 2. A physical space: e.g., “I’m headed down to Exhibits,” or 3. The people who work there, either as a. a group (noun): e.g., “What do you think Exhibits will think about this?,” or b. the quality of the group (adjective): e.g., “Exhibits people are more artsy.” As a newcomer, it is gratifying to begin to conquer these new expressions. As with mastering other languages or expert jargon, it’s also easy to get overzealous and slip into using these new phrases in nonmuseum conversations; my friends outside the institution will never let me live down the first time I told them I was going to miss an event to hang out with Paleo people. The fact that the building is so big and the departments so siloed, with their own cultures and jargon, is an important context for understanding the uniqueness of an exhibit project. Unlike other small organizations where you might know everyone and who does what, the NMNH is a giant and heavily departmentalized place. As Angela Roberts Reeder, exhibits writer, said, “I could have this job for another twenty years and still not have met everyone.”15 Exhibits bring together experts from disparate parts of the museum who, despite sharing a common goal, often do not share common assumptions or ways of working.

Meetings, Roles, and Power Dynamics Typical meetings took place in either 71A, the primary Exhibits meeting room, or in the Cooper Room, a meeting room on the second floor of Paleo. It’s named after G. Arthur “Gus” Cooper, pictured in the portrait at the back of figure 2.1., who, as we’ll see in the next chapter, had a great influence on the department’s formation.

68

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Figures 2.4a and b. “Chairs” of Paleobiology in the Cooper Room, 2013. Photos by the author.

Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

69

My notes from the second workshop I attended in early January read: Tuesday January 8, 2013 Deep Time Workshop 2 9:30 am The Cooper room is one of the few rooms “behind the scenes” that reminds you that the museum used to be a gentleman’s place. It’s unassuming and a bit worn, with a few remnants of December’s Paleo holiday party scotch-taped to the ceiling, but it’s lined with ceiling-high bookshelves and dominated by a large oblong dark wooden table, surrounded by equally serious chairs. A large portrait of Gus Cooper overlooks the room’s happenings, and the photographic line of succession of department chairmen lines the window-side wall. As people drift into the room just as it hits 9:30, members of the group arrange themselves around the thick table and seat themselves on burgundy leather cushions attached with tarnished brass tacks before shuffling the heavy chairs into comfortable positions. Unlike 71A, the closed-off, windowless, and fluorescent-lit room where so many meetings happen, this room is flooded with diffuse clouded wintery light passing through large-paned windows through which leafless branches sway in warm-for-this-timeof-year breezes. It’s the second workshop of many that will take place throughout the spring, and there’s a good amount of energetic postbreak banter exchanged as everyone greets each other and takes a seat. Scott [Wing] has brought a newly published foldout map from a geologic society that has a detailed description of the latest breakdown of the Geologic Time Scale. There’s some oooh and aaah-ing and agreement that we all ought to get one. Scott describes a few of the salient points notated by the diagrams. Eventually Siobhan [Starrs] chimes in with her calm but assertive “OK let’s get started,” and conversations lull.

Many meetings, in the morning or after lunch, and regardless of meeting room, began this way—participants sauntering in, a bit of show-andtell, joking, and passing around snacks or candy for the meeting. Soon though, the group would be in thick and sometimes heated conversation about a range of topics, from engaging audiences and visitor affect to lycopod reproduction and the ways that the deep history of Earth is written in our bodies. Exhibition plans are the product of years of collaborative work in these meetings between the Core Team, designers, and Extended/Advisory Smithsonian Teams. It is through conversations in these meetings that the exhibit’s conceptual framework, basic content, and spatial layout are debated, imagined, and formally articulated in document drafts. The main people involved in planning the exhibit through the workshops as well as “standing meetings” every other week were:

70

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Figure 2.5. Exhibit meeting in 71A, 2013. Photo by the author.

Core Development Team 2013 Kay Behrensmeyer, Curator of Vertebrate Paleontology, Exhibition Curator, Initiative Lead Amy Bolton, Education Specialist Matthew Carrano, Curator of Dinosauria, Lead Curator for the Exhibit Mike Lawrence, Chief of Exhibit Design Angela Roberts Reeder, Exhibition Writer Siobhan Starrs, Exhibit Developer/Project Manager Scott Wing, Curator of Fossil Plants, Exhibition Curator Reich + Petch (R+P) Stephen Petri, Principal Fang-Pin Lee, Senior Designer Pauline Dolovich, Principal (R+P Project Manager) Richard Lewis Media Group (RLMG) Richard Lewis, Principal Mark Ostrander, Director of Design

Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

71

The R+P team worked with the exhibit developer/project manager and other Exhibits staff to set the agenda.16 In the 10% and 35% phases, each workshop had a set of goals, and usually the R+P team began by describing the work they had done, including “benchmarking”—looking at other institutions’ dinosaur halls, design or media techniques—or new drawings, which they presented to the group. At a number of workshops, in-house team members were also asked to make short presentations—for instance Angela Roberts Reeder, the writer, would speak on common exhibit label styles, or Kay Behrensmeyer would report on a number of museums she visited on her own that warranted sharing with the team. A series of semistructured discussions then proceeded around both the presentations and a series of topics that needed to be worked out. For in-house exhibits, usually smaller-scale and mostly temporary halls, the exhibit developer or project manager, an in-house Exhibits staff member, set the agenda. The group then met weekly for an hour and a half to two hours and worked iteratively between the designers, writers, and curators in the same way as the permanent hall team did.

Official Roles Each person at the table has a defined role in the exhibition process, but roles overlap, and anyone is free to speak on topics they want to contribute to. The main players are members of a “Core Team.” The Core Team is made up of a group of in-house staff most central to the process. Core teams vary in size and composition depending on the size and nature of the project. An exterior garden interpretation plan and signage might have a core team of three—developer/writer, designer, and horticulturist—while a project like Deep Time, or the Ocean Hall project, may have a team of seven members or more.17 The team collaboratively shapes all of the ideas, designs, scripts, content, and other documents that lead to exhibit development. An exhibit project is a huge time commitment for the Core Team. Deep Time Core Team members participated in two 2-day-long workshops per month, plus meetings with select members among themselves or with other staff. So what does each member do? These roles are often specific to each exhibit project, but I have tried to describe them generally as they were during the 10% and early 35% phases that I observed. Exhibit Developer/Project Manager (Office of Exhibits) The exhibit developer/project manager position is a complex one, perhaps the most complex of any of the Core Team positions. This person has to

72

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

have expertise in a wide range of areas, including visitor experience, 3D and 2D visual design, team leadership, scheduling, budgeting, and contracts—a huge undertaking for Deep Time. They need to grasp the overall arch of content development and direction among the team, as well as the complex production process. Exhibit developers consider themselves audience advocates, expressing the visitor voice in meeting conversations. They are creative, have good people skills, and act as liaisons among the team, as well as between the team and everyone else in the building; they have to be able to speak every discipline’s jargon at the museum. While they do not have to be a subject matter expert, they must become conversant enough to shape the exhibition’s creative and content materials and then communicate and share the exhibit’s core goals externally with both experts and outside stakeholders, such as potential donors or the press. They are also charged with verifying with scientific staff all information produced in print or audiovisual materials. They are the main liaison between the scientists and the rest of the team. In the capacity of a developer, this person must also collate relevant materials for the team, including articles, literature, photographs, and other materials to be stored on a shared drive or shared online space, both for content and for team inspiration. The project manager role also involves coordinating the project schedule, budget, and contracts, in addition to working with building and technical staff and collections managers on specimen access and preservation, coordinating purchases, loans, and donations for the exhibit. This includes ensuring that specimens are ready for exhibit and that paperwork is properly processed, as well as communicating building and collections needs to the rest of the team. Further, the role involves sharing exhibit documents and progress with the Core, Extended/Advisory and Approval Teams, as well as liaising with all other relevant staff in the museum. Thus, the exhibit developer/project managers tend to work as the primary inhouse translators in the exhibit process. As the process progresses, they keep the team in line with the project’s mission and coordinate all of the team members—their ideas, their personalities, and their schedules. They build consensus among the team and help the team to recognize consensus where it exists. The combined exhibit developer/project manager role is thus particularly difficult, because it involves wearing two almost paradoxical hats— overseeing the big thinking and the creative movement of a project while also managing its budgetary and logistical constraints.18

Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

73

Chief of Exhibit Design/Exhibit Designer (Office of Exhibits) For temporary exhibits, staff designers may act as the lead designer, producing drawings and overseeing the entire in-house production of the exhibit. For larger projects, the designer is often working with a contracted design firm, as in the case of Deep Time and R+P. The in-house designer is therefore the expert involved in the call for proposals for the exhibit contract, the review process for choosing a contract design team, and providing in-house input on the design process. The in-house designer also coordinates with NMNH building staff on other aspects of the building and on conservation, accessibility, safety, and maintenance issues. The inhouse designer also provides design approval and is an important voice at the table during exhibit meetings. Exhibition Writer (Office of Exhibits) In early phases of exhibit planning, and in the 10% and 35% phases that I witnessed, the writer has the heavy task of learning the topic, collating all of the comments and discussion from meetings with the team, and distilling them down into documents for circulation. These include a storyline and preliminary script, and later exhibit labels. These in turn receive comments from the whole team; the writer has to integrate these into the final document. This process can change depending on how each exhibition project manager shapes the writing process.19 The writer also shapes the tone and style of the writing, both in descriptive documents such as the statement of purpose and eventually in exhibit text. For Deep Time, just as I finished going to meetings, Exhibits took on two new writers, giving the lead writer a team of three writers to coordinate. As the exhibit and its content develops, the writer has to make sure the exhibit has a distinctive voice and a clear story that is understandable and that draws people in.20 They are the main translators and communicators of exhibit content; yet, as I heard Angela Roberts Reeder and others describe, the contributions of exhibition writers go publicly uncredited, making it somewhat of a “hidden position.”21 Education Specialist (Office of Education and Outreach) The education specialist informs the exhibit with regard to interpretation, accessibility, curricula or learning standards, and visitor experience. As an “audience advocate,” they also make sure that educational goals and standards are part of the team thinking and circulated team documents early on in the process. This includes informing the team throughout the process about visitor motivation, interest, and ability to learn the exhibit con-

74

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Figure 2.6. Angela Roberts Reeder describing hierarchies of exhibit text, April 2013. Photo by the author.

tent. This is important for strategizing how to engage different audiences in exhibit content or for targeting some content to a specific audience. The education specialist also informs the team about the effects group dynamics have on the visitor experience. Educators are also active researchers in the galleries, and they can often be found in the halls with a cart testing out strategies, concepts, and language with visitors. They also work with contracted evaluators to craft testing instruments and methods with the public. They liaise with the education department or other relevant experts, in- and outside the museum, to inform public and school programming, curriculum materials, guides, or other materials. They contribute relevant literature or theories of learning and develop possible programming opportunities as early as the 10% stage. For Deep Time, this included physical spaces for programming and education in the gallery. One problem with defining the role of the educator on the Core Team is that, as Amy Bolton said, “not all educators in my department are the same. So there are a couple of educators who wouldn’t call themselves educators, they called themselves technicians. . . . So that can be really challenging, and I think that’s really challenging for the museum because you get this widely and wildly different way of going about the work, depending on who goes in the room”; and thus the role is not very clearly defined.22

Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

75

Curators (Department of Paleobiology) Curators are the main experts charged with exhibit content—its overall narrative or conceptual underpinnings, the specimens used to tell its story, and its accuracy. Some projects, such as the David H. Koch Hall of Human Origins, which opened in 2010, have a single curator. Others, like Deep Time and the Sant Ocean Hall, opened in 2008, have more than one. Throughout the process, they are tasked with maintaining scholarly and factual standards of an exhibit and guide negotiations with relevant experts on scientific content and concepts (particularly where ideas or theories are contested). In the case of Deep Time, each curator has an area of expertise, but as a group they are also responsible for consulting with other curators in the department on areas pertinent to those colleagues’ expertise. Curators work closely with the exhibit writer(s) on the script, but the curators do not write the script. They do, however, volley script drafts to colleagues and back to exhibit writers with comments and corrections throughout the process. During the process and after opening, curators also act as spokespeople for development and public relations. Additional Curatorial Roles (Unique to Deep Time) Lead Curator: The lead curator coordinates the scientific content and input from curators and other department participants for the exhibit. Initiative Lead: The initiative lead is the lead on the broader scholarly initiative of Deep Time, which includes its research and programmatic pieces. Advisory/Extended Team This is a group of additional scientists, educators, or leaders in the museum with whom the Core Team will need to consult throughout its work. Membership in the Advisory Team varied across different parts of the project. For the 10% concept narrative, it included only curators from Paleobiology. For the Temporary Exhibit project it included Deep Time Core Team members, preparators, and me. Approval Team This is constituted of museum leadership who comment and sign off on documents produced at each stage. For Deep Time in 2013, these were: Elizabeth Duggal, Associate Director for Public Engagement Jonathan Coddington, Associate Director for Science Brian Huber, Chair of the Department of Paleobiology Kara Blond, Acting Assistant Director for Exhibitions Shari Werb, Assistant Director for Education and Outreach

76

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

The Approval Team does not officially include the NMNH director, although he was present at package presentations and had input throughout the process.23 This is, in part, to protect the director and the museum should there be a major controversy or question about an exhibit: “The rationale for that is, something may blow up about an exhibit, some angle of looking at it that promotes controversy or strife. And, so, you don’t want to have the person adjudicating that kind of conflict to have been compromised by, officially, approving whatever the exhibit might be.”24 In general, museum leadership, including associate and assistant directors and chairs of departments, not only set the tone for and oversee the NMNH’s various departments, they also shape higher-level visioning and policy, some of which is articulated in five-year strategic-planning documents. They also liaise across the NMNH’s different departments. They act as an interface between the staff, the director, and other branches of the Smithsonian. These include pan-institutional leaders such as undersecretaries, the secretary, and the board of regents. As Kay Behrensmeyer described to me of her time as an associate director for science: I got to know people in the other departments and appreciate what goes on up there and how they are really running interference to let the scientists do what the scientists want to do, and the scientists don’t appreciate it.25

Associate and assistant directors spend almost all of their time in meetings—and hence have entirely “blue,” or full, Outlook calendars. These positions require complex knowledge across disciplines and an ability to move between contexts and departments quickly and fluently. Doing the job well requires you to, as Kay continued, “change gears all the time and be quick on your feet adapting to new situations, and not getting flustered.”26 While these are positions of power, many staff who take them on see these roles as forms of service, not ascendancy. Contracted Design and Production Team There are also a number of people who are not Smithsonian staff who are contracted to work on projects. Today, for large-scale projects at the NMNH, the design team is an internationally recognized firm that wins a bid for a contract with the museum. The process for choosing a design firm to undertake Deep Time began before I started my research, and the process was not open for documentation. The current model for large-scale projects sees a number of firms submit proposals. These are reviewed, and in the case of Deep Time a small number of firms was invited to interview, after which one firm was awarded the contract.

Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

77

The successful design team works iteratively on a constant basis with the Core Team, sharing ideas, provoking discussion, gaining feedback, and then reshaping plans. In the case of Deep Time, the designers were asked to propose a media group to join the process from the beginning stages. This was a new way to include media and the media team’s thinking early on. For Deep Time, the senior team from the design firm attended the twicemonthly two-day workshops in person and “standing meetings” every other week by phone or video conference. The three representatives from R+P were Stephen Petri, the principal overseeing the entire vision for the project on the design firm side; Fang-Pin Lee, a senior designer charged with drafting most of the drawings and the vision for the overall design; and Pauline Dolovich, another principal of the firm charged with managing the overall project management from the design firm side. R+P contracted three media firms for the project, the first of which, the Richard Lewis Media Group (RLMG), acted as a kind of “key” or “umbrella” company. Pauline also described how the Deep Time project was unique in bringing a media team in early to inform the process and “play a key role on the team to help shape the gallery.”27 RLMG’s principal, Richard Lewis, and its director of design, Mark Ostrander, ordinarily attended the workshops and standing meetings. The representatives who attend meetings from the design firm also work with a further group of experts back at their office. The whole office includes some thirty-five staff, a graphic design group of three to four people,

Figure 2.7. Exhibit Team meeting including R+P, additional Exhibits staff, and a guest media group, June 2013. Photo by the author.

78

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

an industrial designer, a number of technicians, junior designers, interior designers, and more. At the early stages, most of the work produced by the design firm is generated by a core (senior team) group, working with a half dozen others—graphic, intermediate, and junior designers. This group doubles in size in the second year of planning after the project moves past the 35% phase. During the early stages of a project, targeted “idea development” happens among the senior team. The work is highly focused and centers on organizing ideas conceptually and visually. The small group works tirelessly in constant “fear of the blank page,” as I heard Pauline Dolovich and Fang-Pin Lee say. Dozens of sketches and concept bubbles are produced by the designers for presentation to the Core Team at each workshop.28 Once the project’s ideas, floor plan, and big specimens are firm enough, additional assistants at R+P begin to render them. At this point, the project “takes on life of its own.”29 Subcontractors who specialize in lighting, architectural renovation work, costing, image procurement, security, among other things, are brought in. Thus, a huge number of back-end experts work throughout the process that the Smithsonian team never sees.30 In-House Design and Production Team The design firm under contract with the Office of Exhibits on producing and coordinating Exhibits work with facilities and building project staff. Those they associate with include additional project manager/developers, collections managers, the program manager for facilities and operations, and the associate director for operations on physical and fiscal constraints on collections and the building. The in-house production team (primarily for temporary exhibits and exhibit upkeep) is managed by a production project manager and includes staff in fabrication, graphics, modelmaking, and AV/lighting. Below is a diagram showing the organization of Exhibits in June 2013.

Figure 2.8. Exhibits staff organizational chart, June 2013. Courtesy of the Office of Exhibits, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

79

Other Exhibits experts are also increasingly brought into the project. Those involved and the timeline for their entry into the project vary by the specific content or object requirements for the project at hand. As the process goes forward, according to Kara Blond, “almost everybody in this department will be involved,” including those charged with “conservation work and managing the process of getting two thousand specimens prepped for the new exhibit,” others “responsible for media development and implementation,” someone else on “a book and a website,” and another “responsible for evaluation.” Still more staff would be “responsible for reviewing and supporting plans for the facilities renovation,” while the “whole A/V and fabrication team will be involved in varying degrees.”31 “It really does,” she said, “touch on everything that we do.” Once the building process gets started, there will be “a whole new [additional] group of site people and electricians and plumbers and engineers and architects and construction guys and cement guys . . . and historic preservation people and accessibility people and safety and fire . . . it really starts to grow exponentially.”32 Other Curators During the 35% phase in particular, additional meetings occurred among staff outside of Core Team meetings that shaped the group’s work and relationships. Some of these meetings were institutionalized or formalized. Others were tacit. In the early stages of the 10% phase, there was a strong push to invite members of the Paleo department to meetings so that they felt included in the process. However, during the 35% process, the lead curator introduced curatorial content meetings. The three curators and other Paleo staff met to plan the major narratives for each section of the hall. This way, the curatorial team could draw on the expertise of relevant (nonteam) members of the scientific staff to hone main messages for each section of the exhibit. Each meeting, convened by lead curator Matthew Carrano, focused on a geologic time interval that would be represented in the exhibit. The meetings were held at a local café, and the conversations were recorded. In turn, Angela Roberts Reeder would pare down notes from the discussions to produce a simplified document with hierarchized messages—essentially a content brief for each time period. These could then be circulated to the designers and the rest of the team. Vertebrate Preparator In the case of fossil exhibits, one of the most involved additional roles is that of the preparator. As we saw in chapter 1, preparators have been essential to exhibitions at the NMNH since its beginnings. Because the

80

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Temporary Exhibit was on an accelerated timeline, and because the working FossiLab was to be an important part of it, the vertebrate preparator (“prep”) team was heavily involved in planning meetings. Generally, preparators—formally museum specialists in institution speak—collect fossils in the field with research staff (curators). Preparators are thus highly trained fieldworkers, and they aid in the process of fossils being discovered, packed, and shipped back to the museum (still embedded in rock), after which, as their title implies, they “prepare” fossils—extracting them from their surrounding rock and sediment (matrix) and cleaning their surface features, piecing them together, repairing and conserving them, or otherwise readying them for research, storage, and sometimes exhibit display. At NMNH this includes, with volunteer help, making plaster jackets lined with padding to protect fossils (naturally concave or convex and very heavy) in storage, and molding and casting fossils to make copies for research and display, as well as for exchange with other institutions. Importantly for exhibits, preparators also mount fossils in house and ready fossils for exhibit display or removal. For Deep Time, the prep lab was instrumental in removing fossils from the current exhibit, working with conservators and, in this case, Research Casting International (RCI), a large contracted firm, to ensure that fossils were “healthy,” or if not, conserved or prepared for either storage or the new gallery. Preparators often possess numerous additional skills, in everything from mapping and surveying to mold-making and sculpting.33 They also bridge research, collections, and outreach. As Michelle Pinsdorf put it, “I like the mix, I like that it is addressing specimens that are coming into collections to be used for research now, taking care of specimens that have been part of our research pool for a long time, and helping to plan for the future of the public place of collections as well.”34 Particularly in the Temporary Exhibit process that I observed, Last American Dinosaurs, where it was proposed that fossils moved off display might be conserved in the hall’s live FossiLab, the preparators were quite active as advisory board members in early meetings and document review. As the process progressed, they also assisted in reviewing both drawings and physical brackets for specimens and in providing their expertise for the physical needs of display specimens in a variety of ways.35 Collections Manager Collections managers oversee how specimens are maintained, removed, and put either into storage or back on display. They are also responsible for maintaining collections and the databases containing information about them. A number of staff in a department such as Paleobiology work on

Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

81

collections—each with a general area of focus (invertebrate, vertebrate, plants), but some also work more closely with data management. For Deep Time, ongoing meetings occurred between the exhibit developer/project manager, relevant other Core Team members, and Paleobiology collections staff, during which they planned the removal of specimens, assessed collections or spatial needs, and arranged for the care of fossils in transition from exhibit into storage or out onto display. For Deep Time, this process included working on a massive deinstallation project to dismantle the specimens and move them into a temporary storage space, from which specimens for the new hall would be tracked as they were taken off-site and worked on by a large-scale conservation and preparation firm. * * * Further project and administrative teams worked with centralized Smithsonian units on the logistics and overall scope of Deep Time. Deep Time Project Teams 2013 NMNH Deep Time Project Manager Acting Assistant Director of Exhibits Chief of Exhibit Design Lead Curator, Curator of Dinosauria Program Manager, Facilities Deep Time Initiative Lead, Curator of Fossil Mammals Preparator, FossiLab and VP Lab Liaison Museum Conservator Collections Manager, Department of Paleobiology, Collections Liaison Project Manager/Developer, Office of Exhibits Program Specialist, Facilities Project Manager/Developer, Conservation Contracting Officer’s Training Representative (COTR), Office of Exhibits Office of Facilities Engineering and Operations (OFEO) Project Manager Design Manager Construction Manager Branch Chief, North Mall Resident Engineer Zone Manager, North Mall Mechanical Engineer

82

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Project Administrative Teams NMNH Kirk Johnson, NMNH Director Mike McCarthy, Associate Director for Operations Elizabeth Duggal, Associate Director of Public Engagement Jonathan Coddington, Associate Director for Science OFEO Nancy Bechtol, OFEO Director Walt Ennaco, Deputy Director Debbie Nauta-Rodriguez, Office of Planning and Program Management (OPPM) Acting Director Derek Ross, Office of Planning Design and Construction (OPDC) Director * * * Further, beyond R+P, other big firms were contracted to work on the architectural elements of the project (restoring Beaux Arts architecture in the building) and fossil specimen removal, conservation, and remounting. See below for the Deep Time roles draft diagram, which described the various pieces of the project.

Figure 2.9. Deep Time roles draft diagram, December 2013. Drawing courtesy of the Office of Exhibits, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

83

* * * It is no small job to coordinate this mass of people who not only have different departmental perspectives and disciplinary backgrounds but who also work in spatially distant places. The process of organizing experts around projects like Deep Time is thus a slow, iterative process, generated in multiple stages, each one allowing input from relevant experts.

The Process: A “Big Idea” and Forming Expert Teams What is now Deep Time went through a long period of development before it manifested in its current form. When curator Matthew Carrano saw the listing for the position he would apply for in the early 2000s, it already made mention of a fossil hall renewal project. When he arrived in December 2002, meetings were already beginning to take place. By 2004, he, Kay Behrensmeyer, Conrad Labandeira, and Scott Wing were drafting “case statements” intended to assist in fundraising for the project. In October 2005, Scott Wing presented “Deep Time” to Cristián Samper (former NMNH director) and Lawrence Small (Smithsonian secretary), who had shown interest in the project. However, it was not until Samper called for proposals in the fall of 2008 for “Big Ideas”— research, exhibit, and outreach initiatives that the NMNH would prioritize—that Paleobiology morphed their project into a full-blown research initiative. The curators on Deep Time had therefore worked on the conceptual framing for the project for nearly ten years before the exhibit launch. Deep Time was thus initially conceived as an initiative anchored by an exhibit component. That component involved both a temporary and a permanent exhibit. But the process did follow a somewhat standard model. Early documents were not unlike typical idea statements. This is the most democratic part of the process. An idea statement can come from anyone in the museum. The Deep Time proposal for “Big Ideas” submission was submitted by four curators from Paleobiology—Matthew Carrano, Kay Behrensmeyer, Conrad Labandeira, and Scott Wing—with input from Amy Bolton from the Office of Education and Outreach, Randall Kremer from the Department of Public Affairs, and Elizabeth Musteen from Exhibits. It was presented to the NMNH board, who voted on the proposals. Deep Time, as an exhibit and research initiative, became one of three (Deep Time, Genome, and Recovering Voices) that were selected to move forward.36 Once the “Big Idea” was chosen and a set of core principles applied to it, the managerial and development staff needed to find a donor to move for-

84

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

ward. In May 2012, David H. Koch donated $35 million for Deep Time, enough to launch the exhibition project in earnest.37 Once a project has secure funding, the planning can truly begin. After a few early meetings, the exhibit developer/project manager proposes a schedule for weekly or biweekly meetings for a core team. Michael Mason, then assistant director for exhibits, was charged with coordinating members from Exhibits for each of the Temporary and Permanent Core and External/Advisory Teams; Brian Huber, chair of paleobiology, coordinated research staff; Shari Werb, assistant director of education and outreach, coordinated Education’s members. Once the Core, External/Advisory, and Approval Teams are in place, the process morphs into a series of scheduled meetings. During early meetings the team drafted a “proof of concept,” which honed big themes, goals, and audiences, and wrote a call for proposals to solicit design firms. While I was not privy to conversations about the choice of the design firm, the call for proposals was released on the web in May 2012 in tandem with the public announcement of the Koch donation, and members of R+P and RLMG described some of the process to me. The call described the responsibilities of the winning firm: [The firm will] provide all design services for the exhibition, including all exhibition planning, design of the exhibition and all its components (i.e. graphics, lighting, exhibition security, object mounts and multimedia/audio-visual, interactive), layout of all exhibition components, A/E services for the exhibition elements, coordination with the renovation project A/E on infrastructure requirements, project documentation, exhibition cost estimating, project management, contract administration, fabrication and installation quality assurance and coordination services, and all specifications, drawings, and associated materials necessary for the museum to proceed with the fabrication, conservation, stabilization, construction and installation of the new 24,500 square foot exhibition at the National Museum of Natural History in Washington, DC.38

According to Angela Roberts Reeder, there was some debate at this point about whether the writing would be done in house or contracted, and so the firms were to show proposals both with and without contracted writers. Firms were, for the first time, requested to propose a media group to work alongside them in the project. In formal Requests for Proposals (RFPs), firms submitted proposals judged on “1) Plan of Accomplishment; 2) Firm’s Experience and Past Performance; 3) Management (Management Plan and Key Personnel/Subcontractors); and 4) Contract Price.”39 The project was anticipated to take 120 weeks. In the end, the team selected R+P, the designers who had done the halls for mammals and human origins (with RLMG, who had worked on media for the latter).

Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

85

Communication, Perceptions, and Disciplinary Expertise On my very first official day at the museum in 2012, I attended the first meeting of all the staff who would be involved with Deep Time Permanent and Temporary Exhibits (the latter eventually named Last American Dinosaurs). What I did not realize, as I shakily introduced myself, was that I was meeting a room full of people many of whom were also meeting each other for the first time. At my first meeting, I also realized that my project was in good company with works by anthropologists Douglas Holmes, George Marcus, and others who have talked about their informants being “paraethnographers” or being able to “ethnographize” themselves.40 As Jennifer Shannon had said during her work at the National Museum of the American Indian (NMAI), “Participants in my research were at the same time cultural experts, anthropologists and bureaucrats; in other words, their knowledge practices were much like mine.”41 My participants could “reflect on, and study with me.”42 I therefore paid close attention to the ways people described themselves, their roles, and the institution. At various times I heard • the museum described as a village full of small tribes, or an ecosystem where the actors changed but roles stayed the same; • exhibits planning and development described as film production, “a contact sport,” baseball or hockey; the choice or development of exhibits described as a process of natural selection; • the Deep Time exhibit described as a theater, a string of beads, a memoir of the Earth, a logbook, a timeship, a time machine, a spaceship, a book, an archive, a library, a control room, a time scrapbook, a movie (or a trailer), a time trail, a metro map, a manual for the future planet, an orchestral composition, the Piazza del Campo in Siena; • the exhibit in turn viewed or at times actively controlled by the visitor through an element within the exhibit—imagined as a time machine, a veranda, a vista, a nexus, a synthesizer, a console, a portal, the bridge of a ship, a (mission) control board, a command center, a dial, a dashboard, a game, a “climatometer,” a hub, a transporter room, a lens, an eye, a stereoscope, a “temporal positioning system,” and even the practice of paleontology itself. Sometimes, these same metaphors were used by scientists to describe paleontology and changing ecologies through time, both in literal and metaphorical language.

86

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

At my first meeting, one of the proposals pitched was an exhibit about the process of making exhibits. In the end, this became a subsection of the exhibit. Below is an excerpt from the Temporary Exhibit 10% concept script describing that proposed component on how the museum produces exhibits: Area 8: Designing the “Deep Time” Exhibition Along the corridor, archival and contemporary photographs, along with updateable design sketches of the future Deep Time exhibition, give visitors a preview into the new hall and the work needed to develop such an expansive exhibition. Key Message Making an exhibition involves years of collaboration among many experts to put the dinosaurs—and other fossils—into a finished exhibit hall that will remain engaging for generations of visitors. Narratives and Components Who’s who in developing an exhibition will feature “action” shots of the team and its members with short captions about their role in the exhibit development process. Archival photos and anecdotes will highlight changes in exhibition techniques, paleobiology, and behind-the-scenes technology over the last century.43

One of the messages of the Temporary Exhibit was the precise topic of this chapter. Both the Deep Time and the Temporary Exhibit Teams included a large number of experts—in total four paleobiology research curators, two education specialists, an exhibits writer, two exhibit developers, three vertebrate preparators, and a number of other museum leadership and staff—all with different roles and expertises. In one meeting, Kara Blond, then acting assistant director for exhibitions, noted that the way such roles in the museum shift over time was not unlike species filling new ecological niches. The ways in which staff ethnographized themselves remained interesting throughout the process. It was also useful to talk with my participants about some of my initial observations as the process moved along. Each meeting had the feel of a seminar, and I was encouraged to treat it as such, but the political dynamics were much more complicated than that. There were both shared loyalties and priorities, and all sorts of political complexities and anxieties, among the group that shaped its conversations. This is the counterintuitive thing about exhibit-planning meetings at the NMNH. No one in the room has privileged speaking rights, and all ideas are, in theory, equally valid at the table. However, members of the group have different modes of communication and have certain kinds of power, both of which may or may not relate to either the training,

Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

87

background, or discipline from which the person comes or the fact that certain people actually have power over certain elements of any project as described above in their official roles. The following sections describe these different factors as they play out in exhibit meetings and depict their importance for understanding underlying power dynamics in meeting conversations.

Modes of Communication It is difficult to write about modes of communication because much of this dynamic relates to individual personalities. From the start, I was interested in roles and institutional cultures, so I tried not to focus on individuals. My audio-recorded fieldnotes include some reflections on individual differences between my informants, but I chose to focus on disciplinary and departmental commonalities. As Abby Telfer, who runs the FossiLab and attended Temporary Exhibit meetings once told me, “Smithsonian specializes in articulate people.” This is exceedingly apparent at exhibit meetings. Some people are more talkative or argumentative than others; some wait patiently and then drop a cognitive bomb on the group that steers the whole direction of the conversation or the project; some focus on coherently stating the perspective of their particular expertise; some combine these tactics; but all ideas are conveyed articulately and hold more or less sway at different moments. What is more interesting for the purposes of understanding roles is the ways that disciplinary and cultural belief systems and norms intersect with these subjectivities. I turned to a few key theorists when analyzing these dynamics. Sociologist Erving Goffman, in his work The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life,44 offers a theory of self-performance where, as in a theater, individuals act as either performers, audience members, or outsiders within social “stages.” His term “impression management” is a particularly useful one for thinking about the revealing and concealing of the self in meetings and elsewhere in the museum. Alternatively, in anthropologist Frederick Bailey’s analysis, political communications have “normative rules” that don’t “prescribe” actions but “rather set broad limits to possible actions.”45 They are used to generally guide conduct and to judge it right or wrong, proper or improper. While the very broadest of these rules are shared among the group (professional language, general meeting conducts), disciplinary norms differ, such that the tone or frequency of speech might change between, say, scientific and nonscientific staff.46 Literary theorist Homi Bhabha was likewise useful in thinking through these

88

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

interactions as “in-between” or “interstitial spaces.”47 In exhibit planning, experts from different institutional and disciplinary contexts engage in social “articulations of difference.”48 I came across interstitial and performative spaces in two ways: First, I often observed intersections between disciplinary cultures and communication when individuals would assert their particular role before speaking or in documents that circulated among the group. Second, I came across these intersections in interviews and casual conversations about people’s backgrounds or conflicts they were experiencing in the planning process. In both cases, these intersections are often made apparent in departmental jokes about other parts of the museum. In Word documents that circulated with track changes, as in meetings, it was often clear that curators were more verbose in their comments than the educators, exhibits staff, or support staff. This was immediately apparent in the Temporary Exhibit documents because the planning process moved at a faster pace than for Deep Time. Documents became brightly colored with tracked changes comments as they circulated. My favorite document title was: “Putting Dinosaurs in their Place_concept script draft_130212_H DS+MMP+SJJ+DM_H_DS2+AB+AT,” where each set of capital letters indicated a commenter. The tone of each of these participants was often distinguishable by role or discipline. The stereotype in the museum is that curators are more likely to assert their opinions without as many qualifying statements, to be more longwinded in their comments, to be so obsessed with facts and their own area of expertise that they refuse to cut text down, and to be keen to tear apart the tone, word choice, English usage, and grammar of exhibit text, even though they are not writers on the project; overall, they lack professional etiquette. In Exhibits, there are lots of running jokes about curators, especially about the often harsh way they comment on documents. This is not an un-useful defense mechanism. As Amy Bolton said of one experience with a “note” she received from a curator, “So he wanted to show me how wrong I was, and I was like, ‘Wow. Okay. It’s a sport around here. I get it.’”49 I experienced the sport myself when I commented, from the perspective of my archival research, on a Temporary Exhibit script that read that dinosaurs had been on display at Smithsonian for 100 years. My comment read, “140 years? If Hadrosaurus was up in 1874 and if the hall opens in 2014. . .”50 When the document returned, I couldn’t help but feel a sinking and nervous feeling when, within my comment bubble, I read the reply of Hans Sues, curator on the project, in all caps: “THAT WAS NOT A REAL DINOSAUR EXHIBIT—THE REAL EXHIBIT IS A LITTLE MORE THAN 100 YEARS OLD (HALL OF EXTINCT

Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

89

MONSTERS).” Knowing Hans as I do now, I know he was distinguishing his comment using all caps and that he is a jovial person who is committed to getting facts right, but as a new and admittedly intimidated person in the museum, I was left with little wonder that curatorial stereotypes, once they are culturally established, hold weight.

Belief Systems and Power In trying to understand the cultural dynamics of the institution, I had many casual conversations with curators, educators, and staff in Exhibits about their colleagues, and I was included in joking about these things in casual or social settings. Hypotheses abound about why different experts might act differently than each other. I intentionally meld theories here, but some perspectives on documents, for instance, include the following: Curators, so used to editing documents in scientific circles and journals, have a harsher or more objective mode of editing documents. They don’t take them personally. Exhibits people and educators, on the other hand, have more artistic sensibilities. Artists put more of themselves in their work. Criticism of an exhibit writer’s work, for instance, feels more like criticism of someone’s artwork. Or maybe they’re just more “touchy-feely.” They’re trained to accept everyone’s perspectives. Scientists know that there is a truth out there, and that not everyone’s opinions about it count. Scientists are constantly worried that Exhibits people are determined to “dumb down” the science and their work. As writer Angela Roberts Reeder said, One of the things I’ve heard from other writers is that we are often accused of “dumbing down” the exhibit. I think that’s an elitist perspective. What we are trying to do is meet our visitors where they are so they are engaged with the content.51

Such statements reveal entrenched power dynamics at the museum. The perceived and real power relations that they illustrate are important for understanding the dynamic of a new group of people working together for the first time. And it is understood by almost everyone in the museum, except curators, that curators are of a higher status and “caste” than everyone else. As educator Amy Bolton put it, “It didn’t take me long to figure out that there was not a whole lot of respect shown to the Education office.” As associate director for science Jonathan Coddington put it, there is “a big problem with privilege” in the museum because scientists are seen “by the rest of the museum as among the most privileged class.” On the one hand,

90

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

that’s justified because they’re expensive and we limit the number, and they have unusual, even extraordinary freedom to do what they want . . . they have to be the best in the world and world famous, and for a good reason, not a bad reason.52

Curators also have unique kinds of prestige. All have PhDs and are experts in some niche within their fields; they are expected to publish three articles per year in prominent journals; they are usually recruited for their jobs from afar and go through a rigorous selection process, and later they also experience a tenure-like process to keep their jobs. They are usually paid more, and there are fewer of them. On the other hand, administrators and others know that curators are not, “by any means, the only expertise in the building” and that the museum “need[s] to do a better job of professionalizing the other voices that add into a Natural History museum, most obvious being outreach and collections.”53 Curators, particularly at the NMNH, are scholars first and foremost, and their primary role is in research and publication. Their performance reviews are weighted more heavily in this area. Outreach work, while important, is not valued as deeply, and curators who take on very large-scale exhibit projects need to ensure that the associate director for science and their department chair take into account the necessary time commitments for the exhibit when completing their annual reports and Professional Accomplishments Evaluation Committee (PAEC), which evaluates a curator every five years. I often heard that it was detrimental for curators to take on exhibits projects with extended timelines because accommodations for work on exhibits were not available for PAEC reviews. This has certainly been changing in the last few years. However, unlike publications, exhibits at the NMNH are not academic “credit” for curators, although they clearly care very much about how their scholarly colleagues will think of the finished product. As Jonathan Coddington said, The overall trend is that you start off as a scientist here, and your reward schedules will be pretty clear. At least 50 percent, maybe a little more, is research quality and quantity. And then the rest of your time is devoted to collection and curatorial matters, outreach in all of its myriad forms, and professional service, which is both outside the museum serving on international commissions and panels, editors of journals, roles in scientific societies, and also internal things, committees. Scientists generally try to avoid committees.54

Such emphases make exhibit work unpopular with curators, even though they often get the most public credit for a completed exhibition. Curators’ reluctance to do exhibits projects and the fact that they don’t often take on more than one large-scale exhibit project in their careers makes it difficult for Exhibits staff to build respect for their expertise and

Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

91

experience. Each new project means training new curators in how the exhibits process works and what each player on the team does. These Exhibits and Education staff often have “hidden positions” in these projects. Very few current halls list any of their producers—including curators—either in the space or online once they are complete. Life in the Ancient Seas was an exception. Because curators are the main spokespeople for exhibits, it is rare that the press or media interview or acknowledge noncuratorial Core Team members as exhibits develop and are opened, although this is slowly changing. Curators are very clearly perceived to wield more ideological or conceptual power in the museum. In exhibits planning, power over concepts is distinctive. It drives the process because, today, it is an idea, not a thing, that is generally being translated for the public in exhibits. Of course curators, along with collections managers or in overseeing collections managers, know the objects well. In a fossil exhibit, if you drive the ideas and you are the only person in the room who really understands the fossil collections that you might use to describe those ideas, then, indeed, you have a huge amount of power. But curators throughout the museum are worried that they will become mere “fact checkers.” This is largely because the curatorial role is smaller in the exhibits process than it was in the past, as we saw in chapter 1. Curators tend to feel that Exhibits wields more important power because it controls scheduling, budgets, and many other organizational aspects of the process. Logistically, and in terms of money power, the Office of Exhibits controls the budget on an exhibit. But most exhibit projects require external fundraising, which comes through the development office. For Deep Time, David Koch’s $35 million was the initial gift that allowed the project launch. If you follow the money, the NMNH development officers who secure large gifts such as Koch’s and those in Exhibits who control that money once it comes to the museum wield huge power. Exhibits managers or developers are charged with overseeing not only the budget but also the schedule for the exhibit-planning process. While research is core to the NMNH’s primary mission, the museum, with stricter budgets, now relies very heavily on its outreach and development activities to survive. The Deep Time Initiative was originally proposed to be a much larger set of projects that also contained substantial resources for research. By the time I began my research period, this money had only partially materialized, though Deep Time was still conceived as a wider research initiative. Koch funded the exhibit project, not the research initiative, and so the exhibit project took precedence. One of the main roles for Exhibits is to manage the project and all of its logistics, which is certainly the office’s own form of unique power. Ex-

92

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

hibits also manages the overall development of content and ideas. In many projects, these two aspects—overseen by project managers and exhibit developers—are controlled by two different people. As Sally Love said of her time as exhibit developer on the Kenneth E. Behring Family Hall of Mammals, “Elizabeth Musteen was the project manager, so she coordinated sort of the physical aspect of it and I coordinated the content development, the design development, and writing. That was pretty complicated.”55 Both positions need incredible time management and “super organization skills” for “keeping track of all these different details.” Exhibit developers, Sally Love said, like movie producers, have to rein in all of the moving parts while maintaining a coherent vision and team morale: You’re pulling in the writers, the directors, the designers, the builders, the content and just trying to coordinate all these different pieces and move it forward in a way that you still have some judgment call to make on some of this stuff. Hopefully. And then work for a consensus. You have to be sort of part psychologist, group therapist, bartender, but it’s just trying to get people to sign on.

At a higher level, audience advocates in both Exhibits and Education also see themselves as communication professionals—they communicate science and ideas aesthetically, textually, and programmatically for a diverse public. Shari Werb described educators as “translators” who “bring to life” and “connect all of our resources at the museum with our public . . . in a living way.”56 Educators have vast experience “creating things that are durable, that they understand how the public moves in this space. They have techniques and imaginations for creating spaces that are inviting to people.”57 They often feel it is their responsibility to ask seemingly naïve questions, on behalf of the public. When asked what makes a good exhibit developer, Kara Blond, then acting assistant director for exhibitions, said: The desire to include the visitor in the conversation. To go out and say, “Does this make any sense to you, and what about you and you and you? Do you get what we’re trying to say? What questions does this raise? What information do you need to know before you can understand this?”58

This was also true of other Exhibits staff at the meetings. Writer Angela Roberts Reeder felt that exhibit writers, as audience advocates at the table, have a responsibility to ask “naïve questions.” As she articulated, “I’m asking the questions and sometimes feeling stupid so that my readers don’t.”59 Amy Bolton said, “When I sit in the meetings, I actually write questions down that I have about what people are assuming or saying”60 to later question those assumptions. Bolton also likewise saw her role as channelling different kinds of visitors and their perspectives:

Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

93

I’m an advocate for the visitor. All of them. Every last one of them . . . I’m a conduit for different approaches or different ways of thinking about the topics that we’ve got. I am not a content specialist, but what I can do is look at the content and say, “Well, here’s an entry point for it or here is a sequencing of it.” . . . And I can imagine the same thing from many perspectives. By keeping the visitor in my head, I can say, “Okay, I am a novice boy in a family of three.”61

Amy Bolton continued, “My personal expertise is the systematic design and instruction, so I have a very systematic way of thinking about things. . . . I can think through that sequencing, whether it’s linear or from multiple entry points.”62 Educators work with the scientists to understand scientific content and then translate it to make it understandable and relevant to visitors. As Shari Werb said, What’s cool? What might be interesting to your average person and teenager about what you’re doing? . . . The educator takes that story and shapes it into something that models the work that the scientist is doing but will become relevant to the audience that we’re trying to reach.

Relevancy is understood through “testing and testing and testing with that audience to make sure that what we’re developing makes sense,” Werb continued.63 Both exhibits and education professionals also conduct benchmarking studies, bringing in people who work with specific content . . . so you’re not reinventing something that’s already been tested and done well, but you may be adapting it for your own environment, or you’re basing it on things that you know, like research that you know has worked over time and adapting it for your new environment . . . You want to do that research and keep coming back to it.64

This approach is not always respected by curators, despite its grounding in social science and psychology research. There is rampant distrust of this kind of research from the scientific community in the museum. As Angela Roberts Reeder said of research scientists’ perspectives on exhibit writers’ knowledge of their audiences, Just to paint a grossly broad brush—subject specialists, curators, scientists, they would like for visitors to actually read more than studies have shown that they do read, or the scientists will use vocabulary not realizing that most people don’t know that vocabulary. Or they think that my statement that we write for an eighth-grade reading level is an insult, when really it’s not.65

National Public Radio, or NPR, she pointed out, writes to an eighth-grade level. And no one wants to read at a postgraduate level all the time on top-

94

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

ics they don’t know.66 As Amy Bolton said, “Not talking to them like they have a bachelor’s in science but talking to them like they’re novices in a way that’s respectful of their being adults would be great.” Often, commiserated exhibit developer Sally Love, “writers get most of the abuse.”67 As Kara Blond said, “There is an impression that this process of communication is not a unique set of skills,” that anyone can teach or “come up with creative ways to tell stories that connect with visitors.”68 But these skills are based on training, research, and many years of honing methods for communicating to broad publics. As Shari Werb, assistant director for education and outreach, said, It’s hard to be valued for that though. It’s kind of a quiet skill. . . . It comes out of a lot of observation and a lot of methodology . . . but if done well, it looks really simple . . . it’s invisible.69

Indeed, there is ongoing research in the museum and across the Smithsonian in the fields of education, visitor studies, and evaluation, but these forms of research are often considered lesser forms of knowledge production. Even cultural anthropologists in the building, like myself, take heat from the other sciences about the validity of their research. Unfortunately, different epistemological traditions in education and evaluation are ghettoized and openly criticized by many curators both at meetings and in the hallways. To wield power as an educator, according to Amy Bolton, “you have to have your feet firmly grounded in the pedagogy and the philosophy, especially in a building like this where it’s a science building. Otherwise, it comes across as weak. And resistance to it, to be able to articulate it, that’s really important.”70 For education and evaluation professionals, the problem is greatly exacerbated by other institutional hierarchies. Exhibits and Education staff often discuss strategies for how to better communicate their work to other museum departments, particularly scientific ones, for this reason. There’s a strong sense among researchers and outreach staff that one group doesn’t really understand what the other does, or how important it is. There is a sentiment among both Exhibits and Education staff that curators don’t respect their expertise. Training, Background, and Discipline Unlike scientific disciplines, a PhD is not often needed to have expertise in exhibits planning and outreach, knowing or understanding visitors, doing audiovisual or mount-making work, or managing large projects. In the last forty years the Education and Exhibits departments have, as Jona-

Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

95

than Coddington put it, “come into their own as professional centers of expertise.”71 Yet in large part this expertise draws on best practices and disciplinary standards, many years of experience and training, and the mentorship of previous experts more than advanced degrees. While most upper-level Exhibits and Education staff had master’s degrees in a relevant field, some even in the sciences, the staff that I interviewed had incredibly varied pathways that led them to their current work. Three of the exhibit developers/managers on my floor had master’s degrees in museum studies. Kara Blond and the educational specialist on the project, Amy Bolton, had been journalists who later got specialized master’s degrees in learning design and technology and education and instructional technology, respectively. Angela Roberts Reeder, the main exhibit writer for Deep Time, had worked for the Princeton Review for many years, received a master’s degree from George Washington University in museum education, and then trained at the Office of Exhibits Central (OEC) before joining the NMNH staff. Mike Lawrence, the chief of design, had pursued arts and education, then a master’s in architecture, and had been an architect with a firm that had done other museum projects at NMNH before becoming an NMNH exhibit designer. As Amy Bolton said of her own experience, it was not, “a straight linear path from beginning to end. . . . It’s more of an amalgamation of skills and perspectives that actually make sense, when you look at it from the big picture.”72 Curators have a much more predictable trajectory. It’s a prerequisite for the job. When I asked how each curator became interested in what they did, they often related that they began with a childhood interest, liked science in high school, went to college and majored in some relevant area, had an important professorial mentor who encouraged them to continue into graduate school, and did a postdoc or two. Then, they applied for a Smithsonian curatorial job. Today, you generally need a PhD to be hired as a curator at the NMNH. As I know well, PhDs require a huge commitment to a single, very specialized field. Of course there are different individual trajectories among the curators—Kay Behrensmeyer, for instance, had been an art major when she started college—and their in-between jobs and steps, the places they studied and the theoretical paradigm they studied under, and the circumstances of how they got started in the field differ not inconsequentially. Nevertheless, their current jobs are the result of a lifetime of career development and training in a specialized research field. This is not to say that exhibits work is not specialized, because it is. But Exhibits staff in many cases never knew that the jobs they have now existed, or that they would end up working in them. As I illustrate, historically many of these jobs did not, in fact, exist.

96

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Exhibit and outreach staff pride themselves on being able to work in teams. They also pride themselves on their ability to accept others’ knowledge and perspectives. While much scientific work, especially today, is collaborative, a research career at its core is an individual enterprise. It is up to individual scientists to defend the importance (and accuracy) of their work and ideas, certainly when applying for jobs, but also when giving talks or interacting among other scientists. As Jonathan Coddington articulated, “PhDs are a license to think, and you will thereafter become basically a self-employed intellectual entrepreneur. You’d better learn how to do it by yourself using just the resources available.”73 It is apparent that sometimes curators misrecognize exhibit meetings as scientific seminars, or assume (wrongly) that all colleagues communicate in the same way they do. Generally, curators speak much more often and for much longer than the other in-house team members. At the same time, individuals can create reputations for themselves that transcend disciplinary stereotypes. As Amy Bolton put it, “The community might have a general impression of your department, but they can hold your reputation separate from that, which I found out pretty early.”74 In textual production, it is also true that two main roles, curators and exhibit writers, are experts in writing, although of very different kinds. Although I did not observe the process of scripting labels for the permanent or temporary Paleo hall, I heard about the process in relation to other smaller displays, such as a temporary T. rex display installed in the Constitution Avenue lobby in January 2014 and in interviews. I also reviewed many previous script drafts with curatorial edits in the archives. In addition, I saw debates about phrasing in some early formative documents. This is one of the main areas where disciplinary training and cultures clash. To a curator, many exhibit scripts for labels look a lot like manuscripts that research scientists review and produce in their scholarly work. Scripts are circulated as long, double-spaced typed documents in ordinary letter size. However, unlike a manuscript, text from these documents, in the end, will appear as very differently sized pieces, broken up in blocks of different colors and backgrounds: So, they look like a manuscript. They [scientists] will often think that every word in the exhibit script is important, but what they don’t realize is that some of the exhibit script will be in a smaller font, but the titles are going to be in sixty-fourpoint type.75

Exhibit writers are accustomed to thinking about levels of text, and how text will manifest once designers have contextualized it. Curators are also clearly concerned about what their scholarly colleagues will think about

Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

97

finished label content, whereas writers are concerned only about visitor understanding. Some of these tensions arise because most curators in the museum rarely, if ever, work on exhibits (or go in them). This prevents, as Kara Blond described, “curator[s] learning from one exhibit to the next.”76 Each process requires initiating a new curator from a new department and field of study into the exhibition process. The process is so complex that “we’ve tried to get curators from past projects to talk to the curators from new projects, but it tends to be of limited help.” Until you’re in the process, “I don’t know if you quite get what you’re buying into.”77 Thus, even among a group of graduate-educated, English-speaking museum professionals at a single institution, projects are produced and received in different cultural systems so that “meaning is never simply mimetic and transparent.”78 Literary theorist and philosopher Mikhail Bakhtin offers another way to think about these translations: while the form of communication may be similar, the thoughts embedded in them are contextual and heteroglossic, or expressing multiple viewpoints. In exhibit meetings and in associated documents where individuals try to creatively describe emergent ideas and physical forms, there is a “minimum level of comprehension in practical communication.” Yet what each person says is really only fully understood by people of a similar role or discipline. It is not universally understood, and is in fact often misunderstood, by those who represent other professional practices.79

Exhibit Meeting Frictions and Complimentarities There is an ebb and flow to meetings, and also a constant movement between group cohesion and individuals’ differing perspectives. Slowly, translation across expertise generates a shared group language.

Friction in the Articulation of Roles Participants oscillate between implicit and explicit articulation of their roles, constantly code-switching between disciplinary, group, and colloquial language. In my written meeting notes, I made sure to take down when a sentence was using the plural subject “we” pertaining to the whole group, “we” pertaining to a departmental or disciplinary group, or the singular “I.” Sometimes the plural “we” notated group language and imagining. In other instances “we” pertained to a departmental or disciplinary

98

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

expertise. The singular “I” (I think, I’m not sure that . . .) or possessive “my” (my thinking is that . . .) often also implied departmental and disciplinary expertise, although more implicitly. Occasionally, it was noticeable that someone was asserting their role in the process because they jumped into a conversation within their particular domain. Amy Bolton might, for instance, interject a question about visitor learning into a conversation among curators about a scientific topic. Such articulations were made explicit in two ways: First, when a member of the group turned to a person with a specific expertise (e.g., “Well maybe, Amy, this is where you might have something to say about this”). A nonexpert was thus volleying to a topic expert. Second, roles were made explicit by the person speaking—experts or nonexperts of a topic would assert their own roles in relation to the topic when expressing their own knowledge (“From a visitor experience perspective I would say that . . .”) or, alternatively, to humbly suggest an opinion they had no particular expertise on (“I’m not an educator, but . . .” or “I’m just the writer, but . . .”). It is clear that sometimes this shift in voice asserted authority. In other instances it was a form of humility in a room of big personalities (“I might just be the developer, but . . .”). Curators were more likely to assert this authority in plural form, saying things in reference to their field (“Paleobotanists tend to think that . . .”). There are also tensions within different roles. For instance, designers described feeling conflicted between their roles in the aesthetic elements of the design, their role as communicators of content and messaging, and their role in placing or displaying objects: “Especially in the beginning,” Fang-Pin Lee said, “they’re not together, and it’s how you play against the tension of all three elements to find that rhythm or form that will satisfy all the requirements.”80

Translating Frictions Translation is likewise both implicit and explicit. When translations were explicit, members of the group might ask for a definition of another team member’s expressions, or they might joke about the act of translation itself. In early meetings, Fang-Pin Lee and the other designers used the term “move” (e.g., “that would be a big move”) until Scott Wing finally interjected with, “I’m sorry, but can you define move for us?” A “move,” FangPin Lee explained, was a large design element that characterized a space.81 As Angela Roberts Reeder said, such disciplinary terminology, while “necessary for the type of work that the experts do,” isn’t always understandable

Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

99

to those without that expertise.82 Much of the team’s early work necessarily involved translating across these languages. Likewise, certain scientific terms, because they are aligned with areas of exhibit design, have to be defined for the group. As Richard Lewis related, one of the biggest skills for all of the nonpaleontologists at meetings was to become conversant enough in the field to engage with group conversations: We want to be in a position where the people who are the most knowledgeable in the world about a particular subject can feel like they’re having a conversation with us and we’re holding up our end.83

Likewise, Kara Blond said, “You need to know enough of those languages to translate across them.”84 In her previous life as a reporter, she had to be conversant enough in court language to ask good questions while being able to clarify unfamiliar statements or terms, to be able to say, “That word in particular could mean thirty different things. Which of those meanings do you intend?”85 Indeed, Kara said, “the advantage of being a generalist is that you don’t know those languages.”86 Angela Roberts Reeder similarly conveyed the importance of having nonexperts in the content of the exhibit, saying, “I think that’s one of the advantages of having a writer who isn’t a subject expert. I can sit in a meeting with our curators and ask the questions that our visitors need me to ask in order to get at the essence of the story.”87 There are other kinds of translations that take place when non–Core Team staff attend meetings, and the Core Team has to translate terms that have become adopted as group language. Such group terminology often developed in a matter of hours before becoming common groupspeak. Throughout the process, the exhibit developer/project manager has the job of translating across the different expertises. Exhibits team members also have to translate the vast numbers of perspectives and expertises involved in other parts of the building renovation and development.88

Friction as Political Work Each member of the team, particularly at the early stages, is experimenting with how best to articulate their argument, convince others of their ideas, or see their ideas come to fruition. As media designer Richard Lewis articulated, the uniqueness of Smithsonian exhibit planning is that, rather than dealing with one charismatic individual, lots of people are at the table, “each of whom does have some degree of power. Each of whom has some authority that they can actually wield.”89

100

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

With multiple big personalities at the table, it’s sometimes difficult, intimidating, or frustrating for nonscientists to assert their ideas and expertise. As Kara Blond said of this process, “some of it is being willing to stand up for what you think is right even in the face of a pretty hot response or a lot of pushback. And some of it is knowing when to fold.”90 In literature on the anthropology of politics, Fredrick Bailey writes about the ways that politics are not only about how individuals “advance themselves” but what “tactics” are employed, which work similarly “whether it is a principle or an individual which is being advanced.”91 These game tactics for certain ideological positions are certainly at play in meetings. However, as I mentioned elsewhere, normative tactics for these debates are not always shared. This was one of the biggest challenges for many audience advocates. As Angela Roberts Reeder told me, “I really have to think about what battles are worth fighting; how to negotiate and then where to say no. I’m still navigating that.”92 Even as the group develops a rapport and set of shared expressions and ideas, new people, visitors, or guests to these meetings redefine such tactics. At the beginning of the second workshop where Paleo department staff were invited, the exhibit developer commented that “Scott has offered to translate.” Scott Wing replied, “Yes, I’m UN certified.” Meetings are thus not only about planning among the Core Team. Core Team meetings and other affiliated meetings with the exhibit can be used to strategically include other staff or important players in the process. This encouragement of “buy-in” is true more broadly of meetings at the museum. As Kay Behrensmeyer said of her time as associate director for science, assembling meetings becomes a “kind of creative communications design” in which actors or resources can be mobilized.93 In interviews, perhaps because the exhibit was at an early stage, Core Team staff were reluctant to talk about who would have final say on any particular aspect of the exhibit. As Amy Bolton said, I’m really curious to see what happens when we start saying things like, “The marine stuff has to go.” And then what happens when the marine curators get wind of that one. I think Matt [Carrano] is working really hard to get as much input ahead of time as possible. But I think the hard decisions are going to come, and I’m not really sure how that’s going work. Nobody wants to vote. I think some people will relinquish, I’m not sure. I’m not really sure.

When pressed about whether the final say was more likely to reside with curators than, say, the exhibit developer, Amy Bolton continued: “I think it’s the curators. My impression is it’s the curators.” (This is my clear

Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

101

Figure 2.10. Exhibit meeting with Deep Time Temporary and Core Exhibit Teams and Sant Director Kirk Johnson, May 2013. Photo by the author.

impression, too.) When I asked about final decisions further along in the process, Kara Blond noted that “it’s clearly not always consensus. Most things get worked out in the process . . . it’s a rare argument that ends up having to get a higher level in decision-making, but it happens.”94 This is where additional teams come in. The exhibit process requires a breadth of expertise beyond the Core Team, especially as it moves into more developed stages. To start, two main in-house teams—the Advisory/Extended Team and the Approval Team—are directly involved in planning. Beyond that, many teams are involved in other elements of the project.

Complementary Group Imaginings Many ideas and terms are tossed into meeting conversations. Some of them are volleyed among the group. Some are offered once and then never return. Of those that are volleyed, a few stick, and these become shared group expressions. Sometimes expressions emerge after a great deal of argument. Other times this process happens organically. My favorite of these was during a discussion in the second workshop. The group was wrestling with how to illustrate past environments when

102

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

there are holes in the fossil record. Kay Behrensmeyer offered the comment: “We can’t say we’re not going to do it because we don’t have all the data—it’s an informed imagination.” Minutes later, that term was echoed by two other curators in the room, one saying, “Everyone knows we don’t know everything . . . who else can give it a stab than the people in the room? Some dates are irrefutable. Others are unknown. As Kay Behrensmeyer said, it’s an ‘informed imagination.’”95 Group cohesion also happens through the invention or adoption of shared terminology for specific elements in the proto-exhibit design. One such term was “porkchops,” which began to be used to describe the uncannily porkchop-shaped placeholders in the exhibit design drawings for content that would take up floor space (any space that was not a thruway). It became common in the design process to have elaborate conversations about what was going to be in this or that “porkchop,” or how much space the “porkchops” were taking up. These terms are important not only because they are used to discuss imagined spaces and things but also because they help to form the group’s shared identity though language and joking. There are also parallels in thinking between some of the fields of expertise at the table. For instance, designer Fang-Pin Lee said of scientists’ practice, The way that scientists think about the world and the way they analyze, and they debate, and try to think of hypotheses, is not too dissimilar from the way designers have been trained to think creatively, and analyze, and problem-solve. . . . And I’m so glad that . . . when I chose to study design, I still ended up doing science.96

These parallels can be creatively refreshing and professionally rewarding.

Creativity and Innovation as Complementarity Many tension-filled discussions render highly creative and hybrid solutions to group problems. Many staff found working with other experts to be one of their most professionally exciting and rewarding experiences, despite differences of opinion and practice and despite the many outward or gossiped-about frictions I encountered. It was at these boundaries of knowledge and perspective that many people found themselves the most inspired and driven to do good work. As Fang-Pin Lee said of working with interdisciplinary teams, I was inspired mostly probably by curators and their passion for what they do, their extreme passion for what they do. And their fascination and their relentlessness.

Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

103

And so, working with them directly has probably been one of my greatest pleasures in my work and going behind the scenes, interacting with them, arguing with them, celebrating with them.97

While some of this work can thus be difficult, writers and other exhibits staff do feel that having in-house scientists as resources is a distinct advantage. As Reeder said: Having more access to the scientists and subject specialists . . . has been great. And the scientists that we have here want to get their message out. For the most part, they’ve all been willing to work with me and it’s been really great.98

As Kim Moeller, in-house designer (and previous graphics supervisor), said of the process, I think once you go through a project together, you have a much better understanding about how projects work to make it an exhibit and what people’s roles are and what their talents are and their education is, and all of those things . . . and there’s a huge amount of respect. . . . By the end of that project, whether its six months later or a year later or five years later, you get it. You all get it.99

Initial frictions and negotiations thus also forge important relationships and levels of respect across disciplines that ordinarily remain siloed in the museum.

Conclusion This chapter has described group dynamics in exhibits planning, drawing on ethnographic methods of observation and in-depth interviews with Deep Time’s various experts. In a project as large as Deep Time’s, the number of people involved in the exhibit development process grows exponentially as it progresses. I used my own experience and observations as an entry into understanding the ways that these various experts are spatially and disciplinarily divided in the museum and how the roles of power and perception play into how these experts relate to each other. Meetings are unique in that experts operating in different disciplinary fields, modes of communication, and professional cultures come together to exchange ideas and vie for conceptual power. Importantly (as we will see again in chapter 4 on content development), unique spaces of complementarity often emerge where paradoxical missions and values collide. These complementarities are described as professionally difficult but important for balanced, imaginative, and creative exhibit development.

104

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

In the next chapter, I describe the roots of these frictions and the development of collaborative exhibits processes with the influx of new expertise in the museum from the Smithsonian’s postwar Exhibits Modernization program to now.

Notes 1. “Creating Exhibits: Policies and Practices of the Department of Public Programs, National Museum of Natural History, June 5, 1998, Draft with Modifications 2/04, Internal Report.” (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution, 2004 [1998]). 2. Erving Goffman, The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life (New York: Doubleday, 1959). 3. Frederick George Bailey, Stratagems and Spoils: A Social Anthropology of Politics (New York: Schocken Books, 1969). 4. Homi K. Bhabha, The Location of Culture (New York: Routledge, 1994). 5. See Jennifer Shannon, Our Lives: Collaboration, Native Voice, and the Making of the National Museum of the American Indian (Santa Fe, NM: School for Advanced Research Press, 2014); Douglas R. Holmes and George E. Marcus, “Para-Ethnography and the Rise of the Symbolic Analyst,” in Frontiers of Capital: Ethnographic Reflections on the New Economy, ed. Melissa S. Fisher and Greg Downey (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2006), 33–57; Douglas R. Holmes and George E. Marcus, “Cultures of Expertise and the Management of Globalization: Toward the Re-functioning of Ethnography,” in Global Assemblages: Technology, Politics, and Ethics as Anthropological Problems, ed. Aihwa Ong and Stephen J. Collier (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2005), 235–53. 6. “Office of Protection Services,” Smithsonian Institution, retrieved 14 January 2014 from http://www.ops.si.edu/PSIO.html. 7. “Internship Registration and Orientation Guide,” Smithsonian Institution, retrieved 14 January 2014 from http://www.nmnh.si.edu/rtp/other_opps/ guide_internships.html. 8. Technically there are six categories: adjunct scientist, research associate, research collaborator, student, fellow, and intern. 9. “SD 323 Use of Funds Handbook: Spending Policy for Federal and Trust Funds,” May 2018 (v. 7.0). Internal Policy Document (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution, 2018), 32. This policy seems to be changing, as evidenced by the 2018 Smithsonian staff picnic to which contractors are invited. Contracting culture also varies from department to department. 10. Bolton 6.26.13. 11. Siobhan Starrs, personal correspondence, 30 April 2018. 12. Some shop staff are even unionized and have much stricter hour regulations; ibid.

Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

105

13. “Natural History in the Age of Humans: A Plan for the National Museum, NMNH Strategic Plan 2016-2020,” Smithsonian Institution, retrieved 6 December 2018 from https://naturalhistory.si.edu/sites/default/files/media/file/ NMNH_StrategicPlan_2016-2020_accessible.pdf, 10. 14. “Understanding Diversity within the National Museum of Natural History: A Preliminary Report of NMNH Community Perceptions of Current Workplace Diversity,” Office of Policy and Analysis, March 2012, Smithsonian Institution, retrieved 5 April 2018 from https://soar.si.edu/sites/default/files/ reports/12.03.nmnhdiversitypreliminary.final.pdf. 15. Reeder 7.31.13. 16. Siobhan Starrs, personal correspondence, 30 April 2018. 17. Ibid. 18. Ibid. 19. Reeder 7.31.13. 20. Ibid. 21. Reeder and others 7.31.13. 22. Bolton 6.26.13. 23. Siobhan Starrs, personal correspondence, 30 April 2018. 24. Coddington 9.19.13. 25. Behrensmeyer 6.3.13. 26. Ibid., 3. 27. Dolovich 8.14.13. 28. Lee and Dolovich 8.14.13. 29. Ibid. 30. Ibid. 31. Blond 7.1.13. 32. Ibid. 33. Jabo 6.25.13; Kroehler 6.27.13. 34. Pinsdorf 6.21.13. 35. Siobhan Starrs, personal correspondence, 30 April 2018. 36. Wing 8.16.13. 37. At the time of writing this book, the exhibition has a total budget of about $44 million, with more needed to fund future maintenance, updates, or other educational or research initiatives. Michael Lawrence, personal correspondence, 20 March 2018. 38. “New Amendment for Exhibition Design Services: Smithsonian Institution, National Museum of Natural History Paleontology Halls ‘Deep Time’ Exhibition—T12sol10027,” Washington, DC: Government Services Administration, retrieved 15 May 2014 from https://Www.Fbo.Gov/Index ?S=Opportunity&Mode=Form&Id=A17854fb9640c10dd40d587f9855f1a 2&Tab=Core&_Cview=1. 39. Ibid. 40. Holmes and Marcus, “Para-Ethnography” and “Cultures of Expertise”; also see Daniel Reichman, “Migration and Paraethnography in Honduras,” American Ethnologist 38, no. 3 (2011): 548–58.

106

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

41. Jennifer Shannon, “An Ethnography of ‘Our Lives’: Collaboration, Native Voice, and the Making of the National Museum of the American Indian” (PhD diss., Cornell University, 2008), 15. 42. Ibid., 10. 43. Angela Roberts Reeder, “Putting Dinosaurs in Their Place: Concept Script for Paleobiology Temporary Exhibition,” Internal Report, 2013, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC, 8. 44. Goffman, Presentation of Self. 45. Bailey, Stratagems and Spoils, 5. 46. Bailey, Stratagems and Spoils. 47. Bhabha, The Location of Culture, 5. 48. Ibid., 335. 49. Bolton 6.26.13. 50. This date is probably incorrect, anyway. 51. Reeder 7.31.13. 52. Coddington 9.19.13. 53. Ibid. 54. Ibid. 55. Love 8.7.13. 56. Werb 9.6.13. 57. Ibid. 58. Blond 7.1.13. 59. Reeder 7.31.13. 60. Bolton 6.26.13. 61. Ibid. 62. Ibid. 63. Werb 9.6.13. 64. Ibid. 65. Ibid. 66. Ibid. 67. Bolton 6.26.13; Love 8.7.13. 68. Blond 7.1.13. 69. Werb 9.6.13. 70. Bolton 6.26.13. 71. Coddington 1.10.14. 72. Bolton 6.26.13. 73. Coddington 9.19.13. 74. Bolton 6.26.13. 75. Coddington 9.19.13. 76. Blond 7.1.13. 77. Ibid. 78. Bhabha, Location of Culture, 36. 79. Mikhail Bakhtin, The Dialogic Imagination (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1991), 270–71. 80. Lee 8.14.13.

Group Dynamics: Exhibit Meetings and Expertise

81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91. 92. 93. 94. 95. 96. 97. 98. 99.

107

Lee 2.5.13. Reeder 7.31.13. Lewis 8.3.13. Blond 7.1.13. Ibid. Ibid. Reeder 7.31.13. This is particularly important because “the relationship between the facility side of the house and the museum side of the house is really the most critical relationship, because it’s where the rubber meets the road,” Blond 7.1.13. Lewis 8.2.13. Blond 7.1.13. Bailey, Stratagems and Spoils, 5. Reeder 7.31.13. Behrensmeyer 6.3.13. Blond 7.1.13. Behrensmeyer 6.3.13; Sues 1.3.13. Lee 8.14.13. Ibid. Reeder 7.31.13. Moeller 6.12.13.

Chapter 3

Group Dynamics The Roots of Team Frictions and Complementarities The political intricacies, group processes, and roles that we have seen so far have been shaped by a series of institutional and disciplinary changes at the Smithsonian that took place from the postwar period onward. This chapter is about those changes—namely the steady growth of niche specializations in both the research and outreach sides of the museum and fiscal changes in the late-1980s that led to the increased use of outside contracts for exhibits work. These, in turn, led to interdisciplinary teams producing exhibits alongside large-scale contracted design firms. I describe two major movements in exhibits production that set the stage for the process of exhibit-making today. The first is the emergence of museum disciplines and expertises. These were institutionalized into distinct organizational units from the 1950s onward, beginning with the birth of exhibit design as a distinct field. The second is the process through which different experts (speaking different disciplinary languages and practicing distinct professional cultural conventions) increasingly came together to produce exhibits. The 1950s marked the introduction of exhibit design as a standalone field. Up to that time, curators, with the help of their assistants and preparators, would improve exhibits largely by cutting out things they felt were unnecessary or outdated, adding more “attractive” specimens, reordering objects, or adding a small map, painting, piece of text, or, if they wanted to be fancy, lantern slides.1 Recall that even in 1944, Charles Gilmore outlined the daily work of the scientific staff as dominated by correspondence, collections work, and research, with only 10 percent devoted to visitor interactions. The postwar era saw the birth of many new specializations. This professionalization of museum fields created a dramatic shift in the role of the curator and in institutional culture at the museum.

Group Dynamics: Roots of Team Frictions

109

Modernization: The Birth of Professionalized Design and “Paleobiology” In the post–World War II era, ideas about how visitors might encounter exhibits or learn in them were changing. Exhibits that attempted “to be a text book, with illustrations and objects supporting the text” were criticized.2 Rather, going to a museum was more like other informal learning environments such as Sunday school, where students “will carry out their part of the learning process when it is attractive to do so.”3 World’s fairs in the 1930s had popularized new, daring aesthetics for exhibits, using bright colors, bold shapes, and modern fonts. The term design, formerly reserved for furniture, architecture, automobiles, home and store interiors, and show windows, became adopted in museums. “Exhibit designers,” a wholly new term, were now being employed at department stores and trade shows to design windows and displays.4 By contrast, exhibits in the U.S. National Museum (USNM), forsaken in the Depression and war eras, had become “badly out of date and in need of drastic renovation.”5 As we will see in chapter 6, thanks to the legwork of a number of the Smithsonian’s leadership, by 1953 Congress approved a $360,000 appropriation for Exhibits Modernization—a comprehensive program to revitalize Smithsonian exhibits.6 Whereas previously individual departments had internal staff working on exhibits, the Exhibits Modernization program signaled a centralization of exhibits work and the cultivation of teams of exhibit-centered staff. By 1954, exhibits specialist John E. Anglim had a staff of five exhibits workers.7 By 1955, the staff increased to eight.8 By 1956, with Secretary Leonard Carmichael’s formal formation of an Office of Exhibits under Assistant Director Frank Taylor, Anglim was promoted to chief exhibits specialist. In that role, Anglim supervised two exhibits specialists, Rolland O. Howard and Benjamin Lawless, and the museum’s first exhibit designer, William D. Crockett, who was promoted from his role as a departmental artist. From there, staff devoted to exhibits grew exponentially, including two assistants specifically devoted to the Exhibits Modernization program.9

Exhibits Expertise By the 1960s, professional designers were thinking differently about text. Their hierarchized “scripts” were silk-screened onto the walls in bright colors. To write good labels, the author “must be able to divorce him-

110

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

self from curatorial attitudes and look upon his writing from the vantage point of a lay viewer without specialized knowledge.”10 Further, labels no longer merely described individual things but were meant to tell a story, encountered in sequence. As they had with lighting, exhibits professionals borrowed the idea of exhibits “scripts” from theatrical models. The 1950s marked the first use of the term “themes” to describe exhibit content. It became clear that alongside designers, the Smithsonian would need to find writing professionals to produce exhibit text. By 1960, USNM Exhibits had its first editor of exhibits labels, Joseph G. Weiner.11 Weiner, in a later document, reflected on the state of affairs when he arrived: The labels continued to remain a problem of the first order. They were long, typographically unattractive, and frequently grammatically faulty and couched in belletristic style or in esoteric scientific and technological circumlocutions.12

Textual production began to involve a clash of expertise. Curators had difficulty distilling their ideas and descriptions into simpler text. Weiner reflected: It took a certain amount of diplomacy to convince a scientist that he would not be less well regarded by his colleagues if he permitted an animal “having unguligrade locomotion” simply to “walk on its hooves.”13

By 1958, there was a new standard procedure in place for curators to submit exhibit scripts via the director’s office to Exhibits.14 New professionals devoted to design and writing thus generated a new internal cultural dynamic at the museum. Frank Taylor, the new director of the USNM beginning in 1962, later recalled that the changes “sort of surprised, and in some cases, shocked old-line curators” as designers felt equally entitled to “a prestigious status in the Smithsonian.”15 Thus began the sometimes fractious and otherwise creative tension between curators and exhibits professionals. As Post writes, “To designers, curators often seemed terminally unimaginative. Curators saw designers as touchy, irreverent, and ‘given to gimmicks.’”16 Moreover, as Taylor commented, “The basic problem here is that most (not all) curators consider exhibits a nuisance.”17

Modernized Paleo Exhibits Planning The first fossil exhibits to be produced under this new paradigm were designed by Ann Karras and, later, Barbara Craig. In 1958 Karras toured

Group Dynamics: Roots of Team Frictions

111

other natural history museums that had recently refurbished their fossil halls. Upon her return, she reported that the concept behind exhibit choices, rather than design approach, “controls the success of the artistic endeavor.”18 With this philosophy of conceptual thinking guiding design and specimen choice, Karras and the Office of Exhibits began planning a series of four paleontology halls: Fossil Plants & Invertebrates, Fossil Fishes and Amphibians, and Prehistoric Mammals, all of which opened in 1961, and Dinosaurs and Other Fossil Reptiles, which opened in 1963. In total, the exhibits team working on these new halls included seventeen people—three curators, three designers, two renovation supervisors, three renovation assistants, an exhibits specialist, two artists, a vertebrate paleontology prep lab chief, and two vertebrate preparators. Curators David H. Dunkle, C. Lewis Gazin, and Nicholas Hotton III were “tasked with content, script writing, object lists”; Exhibits and production staff were to “do all construction, lighting, painting, silk screen printing, plastics work, metal fabrication, specimen installation, graphics, illustration.” They included: Designers: Ann Karras, Barbara Craig, Chris Karras Renovation Supervisor: Rolland Hower, John Anglim Renovation Assistants: Thomas Baker, Peter DeAnna, Julius Tretick Exhibits Specialists: A. Joseph Andrews Artists: Jay H. Matternes, Norman Neal Deaton Preparators Franklin Pearce (vertebrate paleontology exhibits specialist and head of the lab), Leroy “Bill” Glenn, Jr., and Gladwyn “Tut” Sullivan would “install the skeletons mounted on rough panels” and “use hardware cloth and plaster to form the necessary contours and textured backgrounds to attain the effect desired by the designer.”19 For the first time, the exhibition was a true team effort, with more exhibits staff than curators.20

The Disciplining of Paleobiology Paleontology was growing as a specialized discipline as well. In the wake of the Soviet Union launch of Sputnik 1 on 4 October 1957, the U.S. government began pouring money into science. Across its units, the Smithsonian saw a huge increase in its scientific staff and their budgets.21 The fields of mineralogy and oceanography, both of which had many crossovers with paleontological science, received particularly large allocations. Invertebrate paleontology, in particular, benefited greatly from this new support. Rich-

112

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

ard Fiske, volcanologist and later director, described the period as a hiring “orgy.”22 And, at long last, Congress approved funds (plans had been approved in 1930) for new wing additions to the building.23 The head curator of geology at the time, G. Arthur “Gus” Cooper, harnessed this momentum. Cooper had arrived in 1930, and by the time the war ended, he knew that research interests in paleontology were changing. Cooper was a taxonomist and stratigrapher, both traditional pursuits in paleontology. However, he also amassed specimens from whole populations and pioneered new invertebrate research techniques, such as acid preparation—the process of extracting fossils by dissolving their surrounding rock. Under his leadership, studies of populations, ecosystems, taphonomy, and systematics—the study of diversification and relationships—became foci for the department.24 This new emphasis and associated research needs—including the kinds of lab facilities desired—made paleontology (including the Division of Invertebrate Paleontology and Paleobotany and the Division of Vertebrate Paleontology) increasingly distinct from mineral sciences (the Division of Mineralogy and Petrology).25 This, in turn, made it difficult to share resource allocations and spaces, staff, and goals within the umbrella Geology Department. The newly funded wings provided major opportunities to nurture new departmental research spaces. Cooper’s greatest institutional strategy was to insist that his staff in Paleobiology worked in “labs,” not “offices.” When the East Wing was completed, paleontology had four floors, full of large labs at the perimeter, each with a soapstone sink and room for multiple desks, and massive collections spaces at the center. Not long before, U.S Geological Survey (USGS) staff in Paleontology had moved into the Natural History Buidling (NHB), bolstering research culture.26 The East Wing integrated the former paleontology divisions and the USGS staff—a new research culture emerged. In this fresh space, Cooper founded the newly named Department of Paleobiology, and split off another new Department of Mineral Sciences. The year 1963 therefore was a landmark for Paleobiology. Just as the new Dinosaurs and Other Fossil Reptiles opened, the East Wing was completed and occupied, and Paleobiology became a discrete department filled with increasing numbers of specialized experts in their fields. This coincided with the arrival of Dillon Ripley, who encouraged more highstatus scholarly hiring and publishing, and thus increased the specialization and expectations of scientists at the museum. As later director T. Dale Stewart noted in 1965, “Few museum curators can be considered broad naturalists in the sense of some of their predecessors.”27 It was in this context of increased departmental specialization for both Paleobiology and Exhibits that the new ice age hall would be renovated.

Group Dynamics: Roots of Team Frictions

113

Early Interdisciplinary Exhibit Planning The fossil halls of the early 1960s were some of the last to be conceived as discrete spaces directed by individual curators with the help of professional designers. The new ice age hall, or Hall of Quaternary Vertebrates, was the first Paleo exhibit planned by a team “composed of curators and exhibits specialists.”28 The shift was not necessarily a smooth one. The curator for the hall was Clayton Ray, who had been hired in late 1963. Lucius “Lou” Lomax was exhibit designer. The details are still somewhat unclear, but there seems to have been conflict between Ray and Lomax, such that Ray dropped the project entirely after many years of preparation and collection. Paleobotanist Leo Hickey was asked by Director Porter Kier to take over the Ice Age project alongside Robert Emry (vertebrate paleontologist), Thomas Simkin (a volcanologist from Mineral Sciences) and William Fitzhugh (an archaeologist from Anthropology). They formed the first interdisciplinary curatorial team to produce an exhibit.29 The hall was entirely reconceived and reordered along new multidisciplinary, thematic lines. When it opened, Kier reported that this new exhibition was the first in a “series of new exhibits that will enrich considerably the Museum’s educational impact” through a new “multidisciplinary” approach that pulled “objects from the paleontology, mineral science, and anthropology collections, into a thematic context.”30 Despite a rocky start and a midproject curatorial shift, the Hall of Quaternary Vertebrates thus became the prototype for the exhibits to come. In addition to being planned by multiple curators from different disciplines, exhibits were also beginning to be more collaboratively overseen by research and nonresearch staff. The museum had formed an in-house Exhibits Committee in 1970 as “a first step in the Museum’s desire to seek new directions in exhibitry” and to keep the director informed about activity in exhibits.31 But the committee became interdisciplinary during Kier’s tenure. On 18 March 1973 Harry T. Hart was appointed the first chief of the Office of Exhibits at the NMNH. He and Leo Hickey worked to forge a group that would bridge the research and exhibits staff.32 By 1974 they had institutionalized consultation with noncurators through a committee that included curatorial “members” and noncuratorial “associates”: Frictions that emerged during this major shift are well documented. For instance, in a note to Benjamin Lawless, assistant chief of exhibits, curator Nicholas Hotton III resisted word restrictions on exhibit labels, submitting texts far over the Exhibits-approved length: It was suggested that the basic explanation for the entire case be restricted to 250 words, specimen labels being extra. The submitted material comes to 377 words,

114

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Table 3.1. Director’s Committee for Exhibits at the NMNH.33

DIRECTOR’S COMMITTEE FOR EXHIBITS—NMNH Members

Department

Thomas E. Bowman

Invertebrate Zoology

W. Donald Duckworth (Vice Chairman)

Entomology

William W. Fitzhugh

Anthropology

Leo J. Hickey (Chairman)

Paleobiology

Thomas E. Simkin

Mineral Sciences

Thomas R. Soderstrom

Botany

George R. Zug

Vertebrate Zoology

Associates Harry T. Hart

Exhibits

Joan C. Madden

Education

James F. Mello

Office of the Director

Exhibits Committee Office Robert D. Seabolt, Administrative Assistant Judy Cash, Secretary but the last two paragraphs can be used as subordinate labels of some sort, leaving a remainder of 239 words. However, I feel that concepts of systematics and evolution, as illustrated by this case, cannot be adequately expressed in fewer words than the total number used here.34

Similar curatorial protestations continue today. Likewise there were debates about including noncuratorial staff in exhibits meetings. For instance, the Exhibits Committee debated whether Joan Madden, newly appointed coordinator in the Office of Education, should attend or receive minutes: Dr. Hickey opposed this and the Committee in general felt that it should serve as a source of professional advice for the director as well as liaison with the Exhibits office and the staff. . . . Some committee members felt that a special interest representative could come at appropriate times. . . . The question was asked whether or not she should receive a copy of the minutes of the meeting. The committee voted against it.35

Under this new, albeit shaky, paradigm, Director Porter Kier appointed in 1977 curator Ian G. Macintyre as chairman of the working group tasked with the Paleo halls renovation project. Macintyre, an academic who oth-

Group Dynamics: Roots of Team Frictions

115

erwise studied the deep history of coral reefs, was thus tasked with coordinating a huge team of curators to plan the halls’ renovation. The original working group included: Ian G. Macintyre (Chairman)—Paleobiology (coral reef sedimentology) Daniel E. Appleman—Mineral Sciences (mineralogy) Robert J. Emry—Paleobiology (vertebrate [Cenozoic] mammals) Leo J. Hickey—Paleobiology (fossil plants) Nicholas Hotton III—Paleobiology (vertebrates, esp. mammal-like reptiles and by default dinosaurs) Kenneth M. Towe—Paleobiology (mineralogy, early atmospheres) Thomas R. Waller—Paleobiology (mollusks) The project was split into a series of phases. The project would be broken down into smaller chunks, but all of the halls were to appear to be one large, interdisciplinary complex upon completion. Each of the phases would have a core group of curators working on it, while the overall chair of the working group, Exhibits Committee, and Exhibits staff (including designers) remained constant. Table 3.2. Curatorial Staff by Exhibit Highlight for the Paleontology Hall ca. 1978.38

Highlight

No.

Scientist in Charge

Life Begins on Earth

1

Appleman & Towe

Life and the Early Atmosphere

2

Appleman & Towe

Origin and Early History of Invertebrates

3

Waller

Origin and Early History of Vertebrates

4

Hotton

Conquest of Land—Emergence of Life

5

Macintyre

Radiation of Reptiles

6

Hotton

Flight

7

Hotton

Origin and Diversification of Mammals

8

Emry

Return to the Marine Environment

9

Hotton & Emry

Appearance of Flowering Plants

10

Hickey

Early History of Primates

11

Emry

Living Fossils

12

Weitzman

The Changing Earth—Effect on the Fossil Record

13

Hickey

Time and the Fossil Record

14

Appleman & Towe

Fossils and Industry

15

Hickey & Macintyre

116

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

After presenting what was called “the Plateau Statement”—essentially an exhibit proposal—to the Exhibits Committee and the director, Ian G. Macintyre invited the entire Paleobiology Department to review it, drawing on their wider expertise.36 For the first time, the entire set of halls (2, 3, 4, and 5) were conceived as a single hall, imagined and planned by an interdisciplinary group of curators.37 The team developed the idea of “highlights”—important content areas—to be showcased in each section of the exhibit. Each highlight would have a scientist assigned to oversee its content.

New Liaising Expertise There was an incredible breadth of staff in Exhibits at this time. Some thirty-seven people were employed. As of October 1978, the Office of Exhibits staff included: Administrative Eugene Behlen, Chief; William Haases, Assistant Chief; Evelyn Hooks, Secretary; Sylvia Ouzts, Secretary; Chip Clark, Guidebook Development; David Carlin, Supply Technician Insect Zoo Sheila Mutchler, Supervisor; Lynda Richards, Bruce Daniels Research Associates Peter Haas, Evolution (Hall 10); George Stanley and (vacancy) Paleontology (Halls 2, 3, 4, and 5) Writer-Editor Sue Willis Design Steve Makovenyi, David Meyersburg, Beth Miles, Richard Molinaroli, Gail Singer, Riddick Vann Illustration, Murals Wilma Riley Cabinet Shop David Christie, Supervisor; Maurice Anderson, Mike Kelton, John Kosdi, Steve Pierson, John Robers, Thomas Kuckuda, and (vacancy) Graphic Production Carl Alexander, Supervisor; Frank Braisted, Anita Levine, Marguerite Mondor, Algie Porter, Thomas Thill, Toussaint Wallace

Group Dynamics: Roots of Team Frictions

117

Audio Visuals Phillip Anderson, Calvin Price, Everett Wyman39 Such a huge staff allowed all exhibits to be completed in house.40 There were thus new important players in this process that had not been part of exhibits planning before. The first of these was an exhibits writer. Professional writers had been brought in to consult on Exhibits projects in the 1960s, but now they would more comprehensively shape communications by producing signage, guidebooks, and other publications. The Paleo halls project marked the first exhibits project to include a devoted exhibits writer for the whole process—Sue Voss (Willis).41 Voss was responsible for producing all of the scripts and label text in the halls, most of which were still in place when the halls closed in 2014. The second new player was a research associate, who would act as a liaison between the scientific staff and Exhibits. It was intended to be a two-year contract position for a person with a PhD-level education in paleobiology and an interest in public outreach, jointly supervised by Exhibits and Paleo.42 The research associate was to work between the departments on producing content briefs on curatorial content for the exhibits writer, who would produce exhibit text, which in turn would be reviewed and edited by the curators.43 The writer would also, in practice, have to navigate not only the Paleobiology and Exhibits departments at the NMNH but the community of exhibits specialists at the Office of Exhibits Central (OEC), which not only employed scriptwriters and editors but also experts in woodworking, model-making, bracketing, taxidermy, packing, and silk-screening.44 George Stanley was the first to work in this capacity from 1978 to 1980 as an invertebrate research assistant. He was jointly interviewed by chief exhibits specialist Behlen and curator Macintyre for the job, and was introduced to both the Exhibits and Paleo teams. He held offices in both places. While 80 percent of his time was on Exhibits work, he was also able to devote some time to research, supported by Paleobiology, and accompanied Kier and Macintyre on research trips.45 He also described to me the very tedious and complex process of trying to draft scripts in consultation with curators: he would circulate the drafts to the seven members of the curatorial team; they would inevitably add text and make his text more technical; then those drafts were torn apart by the Exhibits team; then he would bring a new version back to the curators, who would again try to reincorporate more and more complicated text.46 It was “a problem sometimes,” too, that Exhibits staff and artists, because they were “encouraged to be original” and “[thought] outside the box,”

118

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

often had clear and fairly set ideas about what they wanted, but didn’t “know the science.”47 Jessica Harrison was hired to act in this capacity for Vertebrate Paleontology, and stayed on through the completion of the main complex in the mid-1980s. From photographs it is evident that Jessica played a large role in communicating scientific concepts or constraints to other exhibits producers—artists, graphic designers, designers—both in and out of house at the OEC. This is the first time that anything approximating a project manager position is depicted. Another new expertise described was that of the museum evaluator. In the archives I came across a copy of an extensive annotated bibliography of museum educational and evaluation literature up through the mid-1960s. By the mid-70s, the institution had hired Robert Lakota, a behavioral psychologist, within the Office of Museum Programs to conduct studies in the halls. In addition, many other staff involved in construction, design, engineering, and safety took part in the process, as evidenced by this list of meeting participants from a Paleo Reconstruction meeting in 1984: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14.

Joseph D. Jackson President ONI John M. Baines COTR ODC Mike Iverson Project Manager ODC Keith J. Polasko Fire Protection Engineer OPS Mel Adams Chief Crafts Branch OPLANTS Joyce M. Regan Const. Prog. Coord. ODC Li Baily Design MNH Steve Pierson Supvy Exhibits Specialist NMNH Carl A. Alexander Exhibits Programmer NMNH Larry O’Reilly Asst. Director NMNH James C. Norris Super. ONI Michael W. Carter Project Manager ONI George Zumpf Contracts Chief O.S.S.-S. I. Capt. Kenneth Thomas Security Commander Prot Div.48

Exhibits meetings often included large numbers of these various staff for the first time. With such complicated projects, it was also around this time that the current model of exhibits planning in 10%, 35%, 65%, and 95% phases, with formal reviews, based on an architectural model, came into common use.49 The image below shows a typical meeting, curators foregrounded, in Exhibits in the early 1980s. By 1985, there were nearly forty staff listed in Exhibits at the NMNH alone.50

Group Dynamics: Roots of Team Frictions

119

Figure 3.1. Ian G. Macintyre, Eugene Behlen (standing), Kenneth Towe, Daniel Appleman, Sue Voss, and Elizabeth Hilkert (all seated ), Francis Hueber on the right, Richard Molinaroli at very back (blocked by Hueber), ca. 1981. Image 81-1709. Photo by C. Clark. Courtesy of the Office of Exhibits and Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

Yet, it is important to note that the Exhibits Committee consisted entirely of curatorial staff, in consultation with Exhibits or other staff. In practice, all ideas and scripts were generated by curatorial staff. By 1983 a document outlined frictions that were developing within this new paradigm. Teams were having trouble with “group coordination” and staying on schedule. Curators were not giving priority to exhibits projects due to a generally held perception among curators that time spent on exhibits work is time lost toward career goals. New curators come from research-oriented university programs and are hired here largely for their research potential . . . and consider that research is the major means of advancement.51

Convoluted script development was also resulting in “exhibits that are frequently unsuccessful in communicating messages to the public.” Most disturbingly, a final point listed the issue of “Chronic Finger-Pointing”: Mutual fault-finding by individuals involved in the exhibits development process has been pronounced. In addition to being a problem in its own right, this fault-finding is also a symptom of an underlying absence of regular and frequent

120

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Figure 3.2. Leo Hickey memo to Exhibits committee, 1979. Personal Records of Ian G. Macintyre, Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution. interaction among the individuals involved and of a lack of coherent, consistent task assignment and subsequent objective performance monitoring.52

Fossil plant curator Leo Hickey had clearly noticed some of this bad blood between curatorial and audience-focused staff as early as 1979, when he wrote in a memo to the Exhibits committee that “unnecessary comments” using terms like “dumb” and “botanical illiteracy” were not only degrading to nonscience experts but also detrimental to the group’s work and morale.53 It was out of these conflicts that the idea of a “concept committee” was proposed in the revised 1983 document. This committee, unlike the working group that came before it, would be chaired not by a curator, but by the assistant director for exhibits. It would not be made up solely of curators but would include alongside the director and/or associate director of the museum “appropriate Department Chairmen,” curators, designers, a writer/editor, and someone from the Office of Education.54 This was a major shift in thinking about exhibit development, one that reverberates today. The description of this concept committee included in its member designation the same areas of expertise included in today’s Core Teams. This is also one of the first documents that refers to the “Hall Team,” the group that produces exhibits, asserting that there will be an interdisciplinary team mentality in hall planning from inception to completion:

Group Dynamics: Roots of Team Frictions

121

A Hall Team consists of: Curators with expertise in the subject area(s) to be covered in the exhibits hall; Research Associate(s); Exhibits staff—Designer(s) and Writer/ Editor—having the creative talents necessary to transform the subject area knowledge of the team’s Research Associate and Curators into a successful exhibit. One of the curatorial members of the Hall Team, designated “Lead Curator” . . . has the primary responsibility for the scientific content of the Hall and for resolving issues of scientific substance that emerge during the development of an exhibit hall.55

Ideally, these individuals would “come to the table as equals” with “no prior topic-area constraints.”56

New Expert Frictions and Complementarities by the 1970s and 1980s Important productive and counterproductive frictions were caused by these changes. On the one hand, the incredible capacity for in-house production was an amazing asset to the museum and to collaboration between exhibits and scientific staff. In interviews, both scientific and exhibits staffs described the 1970s and 1980s as a time of collegiality. Of course, some of the characterizations of the period are romanticized and nostalgic. Yet, there’s a certain aura about the time that people seem to agree on. The community felt small, tight-knit. There were pranks. There were parties—lots of them. Exhibit openings were massive; Christmas parties were raucous. If you needed something, you could ask the guy (or very occasionally woman) who knew about that sort of thing, and they would help you out. The next time they asked you a favor, you’d deliver. If a scientist needed a metal part fixed, they simply went down and asked. If an artist needed input into their work, the curator or appropriate scientific person would head down to the shops and advise them. According to Sally Love, an exhibit developer who’s worked in the museum for over thirty years, things were “homemade” in Exhibits.57 As Rena Selim, previous assistant director for exhibits, said in an interview, “In the early days, we did everything in-house . . . we got the Office of Plant Management . . . to build the infrastructure for the hall, our design department designed the exhibits, our cabinet shop did the build-out for the exhibits. . . . We did all the printmaking and the illustrations.”58 In everyday scientific work, large staffs collaborated with those who knew how to make, illustrate, and fix things. As Scott Wing described it, Certainly when I first got here there were a lot of people in Exhibits. I mean, Exhibits was big. You know, and lots of machines: lathes and saws and giant mat cutters. I mean all the stuff you would need to fabricate exhibits.59

122

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Some of these homemade designs turned out to be impractical for both Exhibits and research departments. There were a few examples that were repeated to me many times. The first was the use of loose sand as ground cover for the island of Jurassic dinosaurs in Hall 2. Sand was supposed to help evoke the environment. In practice, any living being that crossed the space left tracks, whether it was a researcher trying to get a close look at a specimen or a mouse running across the island at night. Designers also built a raised floor so that visitors could walk alongside the dinosaurs, at their level, in their footsteps. The plywood they used turned out to be faulty, and it became a huge problem for Exhibits staff who frequently had to replace collapsed sections of flooring. In the hall containing Life in the Ancient Seas, a mock papier-mâché seafloor was installed beneath the fossil mounts that hung in front of Ely Kish’s massive mural of ancient sea environments. Unfortunately, if a researcher wanted to examine a specimen up close, they risked either stepping through this pseudo sea bottom, or falling onto it as they leaned over the protective railing. By the 1980s, professional best practices for exhibit label-writing were developed based on another emerging field: visitor studies. Stephen Bitgood, in particular, spearheaded research on visitor perceptions and understandings of labels. Labels that were too long were found to be inaccessible, intimidating, or uninteresting.60 In the world of museum curators, labels were to be as long as their content necessitated. To cut was to simplify. This is the constant battle that rages on in the museum today. One early solution to this problem, mentioned earlier, was to ensure that a research associate with a relevant background could translate scientific concepts, thus guaranteeing curators the assistance they needed to participate in the Exhibits program while continuing their own work.

“Creating Exhibits” and New Paradigms in the 1990s The exhibit The Janet Annenberg Hooker Hall of Geology Gems and Minerals (opened 1997) was the first to have a fully contracted design. Under increasingly tight budgets, and in the new atmosphere of private funding, the new exhibition hall would be created in collaboration with a new group of experts—designers and architects from a private firm. With complicated contracts and expertise distributed far outside the museum’s walls, all of which would have to be overseen, project management would necessarily become an expertise in its own right. But a change in leadership in Exhibits was what really altered the tone and readjusted the goals of the NMNH’s exhibits and outreach operations.

Group Dynamics: Roots of Team Frictions

123

Robert Sullivan, or “Sully,” as he is better known, had been trained in anthropology, and he believed firmly in the importance of team dynamics, culturally contingent knowledge, and museums as experiences, while despising institutionalized hierarchies—namely the imbalance of power between the science- and public-facing experts at the museum.61 Sullivan ushered in a new era in which an associate director of public programs, whose oversight encompassed Exhibits, was added to the museum’s highestlevel administration, completely upending the balance of power on exhibit teams. It was a time of big changes in museums in general. Along with postmodern critiques and a reflexive turn in museums, curatorial hierarchies, authority, and historical elitism were being questioned. Sullivan seemed to align with this movement. He also ruffled feathers by calling scientific knowledge “cultural” and encouraging exhibits at the museum on topics such as baseball. This was also a time of incredible financial strain for the institution, and the money for in-house exhibits was dwindling. As was the norm at other museums, Sullivan advocated for contracting out exhibits work, which would be more efficient and (theoretically) cheaper. More importantly, Sullivan aimed for a more democratic team approach, stressing that curators were not the lead voices in exhibit development. He said in our interview, The first meeting I had in the Baird Auditorium with all the scientists and staff there, what I said to them was that the power balances in this organization are not correct, and we’re going to take power from the science and give it to the education side of the organization. . . . So there’s more balance between the scientific mandate to get the science correct and right and the educational mandate to communicate the science well and effectively. . . . That set up early lines of resistance.62

He canonized his new approach through a new document, called “Creating Exhibits.”63 This document still today most closely represents how exhibits processes work at the museum. One of its most long-lasting changes was the institutionalization of exhibit developers as leadership roles in the exhibits process. In part this had to do with the realities of increasing contracts in the process, but it also illustrated Sullivan’s emphasis on collaborative projects that, in turn, needed a creative leader to unite the different players: We believe that the kind of exhibits we want—thoughtfully researched and designed and passionately presented with visitors in mind—are best developed by small planning teams, backed by larger teams of specialists available for consultation on scientific content and communication and educational techniques. The members of a “core” planning team will perform several critical functions: con-

124

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

ceptualization, creative writing, design, and subjectmatter development. The core team’s small size makes it possible to originate and sustain an exciting, personal vision for an exhibit.64

In general, the document also reordered, or at least deemphasized, the traditional pecking order of exhibits roles and hierarchies. For the first time, curators were not listed first in the lineup of exhibits team members. In this new document, the “project manager and/or exhibit developer” was listed first among the exhibit players. Sullivan liked to use the term “players” for members of cooperative exhibit teams, conjuring the metaphor of baseball.65 Next came the designer, then the writer, then the “curator/ scientist,” then the educator, and lastly the “museum evaluator.” This final role was utterly new in the museum. Although the Smithsonian had hired such experts as early as the 1970s, there had never been any impetus to put them on exhibit-development teams. Although their placement on these teams did not turn out to be sustainable, this role remains listed in current versions of the document (2004) that are still circulated in the museum. Ideally, by bringing each of these experts together on a level playing field and moderating them with an exhibit developer/project manager, “creative exhibits can be nurtured by a supporting environment where error is allowed, risktaking encouraged, authority well defined and distributed, and conflict resolved quickly without compromising the quality of the product.”66 Sullivan attempted to “create horizontally organized teams where each functionary in the team had their own professionalism and their own professional role.” Where he saw that kind of team structure as inherently creative, he received a number of memos from curators, who were used to working alone, who disagreed. “Creativity does not happen in teams,” they said, but “when individuals work on something.”67 For curators, “because of the hierarchy of status and power converging in the scientist at the Smithsonian, there was no need for a team approach. They would be the ones who would dictate to the technicians—which is how they thought of the education staff—what they were to do.” And “they never returned to the exhibit after it opened.”68 Despite resistance, Sullivan thus shifted the whole paradigm. As Sally Love related, So he was important, I think crucial, in Natural History’s evolution from taking that responsibility away from them, of really pushing his whole team concept in small core teams, collaboration, respect. He really demanded that curators respected the work that the writers do, the work that the designers do, the work that the exhibit developer does. And he was a very smart person. Pissed a lot of people off. But he was probably the one for the job at that time who could have made

Group Dynamics: Roots of Team Frictions

125

that transition. Because it really was a complete paradigm shift in the way we did exhibits.69

Unfortunately, his approach caused intense polarization of the research and nonresearch staff in the museum. As former associate director for public engagement Elizabeth Duggal articulated of Sullivan, “I think that my predecessor was really a great design visionary, but . . . I think that the scientists are also very strong personalities, as you know, and I’m not sure he was as inclusive or transparent as he could have been. He had his own agendas, too.”70 Scott Wing, in describing the “poisonous” relationship between curators and Exhibits at the time, said, It was terrible. Nobody wanted to work with Exhibits because they felt they would get burned. That was just sort of the word on the street, I mean, “Don’t bother, because you’ll either get sucked into something that you have no control over and you’ll just get used, or you’ll bash your head against a brick wall and nothing will ever happen.” So basically it’s either a waste of time or you’re just working for somebody else’s goals and not for anything that has to do with the kind of public outreach you want to do. So yeah, it was flat-out poisonous as far as I could tell.71

As Kay Behrensmeyer said of the general feeling when she arrived, “When I came, it seemed like there was this big, ‘Don’t get involved in exhibits! It’ll suck away all your time, and it never leads to anything,’ which is kind of a culture of the scientists, that there is this divide.”72 Curators refused to participate in exhibits because they felt the process was a waste of time, with little to show for it. Sullivan also dismantled a Cretaceous plant diorama at the back of the Paleo exhibits to implement a profit-making Fossil Café. Sullivan assured staff that the area had low proven visitorship. Meanwhile, the museum had gotten itself into debt through its installation of an IMAX theater, such that profits from its shops were paying for the theater instead of generating revenue for the museum. Profit from a café or shop within an exhibit, on the other hand, would make money for the NMNH. Curators in Paleo, perhaps not surprisingly, continue to feel bitter about this decision. Sullivan also authorized temporary exhibits that curators felt were scientifically inappropriate or factually problematic. As Kay Behrensmeyer said, One of the threats to the whole process was the outsourcing, and he [Sullivan], I guess in part to raise money and to get parts of the halls renovated, would take in these traveling exhibits, and then they would have components that were not right or that put us on the spot as a museum. And then the curators, if it was something that they knew about, would get calls from the press like, “What are you doing putting this on exhibit?”73

126

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Curators were not involved in vetting content for these shows. To this day, curators, and many others in the museum, feel that Sullivan was a polarizing figure. In pushing away scientific input, he created additional strife in an already politically tense set of relationships. As Behrensmeyer put it, “He alienated a lot of the scientists even more than they had been previously.”74 Sullivan articulated that the tension he unearthed was between “status” (respect as professionals and experts) and “power” (ability to exert influence or make decisions); he could give his staff the latter, but there was a slower shift to acknowledging other experts as having the former. To ensure his staff were given power, Sullivan “had to play the bad cop when these guys were mistreated.” He was “not well-liked by the scientists.”75 Exhibits staff often found that it was “like pulling teeth” to get many curators to work with writers and on other aspects of exhibits work. “They had more important things to do,” said former assistant director for exhibits, Rena Selim. Thus, “it was helpful to have someone in upper management who would be able to push the scientific departments to get us what we needed.”76 Staff in Exhibits today still appreciate the work he did to build respect for them as a group of professionals and to advocate for more palatable public exhibits. Before he arrived, Sally Love said, “curators basically wrote the text that went on the exhibit walls, and it was like a book on a wall.”77 He went to bat for Exhibits staff. Sally continued: “I wish that he was around to talk to the curators a little bit and say, ‘These people do deserve your respect. What they do is valid. And you don’t know everything. You think you do, but you really don’t.’”78 One of the problems seems to have been the fact that Sullivan’s model for exhibit development, where each member of a team was treated like an expert, preempted the reality of expertise in the institution. As Sullivan admitted to me in our interview, he wanted to create an environment or culture in which all staff were treated as equal experts; in fact, in the early 1990s, many of the staff on the outreach side had very little training as professionals in their department’s area. Many staff were still trained on the job, and many had been shuffled or promoted from position to position over time without having received real training in their areas of responsibility. As Amy Bolton said of this time in Education, “So there were some people who were good at it and others who were not. But the Education department only had, I think, one person with a degree in education. So I think that makes a difference in being seen as an expert in learning.”79 While elsewhere in the museum world at the time, for instance, most museum educators had some professional training or degree in education, or even museum education (still a new field), many staff at the NMNH

Group Dynamics: Roots of Team Frictions

127

had very little formal training. This made it difficult to claim their expertise as equal among research scientists and to make major cultural and perceptual changes in the institution. Sullivan was also a driver in the move from in-house to contracted staff in Exhibits. With the museum under tighter financial constraints, it could contract with firms that had more specific and sometimes more technical expertise, and were cheaper in the long term. At one point, there was concern that scientific expertise would also be contracted out. As Kay Behrensmeyer said of this period, And the exhibit department had a pretty big staff and then those went away. . . . And then they were starting to contract out the scientific component, and it looked like this was the way things were going to go, so that the museum would have this wonderful scientific base, and yet we’re not connected to what was being shown in the Exhibit halls.80

And indeed the role of evaluator, which Sullivan had advocated for, is often still contracted either to an outside firm or to staff from the Office of Policy and Analysis (OP&A), a separate Smithsonian unit. Design for permanent halls is almost entirely outsourced. Still today, many staff in Exhibits lament the shift from in-house to contracted work. When writer Angela Roberts Reeder first heard about exhibit writing at the NMNH in the early 2000s, there were four full-time in-house writers, “which to me was like a dream.”81 The Exhibits staff is much smaller than it was. People are stretched thinner, with less time and more projects. This makes it difficult to be creative and flexible, and to encourage camaraderie or outside relationships among staff. This is also one of the reasons that the exhibit developer/project manager position is so difficult. It was only after rounds of organizational downsizing over time that the two positions, “exhibit developer” and “project manager,” were often fused into one position. Sally Love reflects: When I came down here, I was strictly an exhibit developer. We had people to project manage. And then suddenly, it’s just like, “Oh no. Now you have to do both.” It is having two different hats, it’s like different functions of the brain because you’re trying to think conceptually and creatively and collegially. And then you have to enforce budgets and schedules and do contracts.82

The shift has also affected group ownership over exhibits work. As Kara Blond said of this shift, I wasn’t here when the staff was much bigger. So I haven’t really seen that shift, but my understanding is that even in five or six years we’ve gone from forty-eight to

128

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

twenty-eight exhibits staff, which is absurd, and everybody’s stretched and doesn’t have enough time to respond and can’t be as flexible as they might want to or otherwise be. I think contractors bring a strong outside perspective and context to the work of the in-house team, but I’d prefer to shift the balance back to an emphasis on in-house work—if nothing else, for the pride and respect of having authored the effort.83

There is a lingering fear in the museum now that most work is contracted out that too much of it will end up being outsourced. On the other hand, as Jonathan Coddington said, there are distinct advantages to outsourcing exhibits work: “I think that the outside designers have a broader base of experience, more diverse points of view, and they’re pros, too. They deliver, more or less, on time and on budget.” While it is still considered important “for us to have a designer who knows our own interest and culture,” large-scale exhibits work is considered best accomplished through outside expertise.84 As Rena Selim noted, contracts have also allowed for more highly specialized technical experts to be brought into exhibits projects.85 In the end, Exhibits work thus remained contracted while scientific input to exhibits did not. When Cristián Samper became director in 2003, he, much like Dillon Ripley, seemed to be able to again turn the focus of the museum and its exhibits to research while also making other professionals and departments feel respected and valued. As Elizabeth Duggal articulated, Cristián [Samper] was very good at engaging the multiple stakeholders of the museum. I would say, if I learned anything from him, it was to overinclude, overcommunicate, to ensure everyone was on the same page.86

Since the mid-2000s, there has been a distinctive shift back toward involving curatorial staff heavily in the exhibits process. The overall management approach has been one that tries to encourage more mutual respect and a teamwork approach. As Duggal told me of teamwork and “checks and balances” in the overall management structure, “It’s like a symphony. Everybody has to be able to play the same song. They have their different role and then there’s the conductor, which is like the director here.”87 Today, there is more integration among these teams. On the other hand, as Coddington told me, the team approach still has its difficulties for prioritizing content and articulating a clear vision: Now, it’s a team approach so that content, design, writing, education goals are all relatively coequal. The problem with that is that you get something that’s massaged by a committee, . . . and I think that the best art comes from a single, strong, creative vision whether you’re a painter, or a composer, or a musician, or a movie-maker.”88

Group Dynamics: Roots of Team Frictions

129

And from the scientific perspective, important content can be outvoted by a group made up of greater numbers of nonscientists: The content expert is often overruled, and you’ll have some people whose background is graphic design saying whether or not they think a story about Nemertean worms is what we should be saying, . . . and by and large, the exhibits and education staff underestimate the public, producing language that is often bland, perhaps even obvious.89

Meanwhile, Coddington said, “I think, and all of us here as scientists, do a lot of outreach . . . as content experts, I think that scientists know a lot about how to get a message across. So, I don’t think they should be shy about setting the bar for what the content of exhibits is.”90 Indeed, new curatorial hires are also increasingly expected to participate and show proactive interest in outreach work, have Twitter feeds, and be more attuned to educational needs. As Kay Behrensmeyer said, “In general, it was clear that we were moving into much more of a need for getting curators that could talk to the public, and that was going to be more important on their performance plans.”91 Paleobiology Curator Hans Sues noted of the changing organizational culture and the modern curatorial position, I know that there used to be a joke among academic researchers that if you were really mildly sociopathic, you would go to a museum because you didn’t have to deal with people; where you just sort of set them in the collection and do this thing and keep off the streets, basically. . . . But I think that has really changed.92

Today, Hans said, The museum curator is somebody who does research, yes, but is also an educator at various levels. This ranges from teaching courses at universities to talking to museum audiences about science . . . work on exhibits, nowadays, through multimedia stuff, write blogs, write popular articles, help develop products for museums, all those kinds of things.93

As Shari Werb, assistant director for education and outreach, commented, this emphasis is important for engaging the public in educational programing and with scientific research “to engage a whole variety of kinds of learners in science learning.”94 She has encouraged scientists to “be publicly focused” and be “present as people for the public” to help “humanize science.”95 Leaders in the museum since Sullivan have tried to harness some of his vision while also attempting to create “a new tone and tenor.” “I’m sure you’ll hear some people you’ve met say that they feel they’re second-class citizens,” Duggal said, “but I think we’ve tried to create a better mutual respect. Does it work all the time? No.”96

130

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Conclusion This chapter has described the disciplinary and professional contexts for current dynamics among experts who plan exhibits. The late 1950s onward has seen the development of entirely new disciplines in the realm of outreach, while since the 1960s both research and outreach positions—scientific and audience–advocate expertises—have grown and specialized. In new (sometimes contentious) disciplinary contexts, exhibits were planned by increasingly diverse teams, while fiscal changes in the late 1980s led to the increased use of outside contracts for exhibits work. The following two chapters explore content development—what these diverse teams actually produce, why, and with what techniques.

Notes 1. Ray S. Bassler “Department of Geology,” Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1931 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1932), 101–2. 2. Eugene S. Ferguson to Frank Taylor, 15 July 1959, RU623, Box 2, cited in Robert C. Post, Who Owns America’s Past? The Smithsonian and the Problem of History (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2013), 157. 3. Ibid. 4. Post, Who Owns America’s Past?, 29. 5. Alexander Wetmore, “General Statement,” in Annual Report of the Board of Regents of the Smithsonian Institution Showing the Operation, Expenditures, and Condition of the Institution for the Year Ended June 30, 1950 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1951), 2. 6. Mentioned informally in A. Remington Kellogg, “Introduction,” in United States National Museum: Annual Report for the Year Ended June 30, 1953 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1954), 1; initiated in FY 1954, see A. Remington Kellogg, “Report on the United States National Museum,” in Annual Report of the Board of Regents of the Smithsonian Institution Showing the Operation, Expenditures, and Condition of the Institution for the Year Ended June 30, 1954 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office Office, 1955), 25. 7. A. Remington Kellogg, “Scientific Staff,” in United States National Museum: Annual Report for the Year Ended June 30, 1954 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1955), v. 8. A. Remington Kellogg, “Scientific Staff,” in United States National Museum: Annual Report for the Year Ended June 30, 1955 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1956), iii.

Group Dynamics: Roots of Team Frictions

131

9. A. Remington Kellogg, “Scientific Staff,” in United States National Museum: Annual Report for the Year Ended June 30, 1956 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1957), iii. 10. Joseph G. Weiner, “Why Johnny Can’t Read Labels,” 1963, RU7314, Box 28, Folder 1, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC, 145. 11. Weiner had previously been a more general publications writer. 12. Weiner, “Why Johnny Can’t Read Labels,” 144. 13. Ibid. 14. Richard S. Cowan to Curators, MNH, 1 February 1968, RU7314, Box 28, Folder 1, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. 15. Post, Who Owns America’s Past?, 33. 16. Ibid., 34. 17. Ibid., 128. 18. Ann Karras, “Report on Visits to Various Natural History Museums for the Purpose of Studying Fossil Mammal Exhibit Presentations in Connection with Pending Renovation of Hall 5,” correspondence to A. Remington Kellogg, 18 December 1958, RU7314, Box 28, Folder 3, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. 19. “Master Work Order and Summary, September 1, 1961,” RU363, Box 14, Hall 2 Dinosaurs and Other Fossil Reptiles, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. 20. C. Lewis Gazin, “Talk on the Halls of Vertebrate Paleontology,” 6 June 1963, RU7314, Box 28, Folder 1, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC; once the vertebrate halls were open, Lewis Gazin reflected on these various expertises in a talk about the dinosaur halls, saying, “I would like to commend particularly Mrs. Ann Karras, the exhibits designer who is primarily responsible for the attractiveness of the fossil mammal hall, and her several assistants who so ably carried out her plans; Mr. Chris Karras who designed the arrangement of the fossil exhibits in the rotunda; and last but not least our own laboratory crew in the Division of Vertebrate Paleontology, who under the direction of Mr. Franklin Pearce completed the preparation, restoration, and mounting, and the final installation of the many skulls and skeletons in both of the halls of vertebrate paleontology in the rotunda.” 21. Ellis Yochelson, “More than 150 Years of Administrative Ups and Downs in Washington: Smithsonian Institution, National Museum of Natural History,” Museums and Other Institutions of Natural History: Past, Present and Future, A Symposium Held on the Occasion of the 150th Anniversary of the California Academy of Sciences, (San Francisco, CA: California Academy of Sciences, 2003). 22. Fiske 9.25.13. 23. A. Remington Kellogg, “United States National Museum,” in Smithsonian Institution Report of the Secretary and Financial Report of the Executive Committee of the Board of Regents for the Year Ending June 30, 1959 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1960), 52; also see A. Remington Kellogg, “United States National Museum,” in Report of the Secretary and Financial

132

24.

25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31.

32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38.

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Report of the Executive Committee of the Board of Regents for the Year Ending June 30, 1960 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1961), 46. Nicholas Hotton, “Tentative Explanatory Material for Systematics and Evolution Case in Great Hall of SI Building,” correspondence to Benjamin Lawless, 28 May 1975, RU7314, Box 28, Folder 1, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. T. Dale Stewart, “Museum of Natural History,” in Smithsonian Year 1965: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Insitution for the Year Ended June 30, 1965 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1965), 37. Bambach 5.6.13. T. Dale Stewart, “Museum of Natural History,” 23. Richard S. Cowan, “Development of Exhibits in Hall 6,” correspondence to Clayton Ray, 27 May 1964, RU7314, Box 28, Folder 2, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Emry 4.8.13. Porter Kier, “National Museum of Natural History,” in Smithsonian Year 1974: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Insitution for the Year Ended June 30, 1974 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1974), 74. “Exhibits Committee Records,” National Museum of Natural History, RU 366, Smithsonian Institution Archives; also see Richard S. Cowan, “National Museum of Natural History,” in Smithsonian Year 1971: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Insitution for the Year Ended June 30, 1971 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1971), 42; and “Science” in Smithsonian Year 1974: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Insitution for the Year Ended June 30, 1974 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1974), 57. Porter Kier, “National Museum of Natural History,” in Smithsonian Year 1974, 74. “Exhibits Committee Minutes,” 17 September 1974, RU363, Box 25, Folder: Exhibits Committee Minutes 1974, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Nicholas Hotton, correspondence to Benjamin Lawless, 28 May 1975, RU7314, Box 28, Folder 1, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. “Minutes of Meeting,” Exhibits Committee, 20 December 1973, RU363, Box 25, Folder: Exhibits Committee Minutes 1973, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Ian G. Macintyre, memo to Marty Buzas, December 1977, Personal Records of Ian G. Macintyre, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution. Laura Greenberg, “The Exhibits Program of the National Museum of Natural History,” Internal Report, 1986, RU564, Box 1, Folder: Exhibit Program Themes 12/5/86. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. This list was labeled simply as “The Paleontology Hall,” 1978, Personal Records of Ian G. Macintyre, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC.

Group Dynamics: Roots of Team Frictions

133

39. “A Restatement of the Long Range Plan,” 1978, RU564, Box 1, Folder: Exhibit Program Themes 12/5/86, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington DC, 19–20. 40. Miles 5.31.13; The budget, excluding salaries, was only $210,000. Scientific departments also had their own illustrators who were primarily focused on producing artwork for research purposes, not for exhibits, while exhibits artists tended not to produce work for research purposes unless they knew how to work with a particular material that was pertinent to certain scientific practices or equipment. 41. Miles 5.31.13. 42. Ian G. Macintyre, “Immediate Call for Invertebrate Paleontologist,” 1978, Personal Records of Ian G. Macintyre, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. 43. Ian G. Macintyre, “Form Letter to Research Assistant,” in Personal Records of Ian G. Macintyre, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC, 1978. 44. “Office of Exhibits Central,” in Smithsonian Year 1987: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1987 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1988), 143. 45. Stanley 2.21.14. 46. Ibid. 47. Ibid. 48. “Meeting Roster, Paleo Reconstruction Meeting,” 1984, RU363, Box 2, Folder: Hall 3 Contract Material, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. 49. Elizabeth Miles dated their use to sometime around the July 1981 opening of the Thomas M. Evans Gallery; Miles 5.31.13. 50. Directory of the Staff of the National Museum of Natural History for the 75th Anniversary Jubilee (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Internal Publication, 1985). 51. “Exhibit Hall Planning in the National Museum of Natural History,” 1 July 1983, Acc 94-088, Folder: Memoranda 1972–1988, 4 of 6, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC, 14. 52. Ibid., 4–5. 53. Leo J. Hickey, correspondence to Exhibits Committee, 1979, in Personal Records of Ian G. Macintyre, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. 54. “Exhibit Hall Planning,” 7. 55. Ibid., 9. 56. Ibid., 7. 57. Love 8.7.13. 58. Selim 4.10.13. 59. Wing 8.16.13. 60. Stephen Bitgood, “Deadly Sins Revisited: A Review of the Exhibit Label Literature,” Visitor Behavior 4, no. 3 (Fall 1989); Stephen Bitgood, “The ABCs

134

61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73. 74. 75. 76. 77. 78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91. 92. 93. 94. 95. 96.

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

of Label Design,” in Visitor Studies: Theory, Research, and Practice, ed. Stephen Bitgood, Arlene Benefield, and Donald Patterson (Jacksonville, AL: 1990), 3:115–29. Robert Sullivan, “The Museum as Moral Artifact,” Moral Education Forum 10, nos. 3–4 (1985): 2–18. Sullivan 2.18.14. “Creating Exhibits: Policies and Practices of the Department of Public Programs,” Draft with Modifications 2/04, 5 June 1998, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. Ibid. Sullivan 2.18.14. “Creating Exhibits.” Sullivan 2.18.14. Ibid. Love 8.7.13. Duggal 12.4.13. Wing 8.16.13. Behrensmeyer 6.3.13. Ibid. Ibid. Sullivan 2.18.14. Selim 4.10.13. Love 8.7.13. Ibid. Bolton 6.26.13. Behrensmeyer 6.13.13. Reeder 7.31.13. Love 8.7.13. Blond 7.1.13. Coddington 9.19.13. Selim 4.10.13. Duggal 12.4.13. Ibid. Coddington 9.19.13. Ibid. Ibid. Behrensmeyer 6.3.13. Sues 6.24.13. Ibid. Werb 9.6.13. Ibid. Duggal 12.4.13.

Chapter 4

Content Development Debates about Interconnected Processes and Static Things Museums traditionally highlight static objects, but are mastering the arts of dynamic display that permit them to portray interrelationships, change, and process with almost equal vividness and explanatory power. Robert McCormick Adams1

Exhibitions are paradoxical. They describe a fluid world with static things. Fossil exhibitions are further complicated by the nature of the evidence they use to tell stories; both the fossil record and scientific knowledge about it are full of gaps. In Deep Time meetings, there was a constant debate about how best to go about describing Earth’s shifting properties—evolution, processes, ecosystems—and people’s changing relationships with them—human connections and the scientific process itself— with objects. Fossils also have wide popular appeal. Alongside the ingeniously marketed children’s television show Dinosaur Train, the successful reboot of the Jurassic Park franchise rejuvenated the dinosaur craze of the 1990s. In 2015, curator Matthew Carrano was featured in the Smithsonian’s most viral tweet to that date, posing with three fossil mounts, à la Chris Pratt with his Velociraptors in Jurassic World, as part of the meme “#Prattkeeping.” As educator Amy Bolton said, “Fossils hold a place in the public’s imagination that is really interesting to me. I think that they are approachable to anybody, whereas not everybody likes bugs or plants.”2 It was the Deep Time team’s intention to convey more complex messages about past ecosystems and climates and what they mean today. As a holistic set of research initiatives, programming, and an exhibition, Deep Time sought to both “reveal processes and consequences of past global climate change” through research and to “use the popularity of fossils to foster

136

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

appreciation for the history of life and the grand context for our own existence.” Earth’s history could help people predict their shared future and empower the public to embrace their role as “planet managers.” Deep Time was conceived as a way to increase knowledge about past life and to “foster” new “attitudes and strategies” in the public sphere to combat urgent contemporary problems.3 From the beginning then, the Deep Time team refused to make “just another dinosaur exhibit.” While it was common to hear among curators that “you have to have the ‘D’ word” and that dinosaurs were, like the Hope Diamond, a one-stop pilgrimage for many visitors, the premise of the exhibit was that dinosaurs were to be placed in their ecological context. Dinosaurs, as lead curator Matthew Carrano often said, are a “gateway drug” to science. But more aspirationally, using a phrase first coined by Kay Behrensmeyer, the team set out to “create citizens for a changing planet” by engaging them in paleontology as a “logbook of the past.” The tone was both more aspirational and morally serious than I’d anticipated of a new dinosaur hall. Indeed, Matthew Carrano said many times over (and his insistence on this principle became a running joke) that “dinosaurs don’t roar,” and that under no circumstances were there to be “animatronic dinosaurs.” The exhibit’s main theme was earnest: Earth’s distant past is connected to the present and shapes our future. And so certain questions emerged within the ongoing debates about how the team would compellingly convey such complex ecological stories: What kinds of technologies might best augment objects? What techniques are out there? Which ones are appropriate? How detailed should the resolution of displays be? What tone should media have? What technologies have longevity? In this chapter, I describe Deep Time’s content-development process and its main themes during the 10% and early 35% phases. Then, I discuss the frictions and complementarities involved in the negotiation of Deep Time content. I describe four main spectrums of debate that emerged in meetings: real/interpretation, resolution/abstraction, reliability/innovation, authority/participation. In each case I present arguments made at the extremes of the four debates and then show what collective solutions emerged out of them at the 10% stage of exhibit development.

Deep Time to 10%: A Sliver of the Process Throughout the 10% phase—from late 2012 to April 2013—the Core Team worked to consolidate clear overall messages, themes, and a general-

Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes

137

ized floor layout for the hall. At 35%, the group began to fill in the bubble floor plan with big specimens, to script out each section of the hall, and to make decisions about what techniques and technologies, or the density of media, might be appropriate for the hall’s content. This process ran from April 2013 to roughly December 2013. By the end of 65%, around June 2014, the team planned to produce the final script and the design of each section of the hall. By the end of 95%, about the middle of 2015, the project was slated to go to production. My research focused only on the 10% and beginnings of the 35% phases (see figure 0.6). The timeline for developing the content of the hall was rigorous. Even though the hall wouldn’t open until 2019, the group only had until 2015 to complete the exhibition plans. After that, the existing hall had to be entirely dismantled, fossils conserved and prepared, a building renovation completed, and the new exhibitry installed for opening. Over the five months that I observed this process, three representatives from R+P and two representatives from RLMG worked with the Core Team to shape the overall conceptual framework of the hall, distilled down into a 10% “package”—a series of documents including a write-up of basic vision, a “bubble diagram” of ordered concepts, main messages, a floorplan layout, and some imaginary renderings of the hall. Alongside these documents, the team produced a finalized concept narrative document. Drafted by writer Angela Roberts Reeder, the concept narrative described the team’s plans for each section of the hall. The process of winnowing ideas and producing these package documents was structured around a series of development and package-planning workshops from December 2012 to April 2013. The 10% package for Deep Time was shared during a formal presentation to the Approval Team, the director, and other executive staff in April 2013.

The Deep Time Project Proposal Deep Time’s original 2009 project proposal read: The Deep Time Project: 4.6 million years of global change Present Urgency—We live at a unique moment in Earth’s 4.6-billion-year history: the point at which a single species, Homo sapiens, has the awareness and capacity to change the life support systems of the entire planet. Today, we are altering the composition and temperature of the atmosphere, the chemistry of the ocean, the distribution of ice, land and water, and the diversity of life. Geology shows that Earth is resilient, but humans have set in motion forces that are inducing a global climate that has not existed for millions of years . . .4

138

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

The main themes included the following: 1. The History of Life will describe past critical intervals of explosive evolutionary diversification, rapid environmental change, and mass extinction. 2. Earth Systems will reveal the geological, biogeochemical, and ecological sources for global change—past, present, and future. 3. Lessons from Deep Time will show how Earth’s past is a powerful, necessary guide for understanding its present and its future. 4. Planet Management will use the grandeur of the history of life to inspire awe and generate involvement that will lead visitors to learn and act. 5 These core themes would be explored and communicated through the whole Deep Time bundle of research and outreach initiatives. The emphasis on interconnected Earth systems and ecosystems and on connecting the past and the present are core principles to contemporary thinking in the field of paleontology (or “paleobiology,” as the department’s title emphasizes). Like the David H. Koch Hall of Human Origins, there was consensus among the exhibit team around a core idea and mission for the hall. However, unlike Human Origins and other recent hall projects, this project was to be planned by three curators, not just one. As Kara Blond said, “The fact that there are several curators as opposed to one curator makes the implementation of that idea a little bit harder, takes just a little more consensus-building at every step.”6 At the 10% phase in particular, the team’s intended audience was “everyone.” The team was not tailoring messages to specific audiences or audience profiles as earlier exhibitions might have done, although it was clear that later programmatic elements would be designed that way.7 As of 2014, of the seven million people who visited the museum that year, about one million were local, five million came from other states, and one million arrived from other countries.8 In meetings, the team tried to imagine content for a hugely wide range of diverse potential visitors.9 During the 10% phase, the Core Team collectively honed elements of this broader project into themes and narratives for an exhibit hall—about thirty-one thousand square feet of physical space in the museum. As designer Fang-Pin Lee said, the early stages of exhibit planning were “like opening up a Russian doll,” to “start with the big ideas and principles first” before narrowing down to the specifics involved.10

Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes

139

Statement of Purpose Typically, the first document the Core Team writes is a statement of purpose. Because Deep Time had begun many years before I arrived, I was fortunate to observe the Temporary Exhibit Team go through this process. The statement of purpose guides the exhibit-planning process by defining the purpose, main messages/narratives, content, space, learning outcomes, intended audiences, and design tone or approach for the proposed exhibit. The basic components of the document are: The Opportunity—what the exhibit will do, why it is timely, what its overall relevance and purpose is. Main Messages—the exhibit’s main stories. Audiences—the exhibit’s primary or target audiences. Learning Outcomes—what visitors will gain from their experience in the exhibit. Design and Interpretive Approach—the overall tone and design feel of the exhibit, including a few elements that might define the exhibit space. Exhibit Components and Specimens—the exhibit’s size, location in the museum, as well as some of the main specimens that will be displayed.11 Early drafts of the statement of purpose are created by the writer, drawing on meetings with team members, and sent to the Core Team by the exhibit developer/project manager for discussion at Core Team meetings. The drafts circulated by email are revised and commented on via track changes. Once the team puts together a draft it likes, the writer makes a pseudo final draft, which is circulated by the exhibit developer/project manager to the Core Team or others with a vested interest for any final comments. Then the exhibit developer/project manager sends the formal draft to the Approval Team for comments. Their comments are discussed at the next Core Team meeting; corrections and responses are collated, and the document is resubmitted. A typical final cover sheet includes the name of the project, where it will go, the proposed dates, and the exhibit phase. It is sent to the Approval Team members with a brief summary, a list of the Core and Extended or Advisory Team members, and names of other staff who should receive copies. Once approved, the team takes the next steps in the process.

140

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

From a Content Matrix to a 10% Package Before I arrived at the museum, the Deep Time Team had gone on a retreat during which they began to hash out content “streams” to be covered in the exhibit. They identified three main streams of narrative content through time: evolution, ecosystems, and Earth processes. In addition to these, the team described four additional substreams or stories with nodes of content over time: human connections, extinctions, scientific process, and the story of crocodile evolution. These were distilled into a “content matrix” for the project, made at the retreat with Sharpie markers on a roll of giant paper. The themes the team had drafted appeared at the top of the matrix, on the x-axis, and cascaded downward through time in colorful lines, as captured by the y-axis. Where there were important events or stories to tell about a content stream at a certain point in geologic time, the team created a “node.” This matrix was brought to a number of early meetings; Matthew Carrano formalized it into an Adobe Illustrator document that was printed onto large paper and sometimes posted on the walls at exhibit meetings.

Figure 4.1. Deep Time content matrix, September 2013. Courtesy of Matthew Carrano, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes

141

Figure 4.2. Draft bubble diagram, January 2013. Drawing by Fang-Pin Lee, Reich + Petch. Courtesy of the Office of Exhibits, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

From there, the team worked with R+P to organize this content into conceptual bubble diagrams. Early drafts for bubble diagrams variously ordered concepts by time and emphasis. As the team worked to prepare a 10% package, they debated the tone, style, vocabulary, techniques, and overall approach the hall would take. The process of content, theme, and floor-plan development I observed during the 10% phase was thus quickpaced and ripe with debate.

Deep Time Content Debates Throughout 10% conversations, there was a consensus among the group that visitors to the Smithsonian come to see “the real thing.” There was also a strong consensus that real things were more convincing and affective for visitors. At the same time, the team had to connect fossils to larger messages, which required bridging conceptual gaps with story-driven interpretation, media technologies, or participatory techniques. It is impossible, for instance, to illustrate the carbon cycle using fossils alone (or arguably at all). Likewise showing the breadth of ecological niches filled by species in an environment requires finding ways to display microfos-

142

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

sils—for instance, very tiny mammals, reptiles, or insects—in compelling ways. In essence, the group often asked how to use (static, singular) objects augmented by a wide range of techniques (including text, design, spatial arrangements, media, tone, and interaction) to convey: 1. Interconnectivity: What techniques can be used to show the complexity of ecosystems? And how can you compellingly illustrate tiny things or details necessary to show those complexities? 2. Processes: What techniques can be used to illustrate time, shifting climates, or evolution with objects? 3. Stories: What techniques can be used to tie together objects into broader contexts, narratives or messages? In trying to grapple with these larger questions, the group debated where, on a spectrum of extremes, the exhibit should fall in terms of contexts, levels of resolution, media augmentation and tone, and levels of visitor engagement: 1. 2. 3. 4.

Layers of Interpretation: real interpretation Levels of Resolution: detail abstraction Tone of Technologies: reliability innovation Levels of Engagement: authority participation

Not Just Another Dinosaur Exhibit: Real/Interpretation The team had to come to an agreement about where along the spectrum—with one end being “real” (singular displays of real things) and the other being “illustrated” (highly artistic or media-driven displays)—the exhibit’s design would fall. Deep Time sought to show interconnectivity and integrated processes over time. As Scott Wing said in the second workshop I attended, the stories the group was trying to tell weren’t told by big things; focusing on change through time meant illustrating small or even invisible details, such as fossil pollen: “Big things give you the richness of what’s happening; chemistry and microfossils give you the story of ecological change through time.”12 Much of the debate about layers of interpretation had to do with this challenge—how to integrate larger, more compelling things into wider contexts, and how to highlight smaller, less spectacular things to draw people’s attention to their importance. Debates were also ongoing about the importance of conserving specimens or making them available to researchers (which might entail

Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes

143

using casts, models, or artistic renderings of specimens) versus the importance of showing real things. Arguments for the Real In early conversations there were some areas of consensus about the importance of allowing real things to speak on their own terms. First, real things are compelling for people. It was noted in meetings that kids, for instance, like to “get their nose right up to these things” and that people want to see “the real thing.”13 Second, some real things are iconic or destination specimens. Some of these real things, dinosaur mounts for instance, are particularly compelling attractions that visitors will make pilgrimages to see. There were also several discussions about the fact that many visitors to the fossil halls are “dinomaniacs,” kids aged 4–12 who not only love dinosaurs and want to see the real thing but who also know more about them than their parents. Big charismatic specimens, Siobhan Starrs noted, cause higher dwell times and comprehension rates, and therefore might help tell meaningful stories. A few others agreed that this was often true of big specimens.14 Even in spaces that were to be focused on processes and interaction, the group still felt that they needed “a signature specimen”15; therefore, third, the Smithsonian has the real thing, and people don’t come to the Smithsonian to see plastic, fake, or wholly mediated things. At least once, the potential use of too many cast specimens was compared to Disneyland.16 Fourth, the Smithsonian has a democratic mission that aims to give the public access to the real thing. Fifth, the real thing is evidence for the story of Deep Time. While the team could not advocate or be truly political about changing people’s beliefs, they felt that real fossils were crucial to convincing disbelievers, for instance, that climate change is in fact real. As curator Hans Sues said, “We have the primary evidence to back it up sitting back here [in the collections].”17 Others worried that without real things, the audience could think that it was “all made up.” Real things make people “have to deal with this.”18 In early discussions, team members presented “benchmarking” studies showing techniques that other museums were using to contextualize or augment fossil displays. Members of the team, particularly curatorial team members, felt that many other museums’ attempts to use illustrative techniques to display fossils were inadequate, inaccurate, or misleading in their particular uses of artistic renderings. Very early, lead curator Matthew Carrano launched a critique of exhibits that showed a “land of the living dead,” where mounted fossil bones (dead things reassembled) were contextualized in lush rainforest or swamp habitats. In other cases,

144

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

museums showed mounted fossils in contemporary badland environments—environments fossils are found in today as opposed to the lush environments they actually lived in.19 Both, he argued, were misleading if the team wanted visitors to understand creatures as living organisms in past ecosystems. Designers thereafter referred to the “land of the living dead” problem to describe this.20 There were other discussions about instances where exhibit elements were used inappropriately because they conveyed ideas that were misleading by particular combinations, juxtapositions, or relationships between artistry and the real thing. The group also seemed to agree that they didn’t want an “art exhibit with dinosaurs” or merely “fossils with murals” because they wanted to be more intentional in their combinations of space, art, and fossil assemblages: the “physical arrangement is part of how we tell a story.”21 In other cases, museums had used large murals to show ecological change over time—the primary example being the earliest and most famous attempt, Rudolph Zallinger’s The Age of Reptiles mural at the Yale Peabody Museum of Natural History in 1947.22 The mural, 110 feet long and 16 feet high, used trees to divide geological periods and had been an icon for generations of aspiring paleontologists. But the group wondered whether such depicted changes in an ecosystem, especially in illustrated plantlife, were too subtle for a nonexpert to notice. Arguments for Interpretation Conversely, there were a number of circulating arguments in favor of heavier uses of artistic rendering, contextualization, and media techniques along with real things. First, Deep Time needed artistic renderings and context to convey interconnection and processes. In the area of processes, Deep Time messages included changing Earth processes, ecosystems, and evolution over time—all of which describe things and Earth states in flux. These ideas would necessarily need to be brought into design with static objects through artistry. Objects don’t show process well on their own. Even a fossil “assemblage” doesn’t tell a “process story.”23 In the area of interconnectivity, Deep Time themes included interactions across ecosystems and climate conditions even within geologic time periods, such that merely showing the time span for evolution of singular species was not enough. Paleontology has “this incredible archive of what climate states have been,”24 and yet it is difficult to show this complexity. Describing interrelations and connections is inherently hard to do with anything visually “static.”25 Second, design and artistic techniques combat and contextualize charismatic specimens. From the very beginning, there was a consensus that this would not be an exhibit that stopped at “T. rex is cool.”26 Artistic and de-

Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes

145

sign techniques would prevent visitors from “running past” to “see the next big shiny dinosaur” or another “trophy specimen.”27 Because the exhibit’s message was based on ecosystems, Earth processes, evolution, and human connections, and because it was to be story driven, objects were supposed to fit the exhibit and not the other way around, “otherwise it’s an encyclopedia of time, which is not our intention.”28 Thus “taking a different approach” to specimens, Matthew Carrano said (to the surprise of designers and others who rarely hear curators say such things), “We need to draw on collections to service the exhibit.”29 Scott Wing echoed that “specimens are there to get the messages across.”30 Thus, while there were “iconic, beautiful specimens” whose absences in the hall were hard to imagine, the group agreed that the specimens had to fit the stories.31 The question then became, what is “the most important story skeletons can tell?”32 Another related argument for greater artistry and contextualization was that exhibit messages needed to be conveyed gradually and repeatedly throughout the hall. Evolution, as a concept and theme, for instance, had to be “sprinkled”33 through or placed “everywhere” in the hall as a kind of “historical unfolding.”34 Third, it was difficult to identify compelling specimens to tell the exhibit’s main messages. Telling these stories of prehistoric climates, ecosystems, and evolution over time becomes a difficult thing to do when many of iconic species, such as Diplodocus and Stegosaurus, are from the Jurassic Period, and “the Jurassic is not that climatically fascinating.”35 In fact, the conversation often “knocked” dinosaurs or other “things with charisma.”36 Other less flashy specimens need augmentation because they are not inherently compelling or aesthetic; some specimens that tell the story better should be in a “place that’s not competing with dinosaurs.”37 The group had a number of discussions about how to use “things people are attracted to” or “sexier objects” and the difficulty of finding such objects for more challenging time periods or concepts.38 Often, a fascinating conversation about a part of the hall would appear to end, and then someone would interject glumly, “The challenge is specimens.”39 Fourth, both the fossil record and fossilized objects are incomplete. This is an additional constraint when using real fossils. Not only is the fossil record incomplete, but almost all specimens are as well. Large mounts were historically filled in to look complete using casts from other museums, reverse casts from other parts of a mount, or sculpted pieces. All fossil mounts are assemblages of natural, copied, and crafted things, held together by complex metal apparatuses, various adhesives, and surface treatments. Exceptions to this are small fossils or “death assemblages”—poses where things are taken directly out of the ground and displayed as found.

146

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Fifth, not all the iconic mounts could or should go in hall, even if the team wanted them there. And in fact, paring down the number of specimens would potentially help focus visitors’ attentions on important stories or less popular fossils. Physically, there wasn’t enough room. The team had to consider the circulation space for the seven million annual visitors to the museum, the vast majority of whom enter the fossil hall. As Pauline Dolovich related, specimen lists including all of the collection’s greatest hits and the seventy-six large fossil mounts currently on display would need “significant editing” as the process moved along.40 In addition many fossils, due to their condition—from high levels of vibration or humidity exposure in their time on display (both of which can cause severe damage to specimens), or their original preparation or mounting technologies—would have to remain off display after dismantling and conservation. Others would need to remain off exhibit because researchers would require access to them (especially if they were type specimens or if their condition was not good). Type specimens and many other objects in the collections are important for ongoing scientific research by scientists at the museum and their colleagues around the world. Others, still, would need complex mounting apparatuses to remain on display, either because they were important for research access or because they were so heavy. The choice of any specimen required collaboration with preparators, conservators, and RCI—the large firm hired to undertake large-scale deinstallation, conservation, and preparatory work— to decide if, and how, it could be placed on display. Early Solutions for Real/Interpretation In trying to convey a “feeling of dynamic movements, progress, [and] change,” the team thus acknowledged that conveying “change and movement . . . is really hard to do with two-ton specimens that are connected to steel armatures.”41 Through the 10% phase, designers worked iteratively with the team through these debates. Working in the mode of “interpretive design,” designers tried to convey complex information in ways that were “digestible and accessible and interesting to the public.”42 In an illuminating drawing titled the Spectrum of Exhibit Types, Fang-Pin Lee addressed the question of how or to what extent to contextualize real things. This drawing illustrates the spectrum of context and resolution involved in exhibits showing, on the one end, assemblages of standalone fossils, and on the other a fully contextualized and rendered diorama “still life” in ecological context. In the middle are a few compromises that museum displays have made to find a balance between these two extremes. One solution the group found to work through such complicated conversations was speaking in shared, flexible terminology. One of the early

Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes

147

Figure 4.3. Spectrum of Exhibit Types, February 2013. Drawing by Fang-Pin Lee, Reich + Petch. Courtesy of the Office of Exhibits, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

ways to talk about hybrid displays, for instance, was to describe them very broadly as “porkchops,” coined to describe the generalized shapes on the floor plan and placeholders for content mentioned earlier. The porkchops would be the primary areas for objects and their surrounding displays. The term helped the team to talk articulately about areas where fossil mounts would be without designating specific content or approaches to display (they didn’t call them mounts or plinths or platforms for instance). The porkchops would proceed backward in time from the “Anthropocene”— or the current proposed geological period dominated by the significant impacts of humans on the environment—and the Ice Age to the beginning of life at the exit of the hall. A second solution was to generate hybrid design approaches. Suggestions with the most consensus involved combinations of media and real things that didn’t fall into traditional problematic categories. Many of these were envisioned as “assemblages”—bringing together elements of “scenes,” “snapshots,” “tableaux,” mounts, photographs or paintings, textual layering, dramatic lighting, color, and hints of context or miniature scenes of reconstructed environments.43 Within assemblages, specimens could be augmented by 3D models, drawings, 2D models, or computer graphics. In content, these assemblages would acknowledge that ecosystems, time, and climate are all made up of things that evolve.44 In part these were meant to “show relationships” between things as well as interconnected change over time—to “do more than be beautiful.”45

148

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Designers suggested using a “palette of techniques” that in some cases “riffed” on classic dioramas with a “gradient” of “techniques” —including “layering 2D and artwork with AV.”46 Another suggestion was to create mounts in unusual or unexpected combinations—for instance to pose early human skeletons alongside mammoth mounts within these assemblages to show the interconnectedness of ecosystems using compelling (nondinosaur) examples. There were other large-scale elements that were considered hybrids too. What became known as “the ribbon” was a good example. The ribbon was conceived as a “continuous,” fluid, gestural piece weaving its way along the hall suspended above fossil assemblages. It was imagined as everything from a static, graphic mural to a three-dimensional sculptural piece using projection, “panoramic animation” or LED screens to illuminate moving images or scenes.47 The ribbon offered a solution to juxtaposing fossil mounts and murals by being both independent of displays and responding to them—occasionally perhaps even arcing down toward the floor to act as a backdrop. The consensus among the group was generally to have some layered hybrid form that would be “at minimum a beautiful graphic” that would have “some dimensionality”—2.5- to 3D, with integrated lighting or video that would fluctuate between active and passive modes.48 The ribbon would spread time-structured narrative across physical space, “coalescing” units and sets of units together and depicting “scenes and environments”49 and connecting the “porkchops.”50 As Scott Wing said, the ribbon was one “solution to the land of the living dead problem” because “instead of putting an environment behind a skeleton” and “asking people to imagine flesh on it,” it would create “an impression of an environment” at an upper level that reminded people of changes over time and how things might have looked.51 It was Scott Wing who brought up the idea’s similarity to the Rudolph Zallinger’s The Age of Reptiles: “It was every child’s dinosaur dream.”52 There was some disagreement as to whether it should be more or less supportive of the specimens in the space—in some cases it was meant to convey specific stories (such as flight or hot and cold climate fluctuations) and in other cases to only have enough detail to support specimens on the floor.53 Another early solution for the group was to “break expectations” by showing standalone but unexpected things that would speak as singular or iconic objects. One idea was to use message-bearing art pieces or “gestures.” Another was to create a little shrine to something unexpected—a “temple to a fascinating object like the Hope Diamond” that would alert the viewer to some big idea or the underlying message in the room.54 One example was to focus one of the entryways around a “vial of stardust”55—

Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes

149

Figure 4.4. Ribbon Explorations, May 2013. Drawing by Fang-Pin Lee, Reich + Petch. Courtesy of the Office of Exhibits, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

conveying the message that all of Earth’s history and all human bodies are made up of the stuff of stars. Another was to use the shape of the human body as a translucent canvas for projections about Earth’s history.56 In other cases, particularly in the hall devoted to organisms predating life on land, members of the group suggested displaying unusual “signature specimens,” such as a “giant eurypterid.”57 Or, an “isolating” element—which otherwise might function as part of a diorama—could be treated “as an artifact itself.”58 The “coal mine immersive,” for instance, was described as a kind of portal, with a detailed exterior of a fossil tree reconstruction and a cast of the inside of a coal mine where fossils are found today. A model ice core could likewise describe how scientists use ice to look at changes in atmosphere and climate.59 Yet another solution involved carefully controlling what visitors viewed to highlight ordinarily overlooked things. One idea was to have special viewers from an area the group began calling “the bridge” that would focus the visitor’s gaze on specific objects or themes across the gallery. These “thematic viewpoints”60 from the “veranda” (later called “the bridge” by the group)61 would allow for an interplay of objects and illustration. The bridge would allow visitors to observe in targeted ways singular things across time and environments in flux. These experiences might be aimed at individuals or large groups.62 Another idea was to use modernized periscopes, magnifying glasses, microscopes, stereographs, pinhole cameras,

150

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Pepper’s ghosts, or other viewing technologies to focus visitor attention as they peered “into a world of the past.”63 Still another idea was to play with scale, to make tiny things large or whole vast ecosystems miniature, so that the viewer was jolted into paying attention. Graphic techniques were proposed to balance the constraints of real objects with the importance of having them on display. One proposal was to use graphics to show what percentage of the bones in a vertebrate mount were original fossilized material.64 Another idea was to design for each specimen an attractive but accessible display apparatus so that researchers could access the object and the public could still see it. This was a reaction to displays in the past that had been set up without regard for specimen access or research needs.

An Informed Imagination: Detail/Abstraction The team also had to define the nature of detail and interpretation in the hall. Debates emerged about the amount of “resolution” in displays— where along the spectrum from perfectly detailed and temporally literal to abstracted and narratively driven the displays should be. As Matthew Carrano remarked at a February meeting, “You can be accurate without being precise; how precise do we need to be?”65 As Richard Lewis said, “At what point is it not science?”66 Or as he said in a subsequent interview, “In these tremendously brief opportunities that we have, to what extent are we going to deliver a pure nugget of information, and to what extent are we going to deliver an experience that will suggest the information?”67 Gaps in both the fossil record and scientific knowledge further compelled the team to consider whether the exhibit should show a few perfectly detailed scenes or rather focus on abstracted interpretations that communicated well. As Kay Behrensmeyer said, “We’re acting like we know everything,” but there are limits to “what we can know about Earth’s history. … We have a tiny window over all things that have ever lived and died.”68 How would the group help visitors avoid getting “lost in detailed evidence,” as Stephen Petri said, and instead show “big stories through very specific small stories”?69 The team debated how to use time as a framework, but not a literal spatial arrangement in the hall. Arguments for Detail There were a number of arguments for highly “resolved” or detailed display. First, showing highlights or detailed depictions might make the content compelling and more understandable. Members of the group worried

Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes

151

that it would be “hard to explain” major concepts or changes through time without “breaking them down.”70 As Richard Lewis said, in many cases it might be better to avoid representing “the entire environment.” Instead, where there was a “level of confidence” about a specific story, the group could show all the “detail and honor that,” and “go deeply” into the narrative. This approach might be “more attractive and accurate.”71 In other conversations, the group referred to movie “trailer moments”72—highlights in the story. Where the science allowed for “more focused details,” there was the opportunity to show “contextualized moments in time.”73 Overall, members of the group felt that certain areas or topics were “easier to understand” when explained “with an example” rather than in general.74 Moreover, there was a heavy emphasis on conveying evidence to support the stories the group was trying to tell—asserting what science does know and giving visitors the basics they need to understand broader concepts and themes. While paleontologists never have “100 percent of the information,” “leaving things out gives the impression that they’re missing for a reason,” which is, some thought, a “different untruth.”75 There were other areas where the group felt that burrowing down into descriptions of important facts, objects, or concepts was important to giving visitors a “toolkit” for the hall.76 Describing in detail, for instance, what fossils are is key to understanding the significance of objects in the hall. Moreover, some specific places, species, climates, and time periods were crucial to conveying the exhibit’s messages. One such example is the PETM, the Paleocene-Eocene Thermal Maximum, a period marked by rapid global warming 56 million years ago.77 Scott Wing’s research on fossil plants has yielded large collections illustrating the impacts of climatic changes during this time. It is an excellent example of how the fossil record can illuminate contemporary climate issues. Here, the hall could show greater detail and “fine time resolution” to tell one specific and illustrative story.78 Certain fossil groups could also be particularly illustrative of ecosystem shifts or changes through time, such as some invertebrate fossils.79 Likewise, the group described “innovative moments” in time where specific events or objects needed enough detail and “breathing space” to stand on their own.80 Because geologic time could serve as a broad framework for the hall but not its spatial arrangement, there was some discussion about whether the exhibit could do away with geologic time unit names—Triassic, Jurassic, Cretaceous, etc.—on large signage or labels in the hall. The team reached some consensus that they belonged “in parentheses” because the group was trying to “deemphasize” them and not to take them “too literally.”81 The curators, however, noted that “to Kirk and the department, [geologic time

152

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

units] communicat[e] everything.” In other words, this terminology was still important to scientists and many members of the public.82 Curators in particular were worried that losing too much detail could lead to oversimplification of the material—at worst, it would create factually incorrect displays or “dumb down” the material altogether. This was one area where clear division appeared along disciplinary lines. In early benchmarking presentations, the curatorial team was vocal in criticizing other museums, for instance, whose dioramas were inaccurate because they lacked attention to detail. Something could be “impressionistic in the wrong way”83 or lack naturalistic details (such as insect-damaged or trampled plants) to accurately represent past ecosystems.84 In some cases, having an overall sense of “being immersed in the landscape” seemed to be acceptable, so long as an important theme or concept was still being conveyed. In other cases, curators wanted greater levels of “depth and detail.”85 To accommodate the desired detail, curators also tended to push for layered information. Matthew Carrano argued that the problem wasn’t in “too much information” or “technical detail” but in the “delivery,” where to put it, and how to use “primary, secondary, and tertiary” information in levels: “It’s pretty hard to ruin a dinosaur exhibit with words,” he said,86 to which Michael Mason replied, “Oh, I’m sure we could find a way.”87 Arguments for Abstraction On the other end of the spectrum, the team acknowledged that because the exhibit was theme- and message-based, and because the fossil record (and scientific knowledge about it) is inherently incomplete, it was necessary to use abstraction, time averaging, and lower levels of detail in many parts of the hall. The first area of debate was about how to adequately and convincingly describe past life changes when science can’t know everything. This is, of course, true in all of the sciences. As it was explained to me, the very premise of science is that you ask questions to which you don’t know the answers and make hypotheses about things you could be wrong about. At an early Friday afternoon gathering, I recalled Matthew Carrano saying that science was about finding out what’s definitely not true. Fossils are an additional burden because the record in incomplete—it is “hard,” there are “pieces missing.”88 In describing certain core concepts, the fossil record was even described as “terrible” at showing “complete transition[s]” across time.89 Certain historical and climatic conditions make the record unevenly distributed, too—some places, such as tropical ones, have a particularly “terrible,” or very incomplete, record.90

Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes

153

Scott Wing described the fossil record in a meeting once as the “top froth of a bubbling cauldron” representing only a tiny percentage of the “billions of species” that go extinct all the time.91 Moreover, dating objects is much more complicated than one might think. Some radiometric dating only goes back so far. Beyond that, paleontologists use other evidence, such as fossils in, above, or below the rock layer of interest, to delimit the possible age of a fossil. Paleontologists use time averaging to estimate, describe, and analyze fossil assemblages they find because fossils are rarely deposited in an instantaneous event. In fact, Kay Behrensmeyer, one of the three curators at the table, has spent much of her career on the study of taphonomy—the science of how things come to die and become fossilized. As she said of her initial interest in the subject, “You obviously don’t get everything that lived. So, you get a tiny sample,” and then you ask, “How good is that sample?”92 Thus a second argument for abstraction had to do with the nature of paleontology itself. Paleobiology at the National Museum of Natural History [NMNH] has increasingly focused on the study of interconnectivity, process, genetics, and changes in environments over time (as opposed to describing or naming things). Paleobiology’s “privileged point of view” is to tell huge stories that, in turn, require abstracting from available data—specific and known things, times, and places—“continuous storylines.”93 The hall needed to present a “sweep” of “paleo knowledge”94—a series of creatures, times, and places “digested” in a way that only paleobiology can. The hall would give visitors the “long view” that paleontologists “get all the time.”95 In a similar vein, the group was worried that going too far into detail would obscure broader stories and messages. As the designers asked, how would the team prevent visitors from getting “lost in detailed evidence”96 or “reading the details” and not “the essence” of the hall?97 In many cases it was agreed that it was more important for people to get, say, the “rise and fall” of a trend or species instead of the “technical detail.”98 Broad storytelling and “pulling out narratives”99 solved the specimen problem discussed above. As Scott Wing said, it was hard to use the “specimens we have” to tell the “story we have.”100 The ongoing processual nature of evolution was “resistant” to display with objects; it was exactly the kind of thing you “can’t show with fossils.”101 Early Solutions to Detail/Abstraction On the first day of the second workshop for Deep Time, there was a fairly lengthy discussion among the scientists about these issues. Kay Behrensmeyer argued that “we can’t say we’re not going to do it because we don’t have all the data.”102 Hans Sues articulated that there were “different levels

154

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

of confidence” the exhibit could use: while “everyone knows we don’t know everything” and while “some dates are irrefutable and others unknown,” the “public is curious”; who better to “give it a stab than the people in this room?”103 It was during this discussion that Kay Behrensmeyer coined the phrase picked up by other curatorial staff to capture this sentiment— “informed imagination.”104 This was one of the ways that collective thinking helped to resolve debates. Throughout meetings, members of the group would use metaphors to describe the way the group could think about seemingly incongruous issues. Those that became shared metaphors helped them think through some of these dilemmas. Some metaphors included thinking of time as a framework like a play. The “duration of time” in a scene doesn’t matter; rather the order in which things happen allows the audience to follow a narrative.105 Fang-Pin Lee pitched “life as a book” to describe ordering a narrative without aligning temporal distance to spatial distance,106 and Mike Lawrence similarly compared the hall to a “memoir of the Earth,” taking a visitor through ordered “flashbacks.”107 Matthew Carrano compared the hall to a movie with a beginning, middle, and end whose plot could still be described in summary or as narrative.108 Another group comparison was the hall as a subway map, where each “stop” was an important node of activity. The distance between stops was unimportant.109 Other metaphors included the framework of the hall as a “string of beads” or “pearls” where a visitor moved from one important moment or node to the next.110 Overarching messages and themes were described as “streams” or “threads” through the hall.111 Many of these modes of describing the relationship between space, concepts, and time order were merged into the “content bubbles” prepared for the 10% package. A further set of metaphors was used to describe a design solution—what became known as the “bridge.” The idea, mentioned above, was pitched during the workshop during which the designers brought four potential hall floor plans to the group to debate. The initial idea, quickly supported by the group, was to have a kind of viewing platform in the hall allowing visitors to look out over the sweep of time. From the “bridge,” “veranda,” or “overlook,” visitors could both see the narrative, “topical streams” and, with special viewers or other AV technology, zoom into important details that highlighted moments in time.112 For curators, the bridge was a “metaphor for what we do as the museum and as palaeontologists.”113 Like studying paleontology, a view from the bridge would give a visitor a “place you go to take it all in in one view . . . the panorama.”114 It could act like both a “synthesizer”115 and a “stereoscope.”116 Looking through “lenses” or “eyes,”117 or even Empire State Building observation deck–esque binocu-

Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes

155

lars, visitors could “dig into a little piece of it”118 or see “case studies.”119 This view would allow the examination of, as Angela Roberts Reeder put it, “thematic lenses across time.”120 It was a place for “bringing themes into focus.”121 At one point Reeder called it “the Deep Time command center: bringing themes into focus.”122 Fang-Pin Lee added that the bridge would be about the view, while the ground level would be about “taking your journey.”123 From the perspective of the bridge, visitors could see how themes connected across specific details depicted in porkchops. Another solution in this vein was to use the ribbon to connect not only objects and their ecological and temporal context but the overall details and storyline. Where the ground level story would show “change through time,”124 the upper-level ribbon could bring out the “whole sweep of time,”125 including ever-present themes, trends, or narratives, perhaps even using color-coding or text.126 As Fang-Pin Lee described, “Each moment of time [might be] highlighted in specific messages.” Imagining the “whole gallery as a theater experience,” the mural would depict “higher-level messages” using visual cues and “keywords from the [message] document.”127 Rather than acting as a “portrait of a specific ecosystem,” the ribbon would “coalesce” moments, species, and environmental details “as units and sets of units together.”128 It would work as a “big kinetic impression more than [a] didactic instrument,”129 or, as Mark Ostrander pointed out, “pictures rather than words.”130 Scott Wing likewise noted that it would be better at conveying “not specific information but a sense of environment and how it changes over time.”131 A further idea was for the ribbon itself to bridge the gap between specificity and theme by breaking it up into two streams, where the “lower band” represented themes, the upper, environments.132 Matthew Carrano also agreed that there needed to be multiple modes for the ribbon in terms of its function, one of which was, as Kay Behrensmeyer had offered, to have more “detail at the bottom,” and the top would become “increasingly gestural, summarizing, more interpreted.” The visitor could see mural-level detail at the bottom. The farther the images got from the visitor’s view, the more images would become gestural.133 A further group strategy was to use first-person perspectives. “From the point of view of each person”134 and their “ongoing science and research,”135 it might be easier to say “this is what we know” and what we don’t136 and to talk about “what’s not in the record and why”137; these are the “areas scientists are still exploring,”138 where scientists find gaps, challenges, or “problem[s] in their work.”139 The group agreed that first-person frankness about how science works while giving a “behind-the-scenes” look at science in process was an effective way to be more honest about scientific knowledge. As Scott Wing said, it would be ideal to have depic-

156

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

tions of a person “doing something and finding something out [wherever possible],” because not only would it be a “good experience for the visitor” but it would also “allow us to be more honest about how it happens.”140 This was seen as one way to grapple with gaps in the fossil record, areas where scientists haven’t reached consensus, and areas where scientists use inferences to cull hypotheses. One major area for doing this was the FossiLab, a live preparation lab in the hall where volunteers working with scientists would prepare fossils for research, storage, or display. The whole lab would be about “the process of you all doing science” through a space illustrating “the work to make these statements—otherwise these bones just appear.”141 Another group method for overcoming the detail/abstraction debate was to break down big concepts into detailed components—the main things people needed to know, or the main “components” that represent the “assembling and disassembling” of ecosystems in the world.142 One notion was to give visitors a “toolkit” for understanding the hall, for “navigat[ing] Deep Time,” and for appreciating the “organization of content, ideas, [and] sequencing,” or the “hierarchy of ideas.”143 Another was to ensure that each object in an “assemblage” or “tableau” still had basic information—including how it lived, where it was from, what it ate—and a silhouette of the mount showing what portion was real (original fossilized material), who found it, etc.144 Amy Bolton proposed the education field term “advanced organizer”—a tool to help people to “be on the lookout for major players or pieces of the system.”145 Reeder and the writing team’s introductory panels would draw out generalities from the more detailed information and scenery visitors would see at the porkchop level. Like an actor who introduces a play,146 these were imagined, suggested Angela Roberts Reeder, as thoughtful, “evocative, and informative” panels containing textual and graphic elements to give an overview of each section.147 What Stephen Petri first called “time/space pods”148 could act either as “temporal reminders” or “conceptual focus points”149 while also pulling “out the main messages.”150 As Petri said, they could act as “primer[s] to the scene” showing “where you’re at in Earth’s history,” illustrating the “conditions [and] time” at that point, and also as “visual markers” along the “long, central armature” that was “visible at a lower level.”151 Some of these could have nicknames to help “atomize” the exhibit.152 The early idea that received the most traction in the group was the use of (multilayered) “hubs” or “thresholds” to describe important moments in time. These hubs would allow visitors to stop, gain their bearings, and understand they “are here in place and time,”153 along with why that was important. Each “hub” was conceived as a “mini bridge” or as a “temporal

Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes

157

positioning system” (TPS) unit.154 Each of these TPS hubs might set “baseline orientation information—where you are, what point in geologic time it is, where the continents are,”155 and what the “significance of the period” is.156 Through these “transition points,”157 like the “fulcrum on a seesaw,”158 visitors would have a chance to “pull out one of the threads,”159 or main messages,160 and to “orient and amalgamate”161 information. On the other hand, these “hubs” or TPS units could mark specific times, places, or detailed components—to act as “time markers”162 or “call out a specific event.”163 While being “nested” in the exhibit hall,164 the TPS hubs might also mark vast changes or “register” at higher levels165 with their own “graphic identity.”166 Fang-Pin Lee proposed these “thresholds” as occurring at major introductory points or points of massive global change—at the introduction to the exhibit, the K/Pg boundary, the Permian-Triassic extinction, the transition to land, the Cambrian explosion, and the beginning of life (the back entrance to the hall).167 These TPS hubs would thus flag where and when visitors were when they encountered assemblages, thereby bridging specificity and general trends or themes. Another idea was to create “thematic tracks” through the hall, which would also “hit . . . points over and over again” so that “storytelling [would]

Figure 4.5. TPS units, June 2013. Drawing by Richard Lewis Media Group. Courtesy of the Office of Exhibits, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

158

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

span the whole exhibit.”168 In February 2013, Fang-Pin Lee presented first drafts of floor plan layouts to the group. It was one of those workshops where the team worked with what I’ve later heard Kay Behrensmeyer call “a group brain.” Fang-Pin Lee presented four plans, and by the end of the session it was clear there was consensus around one main plan fusing a few elements from the others. It was this third plan, then labeled plan C, that “synthesized [an] approach” and first illustrated the idea of a ramp up to a viewing bridge, putting the “visitor right at the very center” and looking out over the hall. It was the second plan, plan B that stressed the importance of a “beautiful long view,” while plan D emphasized highlights and a ribbon of some kind and plan A stressed the organization of a “Metro map.” While plan C became the one the group focused on, these elements from the other plans were incorporated to create a layout that could be organized by both themes and geologic time, with a narrative moving in both directions, while devoting attention to both highly resolved details and overarching stories.

Technology with Purpose: Reliability/Innovation Underpinning conversations about real things and storytelling was a concern for what the overall tone and density of technology should be. Richard Lewis often commented that by the time the exhibit opened, not a single cord we were using would be the same. In a seven-year exhibit process, for a hall with a thirty-year lifespan, planning media was a daunting task. Moreover, at a museum that had in 2013 trumped its previous numbers with some eight million visitors,169 using innovative or unknown technologies was risky business. Broken interactive displays are an eyesore, and expensive technologies that no one uses five years later are a waste of money. As Kara Blond said of using technology on such a huge stage, The numbers of people that come through here are just so mind-boggling that it explains why there’s such risk aversion here, because when you fail, you fail spectacularly. If something breaks, it’s broken in front of so many sets of eyes that you want to be pretty confident about what you’re putting out. That doesn’t mean we can’t take risks, but we need to do it in a thoughtful, tested way with clearly defined goals.170

Not surprisingly, there were many conversations about where the balance lay between using classic technologies with guaranteed longevity and newer technology with greater capacities. With the advent of smartphones, there was a general feeling among the group that the Smithsonian couldn’t

Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes

159

possibly keep up with communication technologies in the market world. The group therefore had a number of discussions, often led by Richard Lewis and Mark Ostrander, about “media techniques, approaches, [and] styles.”171 Opinions often split along disciplinary lines during debates about media. As Richard Lewis put it, I think that the group in Deep Time does a much better job of thinking about each other’s perspectives while obviously mostly . . . being driven by their own, but certainly respecting those other perspectives. And yeah, I think that that is going to be an ongoing battle and I think that the media process probably where the battle is going to play out a little bit.172

Media design, like exhibit writing, is often where perspectives between curators and exhibits staff clash. Arguments for Innovation As might be expected from some of the team’s aspirations for elements such as the ribbon and the bridge—and some of the hybrid technologies proposed to solve issues of authenticity and resolution—there were a number of arguments in favor of media-driven exhibits. First, the team was attracted to the message-bearing affordances of technologies and their potential to innovatively convey content. Deep Time aimed to do something novel, therefore necessitating new approaches to media technologies. The “idea of naturalistic presentation is attractive, but it’s been done,” Richard Lewis said.173 Like the exhibit concept, novel technologies offered new flexibilities as opposed to “fixed graphics,”174 which fit the team’s ambitions for modularity, multimodal display, and hybrid techniques. “E-labels” and other online media could add layered, tiered information to solve the problem of accessibility without dumbing down the information. New media could also describe interconnectivity, movement, flux, and processes, both at particular moments in time (for instance, how the light would change in a Cretaceous day) and across wide swaths of time and space (how plant populations changed and moved amid vast climatic changes in the PETM). The ribbon, for instance, could be in a constant state of “change” and “flux,” “shifting [from] state to state”—a kind of “magic.”175 New technologies promised to enhance uncharismatic things, combat the charisma of iconic things (which were not the focus of many of the exhibits’ messages), and highlight the unexpected. There were even discussions about using new media to “animate data . . . without making it boring”176 or to show how an insect and a plant might have an interaction.177

160

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Elements such as these would also be “updatable” to highlight new stories or research during the life of the hall.178 New technologies offered the hall “modularity” for its thirty-year lifespan.179 Some members of the team imagined whole galleries as “completely flexible and fluid.”180 One idea was to use mechanical techniques, such as interactive workstations emerging out of the floors or walls when an educator wanted to start a program. For Human Origins, the RLMG had designed the media with the knowledge that “the museum staff had the desire to update stuff internally,”181 and Deep Time’s media could be the same. If the porkchops were “designed to change,” future exhibit staff or curators with enough “vocabulary” in the relevant media technology could redesign them.182 These techniques might allow the institution to update current scientific knowledge, present relevant material, or talk about “science in the news.”183 A humorous example of the need for such modularity came when the curators were diagramming geologic time and important events on the whiteboard in the Cooper Room. One of them erased a line, saying, “Maybe we should put it here [instead] . . . there was that paper that came out on Thursday.” Fang-Pin Lee replied, “We’re going to have to change the whole exhibit because of a paper that came out on Thursday?”184 These instances make it seem quite practical to use new media to illustrate scientific ideas. New media might also allow for spatial modularity for programing or face-to-face interactive experiences between curators, educators, or volunteers and the public. In “mediated experience[s] between a volunteer and visitors,” there could be “updatable exhibit[s]” or “design element[s]” using AV equipment185 or “interactive volunteer spaces distributed around the space.”186 An installation might have different modes, where it could miraculously become a series of “tabletop activities for twenty-five people” and then be “reestablished in gallery mode” or “reverted to installation” in an instant.187 New technologies also promised new possibilities for intimate, personalized, visceral, group, or affective experiences, including “beaming in” science from the field, immersive landscapes or portals, and participatory group interactives for up to hundreds of people to do together. Richard Lewis remarked that media could help visitors to imagine extinct animals as living, breathing creatures. He asked provocatively, “What am I going to feel, see, what creatures would I hear? . . . What’s going to eat you? Can I breathe?”188 Different “levels of experience” might offer new affective ways to reach new audiences.189 New media offered ways to generate active, rather than passive, experiences.190 Media also offered ways to extend a person’s visit beyond the museum’s walls and their time

Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes

161

at the museum—people could see things prior to their visit or continue their encounter at home later.191 Mobile device technologies might allow visitors to interact differently with the museum both in and outside its physical walls.192 In part, new technologies were cited as a potential way to intellectually and emotionally prepare people for their time in the exhibit. Mobile apps, social media interfaces (e.g. blogs, Facebook, YouTube), or in-gallery media might set the tone for visitors’ interactions. As Richard Lewis said of the time tunnel, an introductory immersive audiovisual piece for the Human Origins Hall, this could be a “brief immersive thing” that “inoculates you for the whole experience” and allows you to be “bathed in the first part of the story,” as a “little preparation.”193 Perhaps most importantly for the Deep Time message, the group had a sense that these kinds of new media technologies might have a higher impact for climate change “deniers”; new media could prompt a kind of activism through compelling experiences.194 Arguments for Reliability Paradoxically, some of the reasons for using new media were also the reasons not to. While modularity would keep the hall relevant and up to date for longer, it would also mean that devices could break sooner or go out of date more quickly. With whose time or with what resources would the exhibit’s modular content be updated? There was some consensus against the use of media for media’s sake. First, with media being practically ubiquitous, it was decided that the hall couldn’t and shouldn’t compete with commercial technologies. The hall, and the Smithsonian more broadly, would have to carve out a unique niche for itself that allowed it to stay relevant without trying to achieve something unattainable. People “are bombarded with media,” in mobile apps, 3D films, and the like, and the Smithsonian can’t “compete with that.” With the iPhone, said Hans Sues, “I already have something better.”195 Moreover, people might already be “oversaturated” with media and other technologies.196 Rather, Smithsonian should “create experiences and impressions that can only happen in this place.”197 Information is free.198 The Smithsonian offers something different—real things, digested and curated information, a unique combination of perspective, expertise, and collections—that “won’t happen elsewhere.”199 As Richard Lewis said in an interview, Why would someone come to the museum to watch TV? And if we’re making a piece of multimedia and it appears to be something that you could just as easily see on the internet, then we’ve failed again! Why would people come to this place if we’re just going to give them something that they can experience just as easily at home.200

162

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Michael Mason noted that there was a “consensus that people don’t want to do the same thing at a museum they can do with their laptop.”201 The overuse of technology would also be ill-fitted in tone for a Smithsonian hall. As Mike Lawrence said, “[We] don’t want Times Square.”202 I heard a heavy reluctance to use certain kinds of technology on the part of curators, especially in one of the early meetings after the designers showed the group the Royal Ontario Museum’s Ultimate Dinosaurs exhibit. The exhibit had piloted a number of new technologies, including heavy uses of augmented reality and other interactive technologies. Scott Wing commented, “This proves that (a) dinosaurs were really small, and (b) they coexisted with humans,” and the technologies don’t “provide anything other than what you can get from television. . . . I don’t mind entertaining, just not entertainment.”203 While there was somewhat more resistance to this kind of technology among curators than other members of the group, there was a strong consensus that any technology would need to fulfill an educational goal, lead to deeper thought, or have some intrinsic ability to convey an important message for it to be worth using. As Amy Bolton said, “If all I’m doing is creating fun things so that people are happy . . . that’s too easy and, as an educator, not intellectually very interesting to me.”204 As Richard Lewis said, it was all right if a technology was used “purely [for] engagement” as “long as it move[d] you to the next stage.”205 There was skepticism among many members of the team about whether these technologies would in fact accomplish that. In fact, as Amy Bolton said, “there are a lot of people who are not comfortable with technology, and so there’s an affective barrier to their learning.”206 After viewing a version of App Shaker, a wall-sized screen depicting animals and viewers together, the group was similarly resistant to the idea that a large-scale interactive screen had any inherent ability to engage people with important messages or ideas. Media needed to be fully integrated with the hall’s purpose and design. As Matthew Carrano said, “If it doesn’t connect, that’s a problem.”207 As Richard Lewis later commented, “A technical solution has to follow an understanding of the common goals.”208 The logistics of the project added complications to planning for new media in the hall; with an opening date of 2019, there was no way to plan for what technologies would be available; most “new” media would look old. Yet there needed to be infrastructural planning for big media pieces. This type of future flexibility was expensive. Given the museum’s annual visitor numbers, there was no guarantee that any innovative technologies would last one year, let alone the thirty that the hall might be open. Matthew Carrano liked to call the dinosaur hall the “Romper Room,” and

Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes

163

Figure 4.6. Team watches kids testing the App Shaker immersive screen, April 2013. Photo by the author.

he would reject technologies because they looked like “something a child would break.”209 There’s nothing worse than a broken “interactive.” Richard Lewis spoke of this pressure as a designer: I’m this kid from Liverpool, and I’ve somehow been plucked out of there, landed on the National Mall, and been told to do the media experiences for the most significant exhibit that the National Museum of Natural History is going to have for the next twenty years, fifty years, you know? It’s like, well, let it be monumental! And then on the other hand it’s like, well, let it not break! . . . So that, I think, is sort of an emotional conflict that I feel: practicality against magnificence.210

On the other hand, there was no real consensus on the use of “tried-andtrue” media either. Kay Behrensmeyer worried that a traditional mural would go “out of date.” Scott Wing felt that techniques such as mural painting or text panels for interpreting objects would have longevity and a more “enduring style.”211 For exhibits staff responsible for hall infrastructure and upkeep, other constraints included dust build-up and building requirements that would prohibit certain kinds of media use. The museum had good reason to worry about technologies without infrastructural, technical, or labor lon-

164

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

gevity; there were examples—for instance, giant projectors installed in The Sant Ocean Hall were never used because the light bulbs were too expensive to replace. Such precedents were “dearly observed.”212 Exhibits staff would groan about big media pieces because they were impossible to maintain. There was a general feeling in the museum that failure was not acceptable and that risk-taking was not part of the culture. The Smithsonian is all about getting it right. The institution was also protective of its brand; it has public trust. If you lose that, it’s almost impossible to get it back. As I often heard Michael Mason say, the Smithsonian is “committed to accuracy.” Moreover, as Kara Blond said, its visibility and huge visitorship make it necessarily a more conservative place.213 The team was already taking economic risks. During the time I observed the planning process, the fundraising for the exhibit was incomplete— Hall 6, where the new FossiLab and much of the space for educational programming and interactive techniques would be used, didn’t have any funding. The team knew that “some schemes” for the hall were “easier to deal with if the fundraising doesn’t come through.”214 It wasn’t always worth it to risk limited time and money on things that might not work or last. When I asked the team in interviews who would eventually have final say on exhibit decisions, a common answer was, albeit jokingly, Chun-Hsi Wong, assistant director for facilities operations. As Abby Telfer said, My sense is that when our proposals go upstairs, there hasn’t been a lot of pushback on anything. . . . Maybe it’s because the material going up is good. But I don’t have the sense that we’re going to be told we have to do things differently than what we had planned other than Chun-Hsi, who’s going to say “I’m sorry, you can’t put that there because the floor will collapse.215

However, Kara Blond, acting assistant director for exhibitions, pointed out to me that even safety discussions are negotiations. Early Solutions for Reliability/Innovation The tensions between aspirations and logistical constraints are inherent in any exhibit design, as Mike Lawrence implied in an interview with me: I always think of design as problem-solving, but not just in a pragmatic way. I think there is a whole range of problems or challenges that you’re given to resolve in the design of an exhibit. And it might be from very practical matters, like security and environmental protection for the objects, to more conceptual problems, like “How do I convey a sense of space?” or “How do I create a mood?” or “How do I direct somebody’s attention to something?” or “How do I encourage people to engage with things?”216

Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes

165

The group did agree to use certain kinds of media, but the technology would have to be in line with the hall’s messages and goals: it would have to do something beyond promoting its own novelty. Richard Lewis reiterated on many occasions that the group would “have to be very thoughtful” about what media was “saying.”217 As Scott Wing said, a “technology solution” would work if it came “with a message we want absolutely to be there.” It “need[ed] to have a core purpose”218 and couldn’t be, as Fang-Pin Lee said, “misunderstood as a decorative element.”219 One possible solution was to use “techniques, approaches, and styles”220 that hybridized methodologies or “mixed mediums.”221 Many of these were steampunkesque hybrids—technologies with either vintage aesthetic and new media affordances or vice versa. As Fang-Pin Lee said, the group could experiment with a “painterly fusion” of “old school and new techniques.” “[We] don’t want it to look like a rock show,” she said, “[and I like] the beauty of some older techniques.”222 Some of these included modernizing or augmenting vintage technologies like Roman bas-relief, periscopes, stereoscopes, mirrors, cycloramas, or Pepper’s ghosts. The exhibit could also feature layered techniques, or technologies with multiple affordances or modes, much like how the group solved the detail/ abstraction problem. The ribbon, for instance, was conceived as a partially 3D sculptural or bas-relief element, with painting, text, and LED lighting technologies. It could meld “still images, slideshows, digital displays, [and] video.”223 Fossil assemblages could include “clever way[s] of lighting specimens,” screens in “morphing” backdrops, and little Pepper’s ghost technologies.224 One of the examples of techniques pitched was that of a husband-and-wife team that makes “painterly and digital composites.”225 If a “bulb burned out,” the ribbon “still holds ideas”226 because it would be “anchored” with “physical and AV components.”227 Media had been considered very early in the process—the “density,” “rhythm,” and techniques for media were included in the 10% package along with design drawings and content plans. In this way, the technology was integrated into arrangements for the whole physical hall. Technologies pitched for the TPS hubs, or thresholds, were also meant to organically incorporate technology within the hall. The porkchop displays would be networked together so that messages and themes could be communicated across them.228 Connected elements of the hall could have two-way staff and visitor communication or e-labels.229 In the early plans, the RLMG planned twenty five to forty total media components, from more “modest” small video stations, graphic panels, “audioscapes,” “kinetic” or “electronic” pieces, and small-group interactives to “very large iconic programs,”230 including full-scale “multiuser interfaces” and immersive technologies with

166

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

a “large footprint.”231 The group agreed on using immersive or other new technologies where they were trying to describe concepts—or ideas without much support from objects.

Majestic and Inviting? Authority/Participation There were many early discussions about engagement during the Deep Time process, largely led by Michael Mason, who even brought in a group called the Innovation Unit from the UK to help the museum and the Deep Time team think more broadly about its national and international publics. There was early interest in involving the public in the process; in fact, this had even been pitched as one of my potential roles. But in the end, that didn’t really happen. Big, longstanding, and lumbering institutions like the Smithsonian have a hard time shifting paradigms. As Kara Blond said, “It just feels like a hard ship to turn here.”232 In meetings, there were debates about how much control or authority over content the museum scientists were willing to give up in order to allow the public to “tinker,” to generate their own meanings, experiences, or even content itself. To what extent was it possible to interact with the public (e.g., remote field cameras, holograms of scientists, interactive lectures, a fully staffed FossiLab)? There were debates about the museum’s authority, the right tone a gallery should have, and the importance of public trust in a place like the Smithsonian. These debates also involved conversations about the museum’s tone toward visitors, which included discussions of text: for instance, there was (curatorially driven) consensus that the group would avoid corny puns. Arguments for Participation One of the main messages of the exhibit was “human connections”—a section of the hall became known during the 10% phase as “the Anthropocene” to reflect current discussions about human involvement with Earth processes and changes. This area would allow visitors to connect the hall with their own experience. In discussions about the bridge, for instance, Matthew Carrano asked, “What are the things we can make relevant to people?”233 Making the exhibit personal was a way to make it easier to see how the science was “relevant to us.”234 Engagement in the topic was a way to be proactive about issues without being activist—if people felt ownership over the hall’s content or connected personally with the material, the exhibit would have a better chance at changing public perceptions and making a real difference. There were

Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes

167

fascinating discussions about introductory elements in the exhibit avowing notions like “You are stardust,” “[You are] special on the planet,”235 “Deep Time is in us.”236 The team wanted to show how humans “[tinker] with all of those systems”237 and that “everything impacts us,”238 and to “invite” the public into the exhibit, let them “find personal connection,” and let them “discover with us.”239 As Scott Wing said, “Come with us and learn to read the logbook of the planet.”240 The group also liked the idea of starting the hall with Ice Age material because more familiar material would be more “welcoming” for them.241 The familiar served as an “entrance into topics.” Rather than “hit[ting] with evolution right at the beginning,” they could “hit ecosystems up front” as “something [visitors] can handle . . . something about climate that’s familiar.”242 Citing Falk, Pekarik, and others, Amy Bolton further advocated for stressing people’s own connections to Deep Time issues as a pathway to understanding them.243 Thus, parts of these conversations were influenced by educational theory, informal learning, and visitor studies, namely that learning was facilitated by visitors’ ownership over content as a two-way experience. Rewards, takeaways, and affective experiences help people learn and want to learn, which can therefore positively impact people’s learning experience in the hall. The group was driven to know more about audiences. While there was no professional evaluator assigned to evaluate the exhibit during the 10% phase, Exhibits had entered a multi-year partnership with the George Washington University Museum Education Graduate Program and were testing visitor understandings and interest in paleontology and Deep Time concepts. In November I was tasked with conducting a visitor study—including observing, timing, and tracking visitors as well as summative interviews—of the FossiLab space to inform the planning of the temporary and permanent exhibit. Common visitor behaviors—such as the fact that visitors “ping-pong” through the halls, and the longer they stay in a hall the more they backtrack—were also taken into consideration from previous studies.244 Administrators were also interested in seeing participatory, audience research and informal learning literature incorporated into the exhibit design. In the Approval Team’s review of the 10% draft, Jonathan Coddington explicitly asked the team to show how they were drawing on literature in informal science learning. Keeping in mind the very broad audience of the NMNH, and drawing on understandings of best practices developed in the field over the previous thirty years, the writers would work to translate content into concise, accessible, eighth-grade-level language.245 As Michael Mason said, “We’re all technocrats; visitors are not all like that; I would love this exhibit, but I’m

168

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

not sure my kids would have.”246 The tone and level of language, as well as the appropriate length of exhibit text, is a constant point of contention between writers and curators. The group members nonetheless collectively tried to imagine what visitors’ experiences would be like, and they shaped the hall around that. As Kara Blond expressed in a later interview, I think this notion of the museum as authoritative voice is definitely less oppressive than it ever was. . . . We’re really asking for input in a different way, and we’re presenting content in a less from-the-voice-on-high tone. I feel really strongly that we want to incorporate a more casual—and I get a lot of pushback about the word “conversational”—but accessible tone to the way that we present our science and stories of science.247

The group also agreed to make the hall “visitor centered,” and that some level of activity, interactivity, and participation from visitors would help them to grasp complex concepts.248 At the same time Deep Time was being planned, the museum was finalizing plans for its new education center, Q?rius. In Q?rius, visitors can take objects out of drawers, participate in activities, and create their own field notebooks. There was some discussion as to whether replicating that kind of experience somewhere in the Deep Time hall was beneficial. The group generally agreed to allow visitors to “tinker” with Earth processes through some kind of gears, wheels, or cranks they could turn. It was also suggested that showing behind-the-scenes processes, how the museum does its work, and how scientists know what they know would be more inviting for visitors and thus contribute to better learning experiences, a solution similar to that of the detail/abstraction problem. A live space like FossiLab would tell people, “This is why you need to know this in 2021, underpinned by how science works.”249 The group also discussed how to reach remote audiences or bring the field into the museum—capacities of a museum “without walls.” Literally, the NMNH can’t have any more physical visitors in the hall, which makes thinking about increasing engagement a huge challenge. In addition, there was a desire to keep the public involved to prevent public anger during the hall’s five-year closure. Through virtual experiences or distance learning, web users could play with Deep Time concepts or ask scientists questions in the field.250 These approaches, the group hoped, would be “affective” more “compelling for most people” and convince them “to go out and save the world.”251 As Matthew Carrano said, “The twenty of us in the Department aren’t going to do it. We have to make people feel like it’s their thing. . . . [We] can’t trick them into saving the planet.”252 This was why the exhibit was

Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes

169

such a “big deal.”253 The group had such incredible aspirations in this vein that Kay Behrensmeyer coined the phrase “creating citizens for a changing planet” at a workshop in December, which became the exhibit’s mantra. Arguments for Authority Some of the same arguments for adopting participatory models, especially the seriousness of Deep Time’s topic and mission, drove arguments against them as well. One of the first arguments against audience participation that I heard clearly, which came particularly from curators, was that there are no user-generated truths. The museum therefore needed to maintain its authority over some kinds of information, which were not open to public interpretation. Scientists agree about certain things—like evolution and climate change. The argument that these aren’t objective truths is problematic in a world where many naysayers believe different truths. Scientists know better. As Matthew Carrano said, “Sure, it’s a democratic process in that anyone can do it, but not that anyone can decide; there is a wrong answer.”254 And scientists at the NMNH “have a responsibility to talk about evolution pretty explicitly.”255 The team felt a responsibility to get people past their “personal belief barriers.”256 For audience advocates, on the other hand, the museum is “a constructivist learning environment where the individuals construct knowledge at their own pace in their own way.” They don’t always come to the same “shared knowledge because of who they are as individuals.”257 Curators in particular felt that people needed to know certain information in order to understand the exhibit at all. The exhibit team had to hold authority over facts and help the public “know enough to be [citizens] for a changing planet.”258 As Scott Wing articulated after a meeting about engagement, “an engaged citizen (1) knows that the planet and life on it has history; (2) knows that history is exemplified by processes that are ongoing; (3) understands that they and all humans are involved in and affect that process; and (4) wants to do something about it.”259 There was also a sense that many interactives don’t convey content well. Where Amy Bolton felt strongly that Hall 6 needed to have a “tinkering space” for visitors to “explore cause and effect,”260 Matthew Carrano was concerned that an interactive on Earth processes could end up as “just a big biochemistry set” or “tinker toys.”261 Matthew Carrano did suggest showing the public “how to put a skeleton together, how we do mounts . . . how we did this”; Amy Bolton, though, wanted “the visitors to do it” themselves,262 which Matthew Carrano thought would be difficult, both because they would have a hard time using real objects and because people wouldn’t know enough anatomy to do it. With a goal of increasing sci-

170

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

entific literacy, scientists felt there were fundamental and nonnegotiable things people needed to know, such as how evolution works.263 The debate was wrapped up in its implications for human impact on the planet. The team felt strongly about emphasizing that, “yes, climate is changing” in a way that “didn’t happen in the past.”264 As Scott Wing said, “[We have] impacts on the planet. We know about them. They’re not going to change.”265 The exhibit was meant to be “a handbook to the planet, to yourself, to your own organism,”266 and visitors “need to understand that as humans we are turning the dials”267 and “we don’t know what the implications are.”268 The seriousness with which the team took these issues was clear. As Kay Behrensmeyer interjected during one discussion, “I’m worried we’re not saving the world; we haven’t conveyed the message.”269 The entire bridge section was not just visitor-centric, it was meant to represent the Anthropocene, a term specifically used and championed by Scott Wing “to be inclusive, be conscious of our role in the future of everything on the planet.”270 Or as Kay Behrensmeyer said, “We wouldn’t have come up with citizens for a changing planet if that wasn’t firmly in our minds: advocacy.”271 The team therefore wanted the authority to confront visitors with the planet’s harsh realities, to have “them to think about the fact that eighteen thousand years ago, New York was covered with ice.”272 Further, as Matthew Carrano said, “if we’re saving the planet,” then the group needed to cast a wider net than just worrying about global warming, to include things such as the fact that the “low diversity of plants we all need to eat sets us up for mass extinction given what we know.”273 Curators in particular wanted to convince visitors that paleontology is important and relevant. Or as Scott Wing noted, “This is how paleontology sees itself going forward; we’re keepers of the logbook of the planet’s history, which actually has value; we realize we’re steering the ship . . . into the shore,” he added half-jokingly.274 And “only through the lens of Deep Time” could you get this unique perspective.275 The exhibit had to show “why anybody should care about it,” why it was important.276 Using paleobiology’s perspective, the exhibit wouldn’t have to focus only on climate change, because “the past is the gateway to the Anthropocene. . . . We’ve got people looking at the history of life on the planet; it’s such a perfect place for seeing the amazing history of change in the past, processes, and how they operate.”277 All of these conversations, for a cultural anthropologist, have a decidedly religious tone. Much of these discussions centered on converting people to science, to the truth; on the world, and their place in it. And indeed, I heard more than one person joke that the group was “messianic” in their tone.

Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes

171

How the exhibit engaged the public would also have to maintain the trust and institutional tone of the Smithsonian. Again, disciplinary differences appeared between curators and Exhibits/Education staff. When Scott Wing described participatory games at the National Geographic museum, Matthew Carrano said, “Can we set a higher bar than that? We are the national museum; we should be majestic about something”—the museum should have “stature.” “I don’t want to give that up,”278 he said, to which Amy Bolton replied, “Can we be majestic and inviting?”279 Matthew Carrano continued, “People respect that we’re an institution. That doesn’t mean were not inviting, but we’re not pandering either.” Visitors, he thought, shouldn’t “mistake us for someone else,” and while he didn’t “want to lecture people” and acknowledged that the museum was “not supposed to be a classroom,” he said it also shouldn’t be like a “mall” or “an amusement park.”280 The NMNH’s “uniqueness”281 was in the “intersection of all these things.”282 Where an “amusement park is entertainment experience” and a “classroom is all information but not firsthand,” the museum is “in contact with people doing all this stuff at the same time, . . . we are the real thing,” and “we need to decide who are we and what . . . we sound like.”283 FangPin Lee suggested that the Smithsonian scientists, “who know and do this stuff,” make the invitation to the public to “join us.”284 Matthew Carrano suggested that the exhibit’s tone be modeled after curatorial tours: “it’s a unique tone . . . they don’t get free reign nor is it stand up and shut up while I lecture; I know what’s important to show them, but there’s a zone for dialog.”285 Scott Wing chimed in: “I completely agree about that tone business; I bristle when I hear the term elitist.” You can respect people’s intelligence and allow them to ask questions.286 He continued, “[I] absolutely don’t want to give up [the fact] that we are people deciding what gets put up there.”287 Like differentiating arrogance and confidence, Matthew Carrano argued, there was a difference between being “elitist” and being open to participation but authoritative about the science.288 Kay Behrensmeyer took a slightly subtler tone, asserting that “another component of uniqueness is our particular sets of interests and expertises” so that “we can put our stamp on this,” and “[it’s] what we want to do because no one else can do it.”289 As with discussions about experimental technologies, concerns emerged about the potentially prohibitive logistical constraints of interactive technologies. Things that people handle, touch, pull, and push are also things that break. Furthermore, without guidance from docents or other staff, any object put out for the public, even if it was “tethered,”290 could “disappear into people’s pockets.”291 Where Amy Bolton wanted to use collections to show aspects of difficult concepts, to use objects to “help us to

172

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

do really quality programming,” curators, beyond offering up “thousands of pieces of fossil wood chips in cigar boxes we can put out,”292 knew that “if we want[ed] real stuff,” it would be “difficult to cater to an activity.”293 Levity emerged at points, as jokes volleyed about whether the exhibit should have, as Matthew Carrano offered sarcastically, “3D machines people can walk in and ride.” Angela Roberts Reeder jokingly responded, “That’ll be right next to the roaring dinosaurs,” and Pauline Dolovich expanded that they should be “next to the animatronic dinosaurs.”294 As Mike Lawrence later suggested, perhaps the exhibit could include an element that “ask[s] visitors to push a button to ‘hear the dinosaurs roar,’” but instead of a roar it would be a recording of Matthew Carrano saying, “Dinosaurs don’t roar.”295 These jokes were indicative of the dilemma of asking the public to participate or become invested in the exhibit while maintaining a certain tone, factual correctness, and authority. Solutions to Authority/Participation As Kara Blond said in an interview, navigating the new desire to engage publics and democratize museum language and authority “requires this breakdown of the barrier between expertise and nonexpert or public or generalist, and so in some ways we want to really encourage that, and in other ways we want to hold tight to this thing that we feel that we are experts at. And how do you do both at the same time?”296 The Smithsonian’s stature also puts pressure on the group. Scott Wing “wonder[ed] about whether [it is] because we are on the National Mall, and sort of part of the government, if sometimes what we say is treated as being slightly more authoritarian than elsewhere . . . treated a little bit differently.297 On the other hand, Stephen Petri noted, “You’re the Smithsonian. You don’t have to prove it.”298 Some of the early ideas to bridge the desire for maintaining expertise while inviting the public to participate included fluid spaces that shifted in authority and tone. The clearest consensus from the team involved the bridge overlooking the exhibit that would sometimes be controlled by the visitor, sometimes by the museum. Matthew Carrano described it outrightly: “Both the Museum and the visitor can be the center of attention; that’s what this building ought to be doing.”299 My notes after this statement read: “Agreement from the whole group!” Fang-Pin Lee echoed, “Let’s give this to them; let’s make this a central space for the visitor,”300 and Kay Behrensmeyer added that the potential existed for “lots of programming in there as well.”301 As Matthew Carrano said at a later meeting, narratives could be “told [through this space] at visitors’ command or our command.”302 There was some debate about how the space might be “activated” by visitors, or become “programmable,” but the group agreed that it would have

Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes

173

audiovisual components with different modes of use—some running on a sort of autopilot, others responding to input from individual visitors or to whole congregations of visitors. There, perhaps, visitors “could participate in this giant show” that would take different “shapes.”303 As Kay Behrensmeyer exclaimed, “What an extraordinary space for performance arts,” and “the whole space would be a theater.”304 As Mike Lawrence described, “You get the story from a distance or you’re [Captain] Kirk . . . you could go up and narrate a story.”305 The space would also function to invite people to think about their own connections to the content of the hall—it would be human-centric and embody the Anthropocene so that a visitor could look out across the hall and view the vista of time, then turn around to get a narrative “about the human side of it.”306 As part of the group goal of “creating citizens for a changing planet,” people pitched the inclusive phrases “You are Deep Time,” “We are ecosystems,”307 “We are made of the stuff of stars,”308 “You are a composite,”309 and “[The] human body is the archive of Deep Time.”310 They also came up with ideas like using a transparent human figure or shape to tell visitors that the human body is made of “stardust”311—all to use “profound, poetic ideas”312 to connect visitors to Deep Time concepts. More lightheartedly, Scott Wing pitched producing t-shirts reading, “I am the product of 3.6 billion years of evolution.”313 The group tried to use design techniques to implicate the visitor in the narrative of Deep Time. Similarly to Fang-Pin Lee’s description of the bridge, it would connect to visitors by asserting: 1. You can change the world. 2. We are part of coevolutionary lineages, the relationship to change, and how we affect change. 3. You are Deep Time (we are made of the stuff of stars).314 In what became known as the “Paleo Plaza” or “Deep Time Lab” or “connections lab,”315 the group similarly envisioned a hybrid space—one that could function as a gallery or series of curated interactives or programs mediated by workstations, objects, or other mobile elements. This section would give people a sense of “agency” more than just allowing them to view things. It would let people play and explore to show them how “humans are turning the dials,” and they could “tinker” and “imagine how they are going to change.”316 Yet, the tone would remain: “You can tinker all you want, but our perspective is this.”317 As Scott Wing suggested, one way to think about the whole layout is that interactions and explorations with processes in the Paleo Plaza could allow visitors to play with Earth processes without connecting these experiments “to [their]

174

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

own agency,” but by the time they got to the bridge, they would realize that “all those things [they] thought [they] were playing [with]—they’re not games.”318 These spaces might create singular experiences activated by visitors themselves, but they would also give the team and the museum the chance to give people “information [they] can use.”319 There was even a suggestion from Scott Wing that “we [could] choose specific perspectives we want people to apply to thinking about the future,” or the group could “pick a number of perspectives to emphasize” or “give them [the visitors] some structure of four to five things” that were “really salient to them.”320 Within this semistructured and flexible experience, visitors could still “direct their inquiry”321 and make “choices.”322 Or as Kara Blond articulated, More than anything, our goal is really to train our visitors to ask really good questions, and that would feel like success to me more than any specific learning that might happen in one of the halls. If they walk away understanding how to ask big, relevant questions and investigate the answers, I think we’ve succeeded.323

The space might also fulfill the group’s desire for an awe-inspiring, affective, and immersive experience that both equipped visitors with fundamental concepts or perspectives and inspired them to want to care and feel invested in the exhibit’s ideas. Elements would be strategically placed throughout to remind people of the basics (their Deep Time toolkit) so that visitors were then free to interpret other aspects. In this way, the bridge would act as a “primer of systems and forces you need to understand to go down into past worlds.”324 The group relied on Amy Bolton’s expertise to order things so that visitors were “equipped” with what they needed and that they would encounter topics in proper “sequencing” when they were “psychologically ready.”325 At the same time, as Kay Behrensmeyer put it, the bridge offered “the wonder of being able to stand up there and see things as humans.” Humanity’s ability to look at all of time is unique, and it should be “empowering just to be on this bridge as a species.326 Visitors could see both “where [we] come from” and “where we’re going” as fellow “passengers on the spaceship.”327 Literally “putting humans in their place,”328 this space would give visitors agency, choice, or the sense that they could make a difference. They would also be standing at the nexus between all of Earth’s past and the future: “the connection between the past and the future is the visitor.”329 This sense of empowerment would also help the hall to be about “stewardship,” thereby making it less “depressing.”330 The exhibit’s main message at the end of the 10% phase emerged out of this discussion: “Earth’s distant past is connected to the present and shapes our future.”

Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes

175

Another group solution to issues of authority and participation was to make the whole floor plan reflect the importance of visitor experience and perspectives while guiding visitors through a heavily curated set of ideas, narratives, and messages. The whole gallery depicting the sweep of the past would spiral out from the contemporary moment, the Anthropocene, and contemporary visitors at the nodal center. Visitors would be made aware that humans were connected to past processes and spatially “in . . . driver’s seat.”331 There was “power by being in the middle of [the exhibit]”332 while acknowledging at the same time that it was, as Pauline Dolovich pointed out, “democratic in the way it’s arranged.”333 With this visitor-centric floor plan, one could, as Angela Roberts Reeder aptly described it, “[stand] in the present, [look] at the theater of the past, and [see] how it shapes the future.”334 Educational programming involving two-way interaction was also integrated, with the encouragement of the Approval Team, into the 10% design package. A few programming “ideas at a high level”335 were added to the final documents to show that the group was thinking about how visitors would participate more actively in the hall. A strategy in order to avoid placing all the blame on the public was to show that scientists (i.e., the Smithsonian) are also implicated in the same processes: “We’re all in this together.” In one meeting, there was a discussion of using Scott Wing’s field vehicle, Dino, as a centerpiece on the bridge to talk about how the fossil fuels that are negatively affecting the planet enable the very scientific research that helps us to understand the impact. There were also a few movements to invite the public into the Deep Time planning process, namely by initiating a Facebook page, which was launched 21 February 2013. Additional writers hired over the summer of 2013 were chosen in part because of their experience with blogging and podcasts and other forms of public outreach writing. Preliminary studies of the hall by George Washington University students in the summer of 2013 and 2014 and the FossiLab study I undertook both contributed to planning the halls for visitor affect and participation. At an “Innovation Workshop” planned by Michael Mason in December 2012, the group tackled a lot of similar issues. There, Smithsonian staff from around the institution with stakes in engagement, education, and outreach—many of whom rarely saw each other in daily interaction—were brought together to brainstorm innovative engagement techniques, to be piloted in Deep Time. It was also at this workshop that the idea of “ubiquitous engagement” was pitched—a concept the group debated when discussing the “density” of experience336 as a model, mimicking an Apple Store’s customerservice archetype, for interacting with the public in the Deep Time hall.

176

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Lastly, the makeup of the team itself helped balance these debates. The fact that Amy Bolton was also a Core Team member throughout the process ensured that the team was preparing spaces for the hall and that the group was influenced overall by “what we know from research on education.”337 The same was true for having a professional exhibit developer with a master’s in museum studies and an exhibits writer. Having audience advocates as team members, a condition that had been in the making for more than thirty years, drives a balance between audience-driven and science-driven perspectives.

The Results of Group Thinking: The Final 10% Package Each of the four content debates (frictions) outlined above instigated a space for creative debate and imagining (complementarities). This unique space where different areas of expertise are brought into contact energizes conversations and generates astonishing ideas. In this safe environment for argument, extremes of opinion are often aired first in a kind of performance of proficiency, then nuances, sites of agreement, and creative ideas can emerge. As Kim Moeller articulately put it, For all the arguments you get when the curator gives you a tome that’s fifty pages long and says, “I refuse to cut a word of this for your panels,” and you’re coming back and saying, “Well no, we’re going to give you a hundred words a panel, because that’s all people are going to read, if that,” that creative tension right there is what creates a good exhibit.338

As Larry O’Reilly, former assistant director for exhibits, told me, “It sounds very destructive and all of that kind of stuff, but in fact a lot of times there are solutions that are developed that improve the product in the long run. And so in the long view of history, the kind of tension that exists makes it a better exhibit.”339 It is in that space of difference, and the process that emerges in the “contact zone” between conflicting views, that balanced creativity and ingenuity happens. The group thinking and preliminary consensus on the tone and approaches of the exhibit, as well as the overall layout overlaid with major themes, went into a 10% package formally vetted by the Approval Team and finalized. This extended package included • a 10% design package; • a 10% concept narrative document, describing concepts and messages for core content areas of the exhibit;

Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes

177

• a 10% education brief—an overview of the Core Team approach to education and outreach; • a FossiLab visitor study; • an audience engagement benchmarking study; • a Word document responding to comments and feedback from the 10% draft submission in March. By the end of the 10% process, the design package introduced the project by saying, “Faced with a world in flux, and in which humans play an increasingly dominating role, the National Museum of Natural History recognizes the critical importance of creating citizens for our changing planet.”340 The overarching theme of the exhibit was: Earth’s distant past is connected to the present and shapes our future. Where previous documents had predominantly taken a matter-of-fact, descriptive tone in laying out goals or themes, the new messages were active and inviting in tone while also conveying the importance of the exhibit’s content: – The Deep Time exhibition will inspire wonder, curiosity, and awe as visitors explore the history of life. – It will motivate visitors to think in new ways about the connections between all life and the Earth. – It will encourage visitors to see our present-day world as a product of geological forces, biological evolution, and environmental change over vast spans of time. – It will encourage people to reflect on our impact on the Earth and life as fully engaged citizens for a changing world. – They will understand that the Earth we pass on to future generations will be a product of our planet’s past and the world we are now shaping.341

Furthermore, the conclusion to the concept narrative read: For all the grandeur and complexity of the history of life on our planet and the science we use to learn about that history, the underlying message is quite beautiful in its simplicity: The planet and the life on it share a history. This history documents the processes of change. These processes still operate today. Humans are affecting these processes now and will continue to do so into the future. We must all become citizens of a changing planet.342

178

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

The final conceptual “bubble diagrams,” a zoned map of the proposed halls with a very basic hall layout, and a few drawings to illustrate possible renderings of the hall were included. These were also to be used for fundraising purposes and to give people an imaginary vision for the hall.

Figure 4.7. Final 10% content diagram, April 2013. Drawing by Reich + Petch. Courtesy of the Office of Exhibits, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

Figure 4.8. Final 10% floor plan, April 2013. Drawing by Reich + Petch. Courtesy of the Office of Exhibits, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes

179

Figure 4.9. Final 10% rendering, Halls 2–5, April 2013. Drawing by Reich + Petch. Courtesy of the Office of Exhibits, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

Beyond the 10% Package During the early 35% phase, I attended the two-day workshops, at which I took general, off-record notes. During this development phase, the “specific fossil arrangements, the display systems, the media components, and the storyline began to be defined at a finer level. Through a series of intense interdisciplinary workshops, options for the exhibit elements” were pulled together in similarly iterative meetings.343 At 65%, which I only observed for the temporary exhibit, the team works through specific specimens, label content, and other interpretive elements for the exhibit, including parsing out the basics of textual hierarchies. The following excerpt from the draft 65% document for the Temporary Exhibit outlines these nicely: Label Hierarchy Gallery text: Introduces and orients visitors to the overall exhibition’s big idea, messages, and tone. Area text: Provides a broad overview for each area. Main text: Appears with a grouping of exhibit elements and frames the story that these elements illustrate. Subtext: Interprets a specific group of objects, specimens, and images. Image/object captions: Identifies the image, specimen, or object and may interpret why the object or image is significant. Sticky Note labels: Very short text in hand-written typeface. Represents “behindthe-scenes” notes.

180

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Other text and labels include gallery title, donor and credit panel, callouts for images, image credits, and visitor directives.344

In my time at the Museum, I unfortunately did not have the opportunity to witness any planning for halls at the “95%” phase.

Conclusion At the end of the 10% phase, the group had drawn up a shared vision and conceptual map of the hall. The main theme—Earth’s distant past is connected to the present and shapes our future—and its main messages had been transformed from descriptive to more inviting and aspirational. The notion of taking visitors back in time, from the familiar worlds of the Ice Age back to the unfamiliar Proterozoic Eon and then the very beginnings of life on Earth, had been mapped onto the physical space of the hall. When visitors enter in 2019, that overall layout and storyline will guide them through the hall. This chapter has traced the development of and debates surrounding the Deep Time content that will shape the finished space. Through collaborative meetings, the team’s content goals moved from largely descriptive to more active and inviting while maintaining the seriousness of the exhibit’s message. I described how four major debates—real/interpretation, detail/ abstraction, reliability/innovation, and authority/participation—moved from fractious discussion, often drawn along disciplinary lines, to creative and hybrid solutions, even at these very early development stages. This is not to say that any of the problems were solved. Nor will all of the elements described here make it into the final hall in 2019. Rather, describing this process shows how these debates in fact begin to generate innovative group thinking. The following chapter parallels chapter 3, tracing the institutional roots of these content debates through the development of new techniques and technologies for communication in exhibits from the postwar Exhibits Modernization era to today.

Notes 1. Robert McCormick Adams, “Statement by the Secretary,” in Smithsonian Year 1985: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1985 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1986), 18–19.

Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes

181

2. Bolton 6.26.13. 3. “The Deep Time Project: 4.6 Million Years of Global Change,” unpublished project proposal, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC, 2009. 4. Ibid. 5. Ibid. 6. Blond 7.1.13. 7. MEM & Associates, “Appendix C” in “Human Origins Initiative: What Does It Mean to Be Human? Evaluation Report #1,” March 2011, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. 8. “Natural History in the Age of Humans: A Plan for the National Museum,” NMNH Strategic Plan 2016–2020, Smithsonian Institution, retrieved 6 December 2018 from https://naturalhistory.si.edu/sites/default/files/media/file/ NMNH_StrategicPlan_2016-2020_accessible.pdf, 2. 9. Ibid. 10. Lee 8.14.13. 11. Angela Roberts Reeder and Sally Love, “Putting Dinosaurs in Their Place, Paleo Temporary Exhibition: Statement of Purpose,” Internal Report, 2012, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. 12. Wing 1.3.13. 13. Behrensmeyer 1.4.13; Wing 1.4.13. 14. Team Discussion, 3.26.13. 15. Lee 2.26.13. 16. Wing 1.4.13. 17. Behrensmeyer 1.3.13; Sues 1.3.13. 18. Wing 1.4.13. 19. Carrano 1.4.13. 20. Lee 1.4.13. 21. Lee 2.5.13; Carrano 2.5.13. 22. Wing 2.5.13. 23. Reeder 1.3.13. 24. Wing 1.3.13. 25. Bolton 3.26.13. 26. Pinsdorf 1.3.13. 27. Ibid.; Carrano 1.4.13. 28. Lee 2.26.13. 29. Carrano 3.26.13. 30. Wing 3.26.13. 31. Wing 1.4.13. 32. Lee 1.3.13. 33. Lawrence 1.4.13. 34. Ibid.; Wing 1.4.13. 35. Carrano 1.4.13. 36. Carrano 2.27.13. 37. Wing 2.27.13. 38. Lee 1.3.13.

182

39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73. 74. 75. 76. 77. 78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84.

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Carrano 2.27.13. Dolovich 1.4.13. Blond 7.1.13. Lee 8.14.13. Lee 1.3.13. Behrensmeyer 1.4.13. Lee 2.5.13. Petri 2.26.13. Lee 2.5.13. Lee 3.26.13. Carrano 3.26.13. Behrensmeyer 3.26.13. Wing 3.26.13. Wing 2.5.13. Team Discussion 3.26.13. Lawrence 1.4.13. Lawrence 1.3.13. Team Discussion 1.4.13. Behrensmeyer 2.26.13. Lee 2.5.13. Wing 1.3.13. Lee 2.26.13. Wing 2.27.13. Carrano 2.5.13. Lee 2.5.13. Behrensmeyer 2.5.13. Carrano 2.26.13. Lewis 1.3.13. Lewis 8.2.13. Behrensmeyer 1.4.13. Petri 1.3.13. Wing 1.4.13. Lewis 1.3.13. Lee 2.26.13; Carrano 2.26.13. Carrano 2.26.13. Wing 2.26.13. Carrano 1.3.13. Behrensmeyer 2.27.13. Kirk Johnson, personal correspondence, 16 October 2018. Carrano 1.4.13. Team Disscussion 1.4.13. Petri 2.26.13. Behrensmeyer 2.27.13. Wing 2.27.13. Wing 1.4.13. Carrano 1.4.13; Behrensmeyer 1.4.13.

Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes

85. 86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91. 92. 93. 94. 95. 96. 97. 98. 99. 100. 101. 102. 103. 104. 105. 106. 107. 108. 109. 110. 111. 112. 113. 114. 115. 116. 117. 118. 119. 120. 121. 122. 123. 124. 125. 126. 127. 128. 129. 130.

Wing 1.4.13. Carrano 2.5.13. Mason 2.5.13. Carrano 1.4.13. Carrano 2.26.13. Carrano 1.4.13. Wing 2.26.13. Behrensmeyer 6.3.13. Wing 2.27.13. Lewis 2.27.13. Carrano 2.27.13. Petri 1.3.13. Lee 2.26.13. Wing 2.26.13. Carrano 2.26.13. Wing 2.26.13. Wing 1.4.13. Behrensmeyer 1.3.13. Sues 1.3.13. Behrensmeyer 1.3.13. Carrano, Lawrence 1.3.13. Lee 1.3.13. Lawrence 1.3.13. Carrano 2.26.13. Team Discussion 1.4.13; Lee 2.5.13; Carrano, Wing 2.26.13. Mason 1.3.13; Wing 1.4.13. Lee 2.27.13. Carrano 2.27.13. Carrano 2.26.13. Wing 2.27.13. Behrensmeyer 2.27.13. Wing 2.27.13. Ostrander 2.27.13. Lewis 2.27.13. Reeder 2.27.13. Ibid. Carrano, Reeder, Lee 2.27.13. Reeder 2.27.13. Lee 2.27.13. Wing 2.27.13. Behrensmeyer 2.26.13. Wing 2.27.13. Lee 2.26.13. Carrano 3.26.13. Lewis 3.26.13. Ostrander 3.26.13.

183

184

131. 132. 133. 134. 135. 136. 137. 138. 139. 140. 141. 142. 143. 144. 145. 146. 147. 148. 149. 150. 151. 152. 153. 154. 155. 156. 157. 158. 159. 160. 161. 162. 163. 164. 165. 166. 167. 168. 169.

170. 171. 172. 173.

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Wing 3.26.13. Behrensmeyer 3.26.13. Ibid.; Carrano 3.26.13. Wing 1.3.13. Dolovich 1.4.13. Huber 1.3.13. Bolton 1.4.13. Lewis 1.3.13. Reeder 1.4.13. Wing 1.4.13. Lewis 1.4.13. Carrano 2.26.13. Behrensmeyer 2.27.13. Carrano 2.27.13. Bolton 1.3.13. Lawrence 1.3.13. Reeder 2.5.13. Petri 1.4.13. Carrano 1.4.13. Reeder 1.4.13. Petri 1.4.13. Carrano 2.26.13. Reeder 2.27.13. Lee 2.27.13. Carrano 2.27.13. Lee 2.27.13. Petri 2.27.13. Team Discussion 2.27.13. Dolovich 2.27.13. Reeder 2.27.13. Wing 2.27.13. Ibid. Carrano 2.27.13. Behrensmeyer, Wing 2.27.13. Petri 2.27.13. Reeder 2.27.13. Lee 2.27.13. Wing, Pinsdorf 1.3.13. According to the Smithsonian Organization and Audience Research Office (formally Office of Policy and Analysis), numbers were 7,378,612 in FY 2012 and 8,281,983 in FY 2013. Whitney Watriss and David Karns, personal correspondence, 22 October 2018. Blond 7.1.13. Lewis 1.3.13. Lewis 8.2.13. Lewis 1.3.13.

Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes

174. 175. 176. 177. 178. 179. 180. 181. 182. 183. 184. 185. 186. 187. 188. 189. 190. 191. 192. 193. 194. 195. 196. 197. 198. 199. 200. 201. 202. 203. 204. 205. 206. 207. 208. 209. 210. 211. 212. 213. 214. 215. 216. 217. 218. 219.

Carrano 2.5.13. Lewis 3.26.13. Wing 1.4.13. Lee 1.4.13. Lewis 1.3.13. Lawrence, Mason 1.3.13. Lewis 1.3.13. Lewis 1.4.13. Mason 2.5.13. Lewis 1.3.13. Lee 2.26.13. Wing 2.5.13. Mason 2.5.13. Petri 2.26.13. Lewis 1.3.13. Mason 2.5.13. Carrano 3.26.13. Lewis 1.3.13. Lewis 2.27.13. Lewis 1.3.13. Ibid. Sues 1.3.13. Lewis 1.3.13. Ibid. Carrano 2.27.13. Huber 1.3.13. Lewis 8.2.13. Mason 2.5.13. Lawrence 3.26.13. Wing 1.4.13. Bolton 6.26.13 Lewis 1.4.13. Bolton 6.26.13. Carrano 1.4.13. Lewis 3.26.13. Carrano 1.3.13. Lewis 8.2.13. Wing 1.3.13. Petri 2.26.13. Blond 7.1.13. Petri 1.4.13. Telfer 6.27.13. Lawrence 7.31.13. Lewis 1.3.13. Wing 3.26.13. Lee 3.26.13.

185

186

220. 221. 222. 223. 224. 225. 226. 227. 228. 229. 230. 231. 232. 233. 234. 235. 236. 237. 238. 239. 240. 241. 242. 243.

244. 245. 246. 247. 248. 249. 250. 251. 252. 253. 254. 255. 256. 257. 258. 259. 260. 261.

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Lewis 1.3.13. Lee 3.26.13. Ibid. Wing 2.5.13. Wing 1.3.13. Lee 1.4.13. Petri 2.5.13. Ostrander 2.27.13. Ostrander 2.5.13. Ostrander 2.27.13. Ostrander 2.26.13. Ostrander 2.27.13. Blond 7.1.13. Carrano 1.4.13. Mason 1.3.13. Behrensmeyer 1.3.13. Team Discussion 1.4.13. Petri 1.3.13. Lawrence 1.3.13. Bolton, Lee 1.3.13. Wing 1.4.13. Behrensmeyer 2.5.13. Bolton 1.4.13. John H. Falk, Identity and the Museum Visitor Experience (Walnut Creek, CA: Left Coast Press, 2009); Andrew J. Pekarik and Barbara Mogel, “Ideas, Objects, or People? A Smithsonian Exhibition Team Views Visitors Anew,” Curator: The Museum Journal 53, no. 4 (2010). Mason 2.5.13. Reeder 3.26.13. Mason 2.5.13. Blond 7.1.13. Lee 1.3.13. Lewis 1.3.13. Bolton, Petri 1.4.13. Bolton, Petri, Carrano 1.4.13. Carrano 1.4.13. Carrano, Lewis 1.4.13. Carrano 1.4.13. Ibid. Petri 1.4.13. Bolton 6.26.13. Wing 2.26.13. Ibid. Bolton 2.26.13. Carrano 2.26.13.

Content Development: Debates about Interconnected Processes

262. 263. 264. 265. 266. 267. 268. 269. 270. 271. 272. 273. 274. 275. 276. 277. 278. 279. 280. 281. 282. 283. 284. 285. 286. 287. 288. 289. 290. 291. 292. 293. 294. 295. 296. 297. 298. 299. 300. 301. 302. 303. 304. 305. 306.

Carrano 2.26.13; Bolton 2.26.13. Behrensmeyer 1.4.13. Lewis 1.3.13. Wing 1.3.13. Lewis 1.4.13. Carrano 2.5.13. Petri 2.5.13. Behrensmeyer 2.26.13. Wing 3.26.13. Behrensmeyer 3.26.13. Wing 1.3.13. Carrano 1.4.13. Wing 2.26.13. Ostrander 1.4.13. Carrano 1.4.13. Wing 3.26.13. Carrano 1.4.13. Bolton 1.4.13. Carrano 1.4.13. Bolton 1.4.13. Carrano 1.4.13. Ibid. Lee 1.4.13. Carrano 1.4.13. Wing 1.4.13. Ibid. Carrano 1.4.13. Behrensmeyer 1.4.13. Petri 2.26.13. Wing 2.26.13. Ibid. Carrano 2.26.13. Carrano, Reeder, and Dolovich 2.27.13 Lawrence 3.26.13. Blond 7.1.13. Wing 1.4.13. Petri 1.4.13. Carrano 2.5.13. Lee 2.5.13. Behrensmeyer 2.5.13. Carrano 2.27.13. Wing 2.5.13. Behrensmeyer 2.5.13. Lawrence 2.5.13. Carrano 2.5.13.

187

188

307. 308. 309. 310. 311. 312. 313. 314. 315. 316. 317. 318. 319. 320. 321. 322. 323. 324. 325. 326. 327. 328. 329. 330. 331. 332. 333. 334. 335. 336. 337. 338. 339. 340. 341. 342. 343. 344.

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Wing 2.5.13. Lee 2.5.13. Wing 2.26.13. Petri, Lee 1.3.13. Bolton 2.5.13. Petri 1.3.13. Wing 2.5.13. Lee 2.26.13. Lee 2.27.13. Bolton 2.5.13. Ibid. Wing 2.27.13. Ibid. Ibid. Petri 2.27.13. Carrano 2.27.13. Blond 7.1.13. Lewis 2.27.13. Bolton 1.4.13. Behrensmeyer 2.27.13. Wing 2.27.13. Behrensmeyer 2.27.13. Carrano 2.27.13. Behrensmeyer 2.27.13. Behrensmeyer 2.5.13. Wing 2.5.13. Dolovich 2.26.13. Reeder 2.27.13. Bolton 3.26.13. Mason 2.5.13. Bolton, Wing 3.26.13. Moeller 6.12.13. O’Reilly 2.10.14. “Deep Time 10% Design Package,” Internal Report, 24 April 2013, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution and Reich + Petch Design International, Washington, DC, 2. Ibid., 3. Angela Roberts Reeder, “Deep Time Exhibition 10% Concept Narrative,” 10 April 2013, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC, 20. “Deep Time 10% Package.” Angela Roberts Reeder, “The Last American Dinosaurs: Discovering a Lost World,” 65% draft script, Internal Report, 24 February 2014, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC, 2.

Chapter 5

Content Development The Roots of Interpretive Frictions and Complementarities Today’s exhibits are designed to provide visitors with a holistic experience—a cleanly designed space and pathway; clear messages and storyline; accessible, multilayered text panels; and audiovisual and interactive elements. By contrast, up to the 1940s, the encyclopedic, systematic emphasis described in chapter 1 was still the predominant paradigm in the Smithsonian’s fossil halls. As paleontologist Richard Bambach said of the exhibits when he arrived at the museum. “almost everything then was a systematic display. The idea of telling a story wasn’t [the standard] . . . that’s what the Exhibits Modernization program started to do, despite some of my grumbles.”1 The holistic, story-driven approach to exhibits thus has its roots in a major shift in approaches to exhibit design and content development in the postwar era. This new model was initiated at the Smithsonian with the Exhibits Modernization program. This chapter is about the effects of this shift on the Smithsonian’s fossil halls. The 1960s saw some of the greatest changes in artistic interpretation— for example, the implementation of dioramas, large-scale ecosystem murals, color-coded pathways, narrative fossil assemblages, and new methods of typography and graphic design for multitiered and accessible information—alongside changes in the science of paleontology. I begin with these shifts, then describe content production in the 1970s and 1980s—the heyday of exhibits built in house. The last hall of the fossil hall complex, Life in the Ancient Seas, was completed in 1990, just as this epoch in exhibit development ended. The 1990s saw new major changes in exhibit techniques and organization. A few updates to the fossil halls since then illustrate the emergence of the first interactive and digital exhibits. Alongside advancements in technology and broader educational methods, the

190

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

professionalization of exhibit development, and new budget constraints, the period also saw the return to contracted artistic and design work. Since the late 1950s, there has been an increased emphasis on mediating the gap between things and ideas through the use of technologies: from pathways, graphics, and murals to augmented reality. Because the science of paleobiology has increasingly stressed interconnectivity in fossil display, there has also been a strong move away from individual specimens to fossil assemblages. This, in turn, has meant an increased emphasis on using narrative to explain abstractions from concrete evidence and a movement away from typological displays to narrative sequencing. All of these changes also happened in tandem with the democratization of exhibits—the focus on clear, accessible communication and the invitation of audience participation.

Modernized Fossil Halls: 1960s Experimentation After World War II, priorities for scientific inquiry changed substantially. A small subset of paleontologists began moving away from the field’s descriptive tradition. Paleontology had, through the first half of the twentieth century, remained marginalized in the wider scientific interest in evolutionary theory. As historian of science David Sepkoski writes in The Paleobiological Revolution: The Growth of Paleontology as an Evolutionary Discipline, in the century’s second half, a new movement began “asserting the theoretical value and autonomy of paleontological analysis of the fossil record and repositioning paleontology within the larger disciplinary matrix of evolutionary biology.”2 This involved adopting new methods, including broader theoretical models and quantitative analysis. As part of this shift, “paleontologists created a new label for their field: paleobiology.”3 This field-wide movement was reflected in changes to the departmental structures of Geology at the Smithsonian, when G. Arthur Cooper advocated that a department of “Paleobiology” split off from Mineral Sciences to form a second discrete department in the fall of 1963.4 As Cooper would go on to say in his justification for splitting Paleontology from Geology, Paleontology, which is essentially the same as paleobiology, is now trending more to the biological side of the study of fossils rather than studying fossils mainly for their application to stratigraphical and geographical problems. Although the latter are still important functions of the paleontologist, the present vogue is in the study of fossils with a view to recreating them as living creatures and to interpret the environment in which they lived. . . . Furthermore, the present day paleontologist is not only interested in the Past, he is examining the Present with a critical eye . . .5

Content Development: Roots of Interpretive Frictions

191

Figure 5.1. Dinosaurs and Other Fossil Reptiles, ca. 1963. Image 1155-D. Courtesy of the Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

These were trends across the sciences. By 1965, there was money and support for the study of systematics.6 A new interdisciplinary Smithsonian Office of Ecology was founded 1 July 1965.7 New research areas sought to find “explanations of the intra- and inter-relationships of organisms.”8 Recall that the postwar era had also ushered in modern, democratic ideals for exhibits: the institution had launched its new Exhibits Modernization program—a comprehensive plan to revitalize all of the Smithsonian’s now outdated exhibits. Shifts in the science of paleontology along with these broader shifts in the institution culminated in the planning for the new “modernized” halls of paleontology, all of which would be open to the public by 1963.

Modern Exhibit Design: New Techniques for Visitors Exhibit design was a nascent profession in the postwar period. As sculptor of many of the 1960s dioramas figures Norman Neal Deaton said of his desire to do exhibit work in museums at the time, nobody “had ever heard

192

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

of such an occupation.”9 For the first time, professional designer Ann Karras, and later Barbara Craig, transformed the fossil exhibits into intentionally designed holistic halls. In creating the new spaces, Karras considered all aspects of spatial planning—pathways, walls, and stairwells—as well as objects and their contextualization—text, object positioning, and color choice. This overall approach, as an outcome of design becoming a new museum profession, resulted in a number of major exhibit innovations for visitor experiences. First, Karras stressed the shift toward “built-in” halls. Moving away from the “old ‘open hall’ approach,” many museums were beginning to build additional walls, floors, ramps, and paths to direct the sequence in which a visitor would view displays. It is clear that Karras felt strongly that the National Museum of Natural History (NMNH) exhibits should use these new techniques. She said of Chicago’s natural history museum (the Field) that the exhibits were “grossly under-designed, and the visitor left floundering by lack of story direction and coordination.” While acknowledging that there could be a risk in “building in a little too much” and “channeling visitor interest a little too completely,” she argued that if exhibits weren’t designed with enough control over sequence, they would leave the “visitor so confused by myriads of free standing cases that he is unable to focus on specific content and to grasp the story being told.”10 Karras said, in the footsteps of the American Museum of Natural History, “We are following similar exhibit trends, building in winding halls, abolishing the free standing case, and dramatizing exhibits with lighting and strong color” while also looking for some openness or “walkabout cases,” so “the visitor has some choice as to how to view the exhibit,” and “adequate” color” with “sparing and tasteful” “visitor guidance.”11 Both Karras’s and Craig’s drawings for the fossil hall modernization reflected this new emphasis on holistic design and the incorporation of graphically designed and hierarchized text, color, and sight lines, along with “built-in” exhibit pathways. For the first time, text was broken up into area titles, area main labels, subtitles or unit titles, and identification labels.12 These were incorporated into drawings and notated with a color-coded key. It is also clear from drawings that exhibit text was designed into the aesthetic and organization of the hall and was planned to have shape and color within the design. Color was also an important design element in its own right. Not only were labels imagined in color, but whole walls or spatial elements were designed in colors to differentiate areas of content or geologic time periods. Separate copies of the designer’s drawings were made specifically for the

Figure 5.2. Map of the fossil halls, 1963. Image 1139. Courtesy of the Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

Content Development: Roots of Interpretive Frictions 193

194

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

then-operational Paint Shop, which did all of the in-house color mixing and painting for the exhibit. Another important shift in holistic design was in planning sight lines and walking circulation more strategically. Drafts of the exhibit include drawings of a man in a sport coat viewing the displays.13 This was early visitor-centric thinking—actually imagining a visitor’s vantage point or experience in a hall. It was also the precursor to designing specific viewing platforms, technologies, or constraints. Early exhibits were also influenced by department-store window dressing, and indeed some of the earliest designers had come from the retail world.14 Many of the exhibits were constructed in little windows. Additionally, in these designs we see the first integrated wayfinding signage.15 Upon a gallery’s opening, visitors could view a colored map showing exhibit content and pathways.16 Plans were even drawn up for a “photomural” for the Rotunda during the hall’s construction, with large text reading “In Preparation.” The museum was trying to communicate its work in progress while a major gallery was under renovation. These exhibits were also some of the earliest to change the label tone from authoritative to inviting. We see below the same sign from before the

Figure 5.3. Exhibit “windows” in the Hall of Fossil Fishes and Amphibians, 1961. Image 736-G. Courtesy of the Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

Content Development: Roots of Interpretive Frictions

195

Figure 5.4. Pre-modernization humerus label, ca. 1958. Image 50701. Courtesy of the Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

Figure 5.5. Post-modernization humerus label, ca. 1963. Image 1151. Courtesy of the Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

modernization and after, reading “One of the Largest Known Limb Bones” to “Would You Like to Touch a Dinosaur Bone?” In line with new imaginings of visitors, labels began to address visitors directly and personally.17

Modern Exhibit Design: New Techniques for Science New technologies enabled a number of new approaches that could better convey current science. Where, as seen in chapter 1, early curators and

196

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

model-makers used plaster and clay to mold imagined depictions of extinct creatures, by the 1960s new plastics allowed for much greater flexibility in 3D sculpture, and more accuracy in depicting ancient plant life. In addition, due to Smithsonian’s modernization program, the NMNH’s taxidermy shop had been building expertise in diorama design and other techniques as part of the museum’s expanding exhibits department.18 As Karras commented, other museums were producing “exquisitely detailed, technically perfect models” as part of their “conceptual exhibits”—in both plaster and plastics, and with new technologies such as the “cellulose acetate method of transferring hair to a celluloid skin for mounting purposes.” Moreover, more technically accurate cast fossils could also be used where real specimens were missing, kept aside for research, or too fragile or important to put on display. Not only did this improve the appearance and accuracy of mounted specimens but it also was a new way to ensure that “originals could be available for study purposes at all times.”19 Other methods were not beneficial in the long term. Karras was attracted to the “invisible method of articulating skeletons, by which the supporting rods are concealed within the bones and their absence greatly enhances the specimen’s study value. An added advantage is that skeletons articulated in this way are readily dismantled when taken from display and the required storage area is greatly reduced.”20 (Unfortunately, such techniques destroy the fossil’s structural stability. This has caused much anxiety for current paleontologists.) With a holistic approach, contextual illustration could become integrated into the overall plan for the hall rather than be produced as discrete pieces of artwork. Design drawings even show ancient plants as part of a giant wall illustration extending up a stairwell.21 In graphic illustrations, Barbara Craig experimented with presenting interconnected ecosystems and change through time by showing simplified silhouettes of animals on land and in marine ecosystems.22 It is clear from Karras’s critique of other museums that she felt strongly about the accuracy and detail of any illustration that would contextualize fossils. She wrote of one museum: Each case has a diorama-like painted background, a semi-realistic landscape that, no matter how cleverly done and muted in color, succeeds only in being distracting and absurdly incongruous. A ground of roughly textured plaster, occasionally built up in relief to reinforce the painted effect, only makes the background more startling and unpleasant and the skeletons more grotesque.23

Something “executed competently” would have made the halls “far more attractive and instructive.”24

Content Development: Roots of Interpretive Frictions

197

Thus, the designers were very selective in their choice of artists for contextual pieces in the halls. In the end, they chose Norman Neal Deaton and Jay Matternes; Deaton had previously worked as a model-maker in the museum (including as a taxidermist on the Fénykövi elephant), and was experimenting with realistic botanical reproductions using acetate or vinyl plastics, as opposed to “paper and wax” combinations;25 Jay Matternes, a meticulous painter with anatomical and wildlife training, was hired to design and complete the backgrounds of the planned dioramas as well as all of the ecosystem and contextual paintings in the halls. Dioramas offered a way to illustrate interrelationships and ecosystems— increasingly important in the field of paleobiology. When Karras had visited the University of Nebraska State Museum, she noted that the miniature dioramas in their Hall of Nebraska Wildlife “employ[ed] a harmony so different, so definitely artificial—that although they in no way try to duplicate the greyed harmonies of nature, they achieve a ‘super-realism’ far more appropriate for museum exhibition.”26 Karras also seemed influenced by Dr. Alfred Bailey of the Denver Museum of Natural History, who “broadened the diorama concept to show, not only one species of animal in its habitat, but many others as well that might be found near it, along with typical plant life, bird life and insects.” The emphasis on realistic plant environments was new. As Deaton said, “it always seemed to me that the plants everybody considered a necessary evil to go into the diorama; the focus seemed to be on the animals and the background painting.”27 By contrast, Smithsonian’s artists would focus on the plants, and be sent to study samples of similar plants or environments being portrayed before beginning their work.28 It seems that these two influences—miniature and whole ecosystem dioramas—were behind the commission of Jay Matternes and Neal Deaton to produce, in collaboration and photographic correspondence with curator Nicholas Hotton III, three whole ecosystem dioramas—Triassic, Jurassic, and Cretaceous. Matternes designed the dioramas, made sketch models for the dinosaurs, and painted the backgrounds; Deaton produced the models and setting.29 Although not as prominently as in Halls 2–4, plans for Halls 5 and 6 drew another influence from the Denver museum: to construct mounts in a “diorama-like manner, with mammal skeletons grouped as they lived together in periods of Tertiary time.”30 There, Matternes was commissioned to create large acrylic murals depicting ecosystems from specific places and time periods; they remained in the halls until their closure in 2014.31 As curator C. Lewis Gazin later said in a talk about the Tertiary (fossil mammal) halls, each mural

198

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Figure 5.6. Deaton and Matternes Cretaceous ecosystem diorama, ca. 1963. Image 2526. Courtesy of the Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution. depict[s] a life scene for each of the assemblages selected to represent the epochs from Eocene to Pliocene. These are arranged so as to tie together the display of specimens in each of the areas, showing the form and something of the possible appearance of the animals in the flesh and in the interpreted floral environment.32

Karras’s visit to the Yale Peabody Museum, where she met with Rudolph Zallinger and viewed his 110-foot-long fresco The Age of Reptiles, influenced her instructions for the four murals: “It is the artist’s responsibility to create—from supplied measurements, flora and fauna data, and scientific conclusions—convincing animals within a framework of a convincing landscape.”33 Matternes had trained in anatomy and conducted much of his own research on prehistoric animals and their environments.34 Throughout the process of production for both the dioramas and the murals, which would become iconic pieces in the fossil halls, Hotton, Gazin, and other scientific staff reviewed drawings and plans to ensure their accuracy (along with designer Lou Lomax, who was reviewing for artistic and design merit).35 Hotton had become curator of vertebrate paleontology in 1959, and very quickly set about making a case for the renovation of the fossil halls as part of the Exhibits Modernization program. In a budget justification that year, Hotton described some of the ways in which new scientific thinking and emphasis would shape the new halls. First, he argued that specimens needed to be renovated, particularly to update postures for fossil mounts. He also stressed that “although they are truly arresting by virtue of gigantic size and often bizarre appearance,” dinosaurs needed to be used for their “educational” in addition to “aesthetic” value. Their “value” was being “obscured by the currently unsystematic and crowded manner in which they

Content Development: Roots of Interpretive Frictions

199

Figure 5.7.  Brontothere and Oligocene mammals mural (completed 1962), late 1970s. IMG 90-9513. Photo by C. Clark. Courtesy of the Office of Exhibits and Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

are displayed” due to “the slow accumulation of specimens over a period of about 80 years and have not been much altered in that interval.”36 They needed to be conserved and updated, their “scientific content made meaningful in terms of modern biological and geological thought.”37 Hotton underscored the new emphasis on biological change through time, arguing that the exhibit should seek to “demonstrate the subject of reptile paleontology through comprehensive patterns of evolution, adaptation to diverse natural environments, and distribution, both geographical and through geologic time.” Thus, in addition to refurbishing dinosaurs previously on display, Hotton sought to fill in the exhibited specimen with collections “constitute[ing] the entire picture of reptile evolution.”38 He also sought to have “special exhibits demonstrating adaptations for flight, for marine life, and for other specialized environments,” illustrated such that the “appearance of the animals in life will be shown by reconstructions, diagrams, and selected habitat groups.”39 From this description, we see how changes in scientific thinking led to a new emphasis on showing multiple species in a single “habitat group” or “reconstruction.” Hotton still stressed the importance of showing illustrations of individual specimens next to skeletons: “Scale models may be seen near their skeletal counterparts showing how the dinosaurs might

200

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Figures 5.8a and b. Triceratops and model, ca. 1913. Image 28151. Courtesy of the Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution; Moropus and model (installed ca. 1961), late 1970s. IMG 80-6062. Photo by C. Clark. Courtesy of the Office of Exhibits and Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

really have looked in life.”40 However, these were to be juxtaposed by rich time-period dioramas that depicted “dinosaurs in physio-geographic and botanical settings of the Triassic (U.S. Atlantic Coastal plain), Upper Jurassic (Western U.S.), Upper Cretaceous (Western U.S. and Canada) and Upper Cretaceous (Western Kansas marine scene).”41 The scientific emphasis on processes was also clear through the hall being sequenced in geologic time. Visitors would enter at the Hall of Fossil Fishes and Amphibians (the Permian Period), then progress into the Triassic, Jurassic, and Cretaceous.42

The Ice Age Hall: Additional 1960s Experiments The Hall of Quaternary Vertebrates—retitled Ice Age Mammals and the Emergence of Man—took longer to complete than expected. Indeed, it is not entirely clear when, or whether, it was ever fully complete before it was redone by a new interdisciplinary curatorial staff. What is clear from the records is that by 1967 much of the hall had been installed. Karras’s two major innovations were to show Ice Age mammals in environmentally rich fossil assemblages and to use piano wire instead of glass as a barrier, so that the public could have a less mediated experience with fossils in the elaborate poses.43 In pursuit of the former, the commissioned murals in the hall were highly researched to ensure their full environmental accuracy and their representation of “amalgamations of many different forms . . . [a] composite environment” to convey “a lot of information in a relatively small space.”44 Matternes was sent to Idaho to “gather the material for that”—to

Content Development: Roots of Interpretive Frictions

201

research environments for the painted fossil assemblage backgrounds in the hall.45 Karras’s latter innovation is best illustrated by a LaBrea Tar Pits display including two dire wolves and a horse sinking into a simulated tar pit (made from what looks like crumbled asphalt), in front of a series of storyboard illustrations. The piano wires had to be removed because visitors continuously plucked them as they walked by the displays. I was also told that visitors who took pictures with a flash were disappointed to arrive home with developed negatives of refractive piano wires against a black image. The hall was never completed due to tensions between Exhibits and Paleobiology. When Porter Kier took up the directorship of the museum in 1973, he immediately called on a new group of interdisciplinary curators to revamp and complete the exhibit project. Together, the committee, chaired by paleobotanist Leo Hickey and made up of three primary curators—vertebrate palaeontologist Robert Emry, volcanologist Thomas Simkin, and anthropologist William Fitzhugh—planned a new version of the hall, one that grouped specimens together within ecosystems but also

Figure 5.9. Dire wolves and horse with storyboard backdrop and piano-string barrier, ca. 1967. Image “Labrea.tif.” Courtesy of the Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

202

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

emphasized the “emergence of man.” No mounts were redone; rather, the entire hall was reshuffled, reorganized, and relabeled. The two most important changes in conceptual underpinnings for the hall were, first, that the exhibit would use multidisciplinary objects to better integrate its themes and stories and, second, that it would focus on clearer evolutionary narratives.46 By the 1970s, changes in scientific thinking were also beginning to shape the conceptual underpinnings of the halls in more deliberate ways. In paleontology, new emphases on the role of ecological context, as I heard from Kay Behrensmeyer, were “gestating” from as early as the 1940s, but really took hold in the 1970s and 1980s. As Behrensmeyer elaborated about her area of taphonomy, It had a long gestation period before people realized that it might be critical to figure out how animals lived in ecosystems. So, mostly the focus was on the morphology of the animals and plants and everything and who they were related to. That’s a classic kind of paleontology. So, it wasn’t until people started asking ecological and behavioral questions of the fossil record that taphonomy became much more essential, I think.47

By the time the next exhibit renovation began, this trend in science and new expertise in paleobiology would begin to be reflected in the fossil halls.

The Late 1970s and the New Hall of “Highlights” As we saw in chapter 3, exhibits had begun to be planned by interdisciplinary teams by the early 1970s. These teams were the first to pilot “theme statements.” The documents generated established long-term plans and goals for a set of holistic exhibit halls, ensuring they would read as a single exhibit based on common stories and themes, despite being produced in phases. The new exhibits were also characterized by innovative immersive techniques, depictions of time, and increasingly inviting and colloquial language.

Theme Statements: Holistic Halls in the 1980s Fossil Hall Renewal By 1977, the first theme statement drafted in the museum was written by a team of curators, mostly from Paleobiology, led by Ian G. Macintyre. The statement laid out a holistic plan for the new fossil hall complex. As Robert Emry said, “Once it was done, it would sort of appear as one exhibit rather

Content Development: Roots of Interpretive Frictions

203

than four exhibits jammed into one space.”48 The team developing the fossil hall complex were the first to pioneer one of these theme statements, a final version of which was submitted to Exhibits in 1978. Acknowledging that no hall could cover the entire history of the fossil record, the document explained that the statement would outline the overall structure and theme of the hall: The fundamental theme which has been developed in the context of a single allencompassing hall is the history of the progress of life as revealed by the geological record in terms of: 1. THE GREAT PERIODS OF TIME INVOLVED IN THE EVOLUTION OF LIFE FORMS PRESERVED IN THE FOSSIL RECORD. 2. THE CHANGING ENVIRONMENTAL CONDITIONS ASSOCIATED WITH THE EVOLUTIONARY PROCESS in response to changing geological processes and modifications introduced by evolving life forms). 3. THE INCREASE IN DIVERSITY AND COMPLEXITY OF LIFE FORMS (e.g. structural organization, interrelationships, capabilities of coping with broader ranges of ecological conditions).49

The concept for the fossil halls was thus an integrated “all-encompassing” hall showcasing life through time, including changing ecological and evolutionary processes and increasing diversity and complexity of life. The way the curatorial team attempted to do this with objects was to take a “highlights” approach. Each of the major time periods would show a fossil highlight illustrating the broader theme. One important element proposed for the new hall was called the “ribbon of life.” It was to be a mural that “depicts the total history of the Earth, and of life on the Earth, from the origin of the planet to the present.”50 While this ribbon was never created, it is clear that the curatorial team was discussing new ways to create holistic depictions of time and process in the halls. As David Sepkoski writes, 1970 to 1985 was also “paleobiology’s most distinctive era . . . when a ‘paleobiological revolution’ brought sudden visibility and notoriety to the discipline and many of its practitioners.”51 In 1975, the movement to reinvent paleontology was codified in the foundation of a journal, Paleobiology, which sought to publish on research integrating biology, processes, and patterns in paleontological studies.52 In the NMNH’s Paleobiology Department, this movement manifested in the formation of a program called the Evolution of Terrestrial Ecosystems (ETE). ETE sought to create a multirelational database (a still fairly new technique at the time) that would allow scientists to “explore new worlds of quantitative analysis” and “allow you to look at ecosystems

204

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

through time.”53 The earliest attempts to display this integration were expressed in both the holistic approach to the halls and in new techniques in design and artistic rendering that would convey complex ideas through time.

Immersive and Singular Design Elements Conveying Time and Process The entire fossil hall complex was to be interconnected, theme driven, and immersive. While the modernized halls had directed visitors via pathways and experimented with colors to communicate meaning, the new exhibits explicitly mimicked environments and temporal process through design. Designers Richard Molinaroli and Elizabeth Miles and Exhibits staff implemented a range of new techniques. They built ramps and raised floors in the halls to suggest the invasion and conquest of land by sea life. They also allowed visitors to walk alongside (“on the same ground as”) the dinosaurs on a large central walkway, while leaving the specimens on their original mounts.54 Wall colors conveyed a sense of changing environments on land—from grays and blues of the ocean to early landscapes of orange and red, and then to green and pink in the age of flowering plants. Life in the Ancient Seas, the last of the halls in the multiphase exhibit project, went the furthest in attempting an “immersive” exhibit: The design of the exhibit will convey the idea of the marine environment by creating an “underwater” atmosphere though lighting, a full-scale recreation of at least one marine environment, and an overhead arrangement of specimens to create the illusion that they are swimming.55

Thus architectural infrastructures and artistic renderings communicated important messages. Indeed, some of the most innovative techniques pioneered for the 1980s halls attempted to solve the problem of expressing change through time. John Gurche, a young scientific illustrator and painter who would go on to have a long, fruitful career in scientific artistry at the museum, was commissioned to do much of this work. The first of his pieces, Vertebrates Invade Land, was a collaboration between in-house model-makers and Gurche, who painted the background. It depicted a lobe-finned fish crawling out of water onto a dry shore. The entire display also included a small video on loop showing modern amphibians emerging from water onto land. Where earlier exhibits had used still paintings, assemblages, and dioramas, the new halls could have moving images integrated into their dis-

Content Development: Roots of Interpretive Frictions

205

plays. The 1980s halls had a number of these installations, including one narrated by two D.C.-area radio personalities who were very popular at the time.56 The video, narrated by “Frank Anchorfish” and “Arthur Pod,” described in detail the processes involved with equipping a marine creature for land by using a colloquial newscast narrative. The most prominent example of innovation in depicting complex change through time was the “Tower of Time.” The tower illustrated changes over time with a vertical mural painted by John Gurche, adjacent to a series of time markers.57 The original plans had lights cascading up its core, drawing viewers’ eyes upward from the origin of life to the appearance of humans. Mechanical difficulties eliminated the moving light installation, but the column did code geologic time periods by color. In a mural eighteen inches across and twenty-eight and a half feet tall, Gurche depicted in the soaring mural the earliest single-celled organisms in the sea, which in turn transitioned to life on land, and at the very top transitioned to the emergence of Homo sapiens.58

Changing Tone and Storytelling Building on shifts in language and signage in the 1960s, halls in the 1980s developed an overall framework that emphasized more inviting language. As early as 1980, exhibits writer Sue Voss was producing exhibit label drafts with pop-culture-referencing titles and puns such as “The Better to Eat You With, My Dear,” “Dinosaur Kit: Assembly Is Required,” “A Dinosaur for All Seasons,” and “The Eleventh Hour.”59 Voss began using theater metaphors to help the public relate to changes in past life. Mammals in the Limelight was directly titled in this way. The later Life in the Ancient Seas was much more comprehensive, using similar titling techniques with subtitles and content labels through the hall. By the final phase of the Paleo halls project, there was a new emphasis on what were now known as “storylines” in exhibits. This was part of a larger move to integrate halls even more coherently with each other. For Life in the Ancient Seas, two previous highlights, “Marine Invertebrates” and “Return to the Sea” would be unified in a single theme. Moreover, for the first time, chronology was being utterly downplayed as a message or narrative in and of itself. As the outline for the project reads, While this chronological division serves as an organizing framework, the storyline itself focuses on the organisms represented in the fossil record, especially their diversity, their various adaptations to the marine environment, and the major extinctions of marine populations.60

206

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

The “storyline’ for the exhibit was articulated as such in the overall plan for the hall and subdivided by major “messages.” The major messages were: 1. The sea was (and is) home to a rich variety of life forms, each adapted to a particular way of life. 2. Marine fossils make up the bulk of the fossil record and are the most abundant evidence of the history of life. 3. The fossil record shows continual turnover of forms through time. 4. This constant gradual change has been interrupted by extinctions.61 The immersive mural commissioned for the exhibit would show whole underwater ecosystems in time, while the physical space would be subdivided into the three main geologic eras, sliced by major extinctions. The tone of writing for the exhibit also emphasized storylines. Newly appointed assistant director Robert “Sully” Sullivan in particular influenced the move away from curator-written text. Before Sullivan, exhibit developer Sally Love said, “[Curators’] word was their word. Not a lot of them wanted to do anything with exhibits. That’s why, in the Insect Zoo, . . . It was literally text lifted from Time-Life Book of Insects and screened onto the wall.”62 Throughout the Paleo halls project, Sue Voss had worked to “interpret what the curators said and make it palatable for people.” Once Sullivan arrived, the tone of the exhibit text really changed: You can see where [Sue Voss] really started to think outside the box and develop this big analogy of stories, life in three acts, and sort of kept that analogy going. So it was storytelling rather than, here’s the stuff and hear stuff about it. But it was really trying to develop a narrative, a story, and tell it well.63

Such shifts in tone were not always well received by curatorial staff. For instance, a film, A Star Is Hatched, was produced from a mash-up of Hollywood films depicting dinosaurs, produced to entertain and educate the public in the history of pop-cultural representations of dinosaurs. As the narrator explained, Ever since their discovery, dinosaurs have fascinated the public. However, many people find it difficult to see in a huge fossil skeleton what was once a living animal. We feel this series of film clips will aid visitors to the new paleontology halls to appreciate dinosaurs as the marvelous animals they were rather than mere stacks of old bones.64

Predictably, some scientific staff were up in arms about the video—unhappy with its tone and lack of scientific content and claiming that it mis-

Content Development: Roots of Interpretive Frictions

207

Figure 5.10. Nearly completed fossil hall with Gurche’s “Tower of Time,” 1981. Image 81-14689. Photo by C. Clark. Courtesy of the Office of Exhibits and Department of Paleobiology, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution.

208

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

led people into thinking that dinosaurs and humans had coexisted. Others were swayed against it after exit polls carried out by docents stationed in the area indicated that the audience didn’t retain the message.65 It was removed very soon after these concerns were raised. A few scientific staff remember the film fondly. Dan Chaney, a longtime museum technician recalls how his daughter, at four years old, made a beeline for the thing whenever they went to the museum.66 After discovering that I had found the film and asked the staff at SI archives to digitize it, he asked if he could have a copy to give to his daughter for Christmas.

Hall Additions and Current Halls Perhaps the most important addition to the halls that didn’t appear in their originally drafted plans was the installation of a live preparation laboratory, built where the video A Star Is Hatched had originally played. What is now the FossiLab was created following the arrival of a ten-ton block of rock from the Carnegie Museum of Natural History containing bones of Coelophysis, a small Triassic dinosaur, in the mid-1980s.67 Under the direction of Larry O’Reilly, who had recently become assistant director for exhibits (a new position), the FossiLab became a space for the public to watch the block being prepared in public view, not unlike what happened at the Dallas Exposition noted in chapter 1. O’Reilly felt this space would “let the public see what went into preparing dinosaurs. A lot of people thought dinosaurs were ready-made, as if you just put them up.”68 O’Reilly tasked designer Norman Ikeda with the space’s arrangement. Ikeda planned a space that not only would allow the public to view the exhibit on all sides but would also let them ask preparators questions and zoom in on details of the work with a mobile camera. The XY camera was donated by Hitachi; it was installed on a four-way grid system and could move via joystick from outside the space in all directions. Alex Downs, a young preparator, was the principal staff member hired by the Office of Exhibits to work on the block live for the public.69 Every two hours or so he would stop working to answer questions for fifteen to twenty minutes. Millions of people, recounted O’Reilly, gathered at the windows to watch. It was the first time, he said, that “people could see something behind the scenes,” and it made a “good teaching tool” and a good way for people to understand how exhibits are installed and fossils mounted.70 One of the important contributions a working lab makes to the exhibits is to show science in process, as well as to convey the current thinking in paleobiology—that even tiny microfossils are important. When the block

Content Development: Roots of Interpretive Frictions

209

returned to Carnegie, somewhat smaller, the lab space lay fallow until it was revitalized in the mid-2000s. Today, the FossiLab is one of the few elements of the current exhibits that showcases all aspects of the museum— all three legs of the “stool”: research, collections, and outreach. Thus, in the early years of its revitalization, according to coordinator Abby Telfer, Anytime we applied for things within the institution, we were successful because we had this incredible trifecta. . . . We were supporting research. We were supporting collections, and we were doing outreach. . . . Kind of an unbeatable combination.71

Another important alteration to the fossil hall complex was the construction of the Fossil Café, which brought profit-driven spaces into the halls for the first time. In time for the new millennium, the NMNH’s Triceratops became the first mount to be 3D scanned. After scanning, a cast was reinstalled, with the real skull placed in an adjacent case. A video describing the project and some of the scientists and preparators who worked on it was created as part of the display. Each of these elements contributed to new movements in conveying science in process and “how we know what we know” in radical ways. A number of proposed projects never materialized. For instance, in the early 1990s a committee of curators and Exhibits staff planned a new in-

Figure 5.11. Fossil Lab draft plans, ca. 1986. Smithsonian Institution Archives. Image # SIA2018-078926.

210

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Figure 5.12. Dinosaurs: Reptiles—Masters of Land, April 2013. Photo by the author.

troduction to the fossil hall complex, one that would center around and contextualize the Tower of Time.72 I have since heard (from curators) that working on something that never comes to fruition is part of the way things are at the museum. I have even heard this described in comparison to evolutionary processes, where every curator has to work on at least one exhibit project that goes “extinct” in his or her career at the museum. In the end, a panel simply describing the desired pathway through the halls and narrative content about geological time was installed below the Tower of Time. The archive of the last forty years of fossil exhibits history was still on display when I wrote my PhD thesis. By the time I defended it, the halls were gutted in preparation for the new Deep Time hall. Luckily, in April 2013, the Smithsonian’s digital scanning team, the “Laser Cowboys,” scanned the existing exhibit.

Conclusion This chapter has presented the artistic, thematic, and scientific contexts for contemporary exhibit content debates. Many of the qualities of contemporary exhibits taken for granted by both museum professionals and lay

Content Development: Roots of Interpretive Frictions

211

Figure 5.13. 3D scanning Hall 6, April 2013. Photo by the author.

publics—storylines, hierarchic messaging and labels, colors, wayfinding and maps, elaborate design, media techniques, and a holistic experience— emerged in the post–World War II era. Inherent in these shifts and technologies were also debates about their use, alongside broadening and more complex scientific knowledge. Thus, since the late 1950s there has been a new emphasis on using specialized and expanding techniques to mediate gaps between museum collections and increasingly complex scientific ideas. In the following chapter, I describe how the shifts described here and in chapter 3 intersect with a much wider institutional shift in emphasis toward public outreach and engagement.

Notes 1. Bambach 5.6.13. 2. David Sepkoski, Rereading the Fossil Record: The Growth of Paleobiology as an Evolutionary Discipline (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2012), 2. 3. Ibid., 3. 4. Bambach 5.6.13; also see chapter 3. 5. G. Arthur Cooper, “Curatorial Report for FY 1963,” RU158, Box 97, Folder 23, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. For further reason-

212

6. 7. 8. 9. 10.

11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25.

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

ing from mineralogy on the split, see Roy S. Clarke Jr., Howard Plotkin, and Timothy J. McCoy. “Meteorites and the Smithsonian Institution,” in The History of Meteoritics and Key Meteorite Collections: Fireballs, Falls and Finds, Special Publication 256, ed. Gerald Joseph Home McCall, Alan John Bowden, Richard John Howarth (London: The Geological Society of London, 2006), 253–54. T. Dale Stewart, “Museum of Natural History,” in Smithsonian Year 1965: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Insitution for the Year Ended June 30, 1965 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1965), 37. Ibid., 33. Ibid., 36. Deaton 4.3.13. Ann Karras, “Report on Visits to Various Natural History Museums for the Purpose of Studying Fossil Mammal Exhibit Presentations in Connection with Pending Renovation of Hall 5,” correspondence to A. Remington Kellogg, 18 December 1958, RU7314, Box 28, Folder 3, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Ibid. Barbara Craig, “Dinosaur Hall Drawings,” 1962, RU363, Box 14, Hall #2 Dinosaurs and other Fossil Reptiles, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Drafts clearly show an attention to visitor viewpoints; RU363, Box 14, Folder: Hall 2 Drawings Dinosaurs and Other Fossil Reptiles File 2 of 4, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Robert C. Post, Who Owns America’s Past? The Smithsonian and the Problem of History (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2013), 29. See RU363, Box 14, Folder: Hall 2 Drawings Dinosaurs and Other Fossil Reptiles File 4 of 4, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. When the halls were dismantled in 2014, colored footprints were revealed on the original flooring. “Paleontology 2, Unit 18 (Additions 1/11/63),” 11 January 1963, RU363, Box 14, Folder: Hall 2 Dinosaurs and Other Fossil Reptiles Scripts, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Deaton 4.3.13. Karras, “Report.” Also see Benjamin Miller, “Extinct Monsters: The Hybrid Identities of Fossil Mounts” (MA diss., University of Kansas, 2013), 7. Ibid. RU363, Box 14, Folder: Hall 2 Drawings Dinosaurs and Other Fossil Reptiles File 2 of 4, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Proposed vertebrate silhouette graphics c. 1960, RU363, Box 14, Folder: Hall 2 Drawings Dinosaurs and Other Fossil Reptiles File 2 of 4, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Karras, “Report.” Ibid. Deaton, 4.3.13.

Content Development: Roots of Interpretive Frictions

26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49.

50. 51. 52. 53. 54.

213

Karras, “Report.” Deaton 4.3.13. Karras, “Report.” Matternes 8.23.13; Deaton 4.3.13. Karras, “Report.” Matternes 8.23.13. C. Lewis Gazin, “Talk on the Halls of Vertebrate Paleontology,” 6 June 1963, RU7314, Box 28, Folder 1, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Karras, “Report.” Matternes 8.23.13. Hotton approval stamp is clear on production copy from January 1963; RU363, Box 14, Folder: Hall 2 Drawings Dinosaurs and Other Fossil Reptiles File 2 of 4, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Nicholas Hotton, “Statement for Budget Book Regarding Dinosaur Hall,” 1959, RU7314, Box 28, Folder 2, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Nicholas Hotton, “Hall of Dinosaurs and Other Reptiles,” 1962, Acc 05084, Box 5, Folder: 1960s, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Ibid. The latter two were never completed. Ibid. Ellis Yochelson, 75 Years in the Natural History Building (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution, 1985), 121. Matternes 8.23.13. Ibid. Porter Kier, “National Museum of Natural History,” in Smithsonian Year 1974: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Insitution for the Year Ended June 30, 1974 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1974), 74. Behrensmeyer 6.3.13. Emry 4.8.13. Ian G. Macintyre, Daniel E. Appleman, Robert J. Emry, Leo J. Hickey, Nicholas Hotton, Kenneth M. Towe, and Thomas R. Waller, “Fossils: The History of Life, the Paleontology Hall Theme Statement,” 28 June 1977, Personal Records of Ian G. Macintyre, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. “Ribbon of Life,” 1978, RU363, Box 23, Folder: Phase 3 Precambrian Life, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Sepkoski, Rereading the Fossil Record, 3. Ibid., 389. Behrensmeyer 6.3.13. Miles 5.31.13; Molinaroli 5.3.13

214

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

55. “Paleo Phase V Outline: Life in the Ancient Seas,” 1987, RU363, Box 2, Folder: Life in the Sea, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. 56. The voices were of Frank Harden and Jackson Weaver. 57. Molinaroli 5.3.13. 58. Gurche 4.21.13; Richard S. Fiske, “National Museum of Natural History,” Smithsonian Year 1982: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1982, 91–92 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1983), 379–639. 59. Sue Voss, “Scripts,” 1980 RU564, Box 1, Folder: Paleo Phase II, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. 60. “Paleo Phase V Outline.” 61. Ibid. 62. Love 8.7.13. 63. Ibid. 64. “A Star Is Hatched Scripts,” 1980, Acc. 01-203, Box 1, Folder: Dinosaurs, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. 65. Raymond Rye, personal correspondence, 11 December 2015. 66. Chaney 6.26.13; Chaney 8.7.13. 67. Raymond Rye, personal correspondence, 10 December 2015. 68. O’Reilly 1.10.14. 69. Ibid. 70. O’Reilly 1.10.14. 71. Telfer 6.27.13. 72. Behrensmeyer 6.13.14.

Chapter 6

Diffusion and Increase Shifts in Institutional Culture from Modernization to Now In parallel to chapter , I return in this chapter to broader institutional contexts for the increase and diffusion of knowledge and, in turn, the Smithsonian’s fossil exhibits. I describe a major paradigm shift: a movement in the postwar era from an institutional emphasis on research, or increase, to outreach, or diffusion, which I argue occurred in the 1950s. While the National Museum of Natural History (NMNH) has resisted aspects of this shift, maintaining its scientific culture and research departments, this broader view of the institution helps to contextualize the widening gap between curatorial and audience-advocate culture, and the various frictions and complementarities analyzed in the previous chapters. As I wrote in chapter 1, it is clear in institutional publications up through the 1940s that “increase and diffusion” was primarily aimed at the scientific community and not the general public. There were a few exceptions over the period to this generalization, but on the whole “diffusion” had primarily meant distribution of publications, the growing library system, specimen exchanges, news releases, public talks, and exhibitions, including participation in expositions.1 Moreover, up through the 1940s the “increase and diffusion” of knowledge had been carried out through an integrated set of museum practices— fieldwork, collecting, specimen preparation, and analysis for publication, talks, or exhibitions—generally driven by staff curators and research department staff.2 Up to World War I, “the public” was fairly narrowly defined. Most visitors were imagined as middle to upper class (white) men, sometimes accompanied by their families. In the late 1920s Smithsonian’s paleontologists began hosting boy scouts and local school groups. But it was not until 1944 that servicemen and women visiting the museum from more

216

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

diverse educational and socioeconomic backgrounds made clear the museum’s failings in communication.3

Increase and Diffusion: 1950s–1970s The post–World War II era was a time of vast cultural and institutional change for the Smithsonian. After the war, through many years of stagnancy, the institution began to restructure and rethink its staffing and its exhibits. What happened in the 1950s and 60s was formative for the contemporary institution’s increasingly divergent mission of “increase” and “diffusion.” First, research life for scientific staff went from being defined by bureaucracy to a university-like culture, while research moved from being practically oriented to theoretically rigorous and prestigious. At the same time, changing conceptions of public needs and a broader definition of “diffusion” were mobilized through the Exhibits Modernization program and new personnel devoted to exhibits and outreach work. This distinctive split continues to define the museum through the present.

Research: 1950s–1970s From the 1950s to the 1970s, distinctive changes in thinking about institutional mission were reflected at the Museum of Natural History (MNH), with important implications for exhibit content. In the realm of research (“increase of knowledge”), the war had meant that science had to be practical. A 1951 report noted that collections become valuable only as scientific staff employ their vast numbers, orderly arrangement, and factual documentation to create “a useful, living organization out of what otherwise would be a sterile warehouse of inanimate things.”4 Changes in leadership over the following decade shifted the Smithsonian to a university-style research culture. When Leonard Carmichael succeeded Alexander Wetmore as secretary in January 1953, he inherited the task of modernizing the institution, and this included both outreach work and the scientific side of the museum.5 Almost immediately, he set about strengthening the Smithsonian’s research profile. For the first time, hiring was based on the candidate’s publication record. Carmichael personally interviewed every candidate for a research position. Apparently, these interviews were worse than a PhD oral exam.6 Despite Carmichael’s attempt to improve the Smithsonian’s research, many scientists described his leadership as hierarchical and top-down,

Diffusion and Increase

217

and complained that he “never really understood science.”7 Regulations for research and workflow were more stringent, which in turn did not allow research publications and scientific prestige to reach the level of their counterparts at universities. Scientific staff who were at the museum in the 1950s characterize this time, known as “the Carmichael years,” as ultrabureaucratic and lacking “academic freedom.” Porter Kier, later director of the NMNH, recalled: You can’t imagine, it was so bureaucratic. I come out of the army and I hated that. Oh, God, I hated it. . . . We had, once a month, we had to send a memo up through the director over across the mall in which we noted how many telephone calls we’d gotten, how many E&Rs—those were question and answers—we’d gotten. When I became director I went over, first day on the job, I said “I’d like to see those records from last year.” They’d all been thrown away—nobody ever looked at them. Thirty years of this has gone on and nobody looked at them. That’s the old way.8

Throughout interviews with staff who recalled institutional life in the 1950s and early 1960s, people commented that in “the old days” everyone at the museum had a standard 8:45 to 5:15 schedule with a half hour break for lunch. At the time, the head curator system was still in place, in which an appointed person ran a department until he retired, and promotions (and parking!) were based solely on seniority.9 The director of the USNM at the time, A. Remington Kellogg, stuck to the rules so well that he was known as the “abominable no-man.”10 A number of critical changes altered the research scene at the museum. First, as discussed in chapter 3, after the Soviet Union launched Sputnik 1, the U.S. government began pouring money into science research and education. For the Smithsonian, this meant hugely increased budgets for research, particularly in mineralogy and oceanography (of which paleontologists were able to claim a part), two disciplines that could inform innovations in the space race.11 Second, as mentioned elsewhere, due both to the healing postwar economy and post-Sputnik government support, the museum was able to hire huge numbers of new staff. These young new scientific staff were fresh out of university, and were not used to government bureaucracy affecting their academic work. In Paleobiology alone, between 1950 and 1963, curatorial staff increased from five to eleven. This, in turn, meant major cultural changes for the research side of the museum. In 1963, in the spirit of university faculty senates, scientists at the MNH came together to form the Senate of Scientists, which would represent their interests to museum and SI administrations.12 This harnessed the collective power of researchers at the museum.

218

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Third, given the longtime growth of collections, the need for new research technologies and spaces, and the growing staff, Smithsonian spatial expansion was long overdue. At the MNH, the museum finally began construction on the wings (which had been approved in 1930). Working drawings for these new spaces were approved in FY 1959.13 As outlined in chapter 3, under Cooper’s leadership, these spaces created cohesive departmental spaces for exponentially growing research and support staff, which in turn fostered new communities of research never before possible on the same scale.14 Fourth, S. Dillon Ripley, an ornithologist with radical ideas for the institution, was appointed secretary in 1964. Ripley made it clear that outreach activities were to emerge from the research initiatives of the institution. Just after Ripley’s arrival, Frank A. Taylor, director of the USNM, wrote that institutional reports had been “rearranged to emphasize the fact that research and publication are the foundations from which arise the other activities and services of the Museum.”15 Articles were to be published in more visible journals and were to respond to broader theoretical or scientific problems. This was a far cry from the emphasis on applied scientific research during the war years. Ripley was clear that he wanted the Smithsonian to be at the forefront of academic and not merely “applied” science, pushing the “increase of knowledge” as his main agenda.16 The following year, he reiterated that with the 200th anniversary of the birth of James Smithson, the institution had “re-endorsed” its “essential role” in research.17 He wanted scholars at the Smithsonian to have the same academic freedom to undertake innovative research as their peers at universities. They were not to be slaves to bureaucracy. Marty Buzas said of this shift from his arrival in 1964, When I first came here, when you published a paper, there was a little footnote which said, “Published by permission of the Secretary.” Your paper went from myself to my next superior . . . the division chief at that time was Richard [S.] Boardman and he had to sign it. Then it used to go to Gus [Arthur] Cooper, who was chairman of this department, and he’d sign it. Then it went up to the director’s office and he’d sign it. Then it would go over to the Secretary’s office and he’d sign it. Every paper went through this chain of command . . . Ripley said, “No more of this.” . . . Ripley came in and said, “Okay, we’re going to make this like a university.18

Ripley streamlined the publication process, and shifted the Smithsonian to a university atmosphere. Ripley often referred to the Mall as a “campus.”19 He encouraged a scholarly culture. Hours for scientists no longer complied with an 8:45 to 5:15 schedule. As Buzas said, “If you’re writing a paper and you don’t want to come in, you can work at home,

Diffusion and Increase

219

make your own hours. . . . Most of the scientists preferred to come and go, you know, and so that many weren’t worried about this forty hour business.”20 The newly formed Senate of Scientists, modeled after similar groups at universities, also pioneered the Professional Accomplishments Evaluation Committee (PAEC), a peer review board for scientists’ work at the museums where previously “the decisions were made by your chairman and the director, not by a group of peers who looked and said, “How do you stand in the scientific community?”21 Thus it was at this time that the PAEC was instituted, which in turn disseminated the now ubiquitously groaned-about rule that curators should publish at least three papers per year. This was about academic integrity, scholars collectively judging other scholars. Furthermore, in a single memo, Ripley did away with the hierarchical head curator system. Now department chairmen would be elected by staff and serve limited terms. Another of these young upstarts, and later director of the museum, Porter Kier, said of Ripley’s influence, But [Ripley] came along with these wild ideas about academic freedom, and we were, oh we thought this was ridiculous. You know, absolutely absurd. And that’s when all the chairmen were fired and the departments were told to elect their own chairmen. That’s when we got what we call the PAEC committee in which everybody was reviewed every once in a while by his colleagues and external sources. Never had that before. . . . Seniority promotion was based on seniority. It was lousy. So [Ripley] did it all. He changed the whole world, and we hated him most of the way.22

Ripley also brought more students and researchers into the Smithsonian. In 1965, he established the Office of Education and Training.23 Programs there initiated relationships between universities and the Smithsonian to allow PhD candidates to conduct research at the institution under the supervision of Smithsonian staff. They also brought some of the first undergraduate programs to the institution and began to raise funds for visiting research associate programs. One program even brought local teachers to the museum to train them in using museums as teaching facilities and educational resources. Taken together, these changes led to radical shifts in the culture and staffing of the research side of the museum from the 1950s onward.

Public Outreach: 1950s–1970s In the immediate postwar era of the 1950s, marked largely by the change in secretarial leadership from Alexander Wetmore to Leonard Carmichael,

220

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

emphasis shifted toward broadening the institution’s modes of “diffusion.” The postwar era was the beginning of a new understanding of the museum’s purpose, influenced by trends begun in the 1940s in thinking more broadly about the public and the museum as an educational space.24 This was also a major period of cultural change in American society, and suddenly the Smithsonian was able to adapt. Throughout the 1950s, along with the building up of staff and revitalized research enterprises, the museum began a new set of initiatives in communication and outreach strategy. This emphasis was clear in A. Remington Kellogg’s annual museum reports. Kellogg served as director of the USNM from 1948 to 1962. As much as research was highlighted, the 1951 Annual Report, for instance, clearly delineates public communication through exhibitry as an equal function of the museum: “Today more than ever the citizen needs the service the Museum can render through its exhibits. For through effective exhibits it supplements the citizen’s personal experience and adds measurably to his understanding of the world he inhabits.”25 Both of the museum’s functions, which he described as “reference” and “exhibits,” should be considered important and should “support and supplement the other.”26 This new philosophy was applied in 1951 when the Smithsonian established its Smithsonian Institution Traveling Exhibition Service (SITES) to bring exhibits to institutions around the world. In 1956, Carmichael authorized an institution-wide Office of Exhibits, centralizing expertise from the departments. Where in the research fields Carmichael was criticized for his top-down, bureaucratic approach, he succeeded in upgrading the Smithsonian’s outreach profile. Indeed, scientists viewed him as someone who privileged the exhibits and the public face of the museum over research and scientific activities. As Erle Kauffman, longstanding paleontologist and a founder of the senate later remarked, Carmichael was highly respected for what he had done in terms of really impressing Congress and getting an awful lot of money for the museum, especially for the exhibit facility and for the building of new museums, the educational aspect of it; but not in terms of his understanding of research and the support of basic science.27

At this time there was also a major shift in the structure and tone of institutional reports, which shows how the museum’s purpose was being rethought. From before the war up to 1952, the report is short and places its emphasis on collections, research, “orderly inquiry,”28 and funds, followed by departmental reports. Afterward, the reports begin with a lengthy introduction about the public needs of a museum, with Exhibits as its first section.

Diffusion and Increase

221

Figure 6.1. Virginia schoolchildren on the Mall, 1950. Smithsonian Institution Archives. Image # SIA2009-2125.

Access to the world through radio and television in the home coupled with developments in mass transit made museums less novel: The average museum visitor today is likely to be far more discriminating and much less naïve than his parents were. His attitude toward what he sees, moreover, is conditioned by his contact with modern techniques of presenting information and with educational methods that have radically improved through the influence of applied psychology and modern advertising. . . . His intellectual curiosity can no longer be completely satisfied with rows of stuffed mammals or birds, with cases of rocks that all look very much alike and have little to identify them but hard-topronounce scientific names.29

In this new cultural milieu, greater numbers of more savvy visitors would need to see museum collections “in a different and better way,” expounding on wider varieties of topics for more varied interests. Rather than showing more objects, more effective displays would “show fewer, but with greater attention to their selection and arrangement.”30 While Exhibits Modernization had been ongoing since the late 1940s as funds allowed, by the early 1950s the institution was thinking more

222

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

comprehensively about that effort. By 1950 the Smithsonian had formed a committee on exhibits to “survey . . . exhibit needs and make future plans, and to visit a number of other American museums to get first-hand information as to methods, cost, and the problems attending the improvement and modernization of present-day museum exhibits.”31 In the USNM annual report for FY 1953, there is a four-page section on exhibits for the first time.32 Now, the museum was meant not only to show objects clearly but “to explain how and why the particular items selected for display are intellectually significant.”33 The institution-wide Exhibits Modernization program, launched in 1953 with the financial support of Congress, set out to comprehensively renovate all of the long-forgotten exhibits across its museums, now including the United States National Museum, the National Air Museum, the Freer Gallery of Art, and the National Gallery of Art: The most modern of these structures, the Natural History building, was designed in 1902 when the electric light had just come into general use—and when it was still the custom for a museum to place the greater part of its collections shelf-onshelf in glass cases set in rows on the exhibition floor.34

From 1953, when the program began, to 1959, seventeen galleries were redone across the institution, some eighty thousand square feet of exhibition feet and 673 separate “exhibit units . . . fully reorganized and modernized for the benefit and education of the public.”35 Under Carmichael’s leadership, while the “increase of knowledge” held strong, there was a major push to expand the diffusion of knowledge not only through scholarly but also through “semipopular works” and “museum exhibits and the educational and inspirational opportunity that these displays give to millions of visitors each year.” Exhibits went from “old-fashioned” places for “visual storage” to “modern, effective, teaching exhibits.”36 In the fall of 1955, the institution (thanks to the legwork of two leaders of the Junior League of Washington, Mrs. Robert Nelson Jr. and Mrs. Alexander Chilton) began a volunteer docent and educational guide service for local elementary schoolchildren.37 Soon, the Smithsonian institutionalized its new emphasis on communication through the establishment of the Smithsonian Museum Service, “to coordinate the extension of the museum activities of the Institution.” It not only acted as the main office for coordinating newly established volunteer programs, it also provided “assistance to professional and subprofessional individuals and groups visiting the museums of the Institution” and coordinated events including lectures and hall openings through an institution-wide calendar of events.38

Diffusion and Increase

223

The Smithsonian was also moving, both in its organization and its public mission, from a universalist museum to a particularist and topically specific museum complex.39 This was part of a new philosophy that would be strengthened and broadened under Dillon Ripley, that institutions grew by breaking apart, much like cells. In 1957, the same year as the Sputnik launch, the USNM split into the MNH and the Museum of History and Technology (MHT), although the latter would not open until 1964. Each museum had a discrete mission and public identity; each would, in turn, choose different modes of communication and display, and would eventually target different audiences.40 Ripley advocated for catering to increasingly diverse visitors outright. In his annual report on education, he said, “In the coming year we hope to extend our work with students and specialists into a study of exhibit techniques and audience responses which may prove to be of direct benefit to the cause of education and its relation to the state of learning in our country.”41 And indeed, these audiences were vastly growing. From the beginning of the Exhibits Modernization program in 1953 to 1959, visitor attendance jumped from 3.658 million to 6.351 million across the Smithsonian.42 In 1966, the institution also formed its first Smithsonian Society of Associates, soon after the Smithsonian Associates, which sought to formally recognize the Smithsonian’s donors across the United States and the world as part of a large-scale endowment campaign. Members paid annual dues to support the institution.43 Other public outreach initiatives included actively campaigning to beautify and enliven the Mall.44 Ripley found space for new buildings and acquired existing buildings for even more Smithsonian exhibitions. He built a carousel. In 1966 he also established a public information office. This office served to pull together activities of former press and other distributed offices to ensure that the Smithsonian clearly and centrally communicated its work to the public.45 Ripley created a new annual report format, now called Smithsonian Year, which for the first time integrated all of the growing Smithsonian units together. This new annual report was also for the first time written to “reach a wider audience,”46 in part by clarifying and collating all of the Smithsonian’s activities, but also by creating a more approachable format, full of images. Ripley also launched the Smithsonian Magazine in 1970. The 1950s thus marked a distinctive split in the formerly interwoven mission, passed down from James Smithson’s will, to increase and diffuse knowledge. “Increase” became ever more defined by a rigorous research agenda and university culture, and “diffusion” shifted in definition toward

224

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

a broad public communication agenda marked by newly modernized exhibits and more diverse programming. Amid this energetic but departmentalized culture, the next generation of exhibits would have to be produced under the aegis of both realms. In the time since, the Smithsonian has been grappling with its mission to fulfill two equally important but fundamentally different tracks.

Increase and Diffusion: 1970s–1990s The explosion of staff and the many changes implemented by Carmichael and Ripley in the 1960s had initiated a massive sea change at the institution. By the 1970s, the NMNH was reaping the benefit of these changes, with a huge staff and huge outputs. Ripley continued to lead the Smithsonian in both its strengthened research and public missions. The period also marked the beginning of interdisciplinarity in both research and exhibits work, as increasingly professionalized or niche fields came together in increasing and diffusing knowledge. A growth of staff in exhibits, internal production, and artistic shops meant that the mid-1970s saw the flourishing of professionalized “in-house” exhibits production, buttressed by the foundation of larger-scale off-site facilities at the Office of Exhibits Central in 1973. This was also an important time, following the shaky and racially charged climate of the late 1960s, for thinking differently about the museum public and their diversity. By the 1990s, major economic setbacks and cultural shifts meant that exhibit development, along with many other large-scale diffusion efforts at the institution, began to be both privately funded and outsourced to contracted firms.

Research: 1970s–1990s On the research side of the institution, many new organizations were founded, while others continued to grow dramatically. These included the the Tropical Research Center and the Radiation Biology Laboratory. In Paleobiology alone, from 1960 to the early 1980s staff grew from eight to eighteen research scientists plus fifty-seven additional affiliated staff, all in the East Wing. The growth was predominantly with research staff and their research assistants.47 Since FY 1965, there have been seven research departments within the NMNH—Anthropology, Botany, Entomology, Invertebrate Zoology, Mineral Sciences, Paleobiology, and Vertebrate Zoology.48 Each grew

Diffusion and Increase

225

as large increases of not only research but also “support” staff occurred through the 1980s. As curator Erle G. Kauffman later described, This was one of the great needs, that is, high class research assistance, not just preparators, but people who could work with you and work with your data and who could understand your problem. That meant, of course, a new concept in hiring. You had to be prepared to hire or at least to raise people to five, seven, and nine levels, to put a higher ceiling on research assistants or so-called sub-professionals.49

Alongside the emphasis on greater and higher-profile academic publishing, director Porter Kier pushed for not just a one-to-one or one-to-two staff-to-support-staff ratio, but a one-to-three ratio. This meant a massive growth in the overall size of departments. With the USGS sharing space with the Paleobiology Department, nearly eighty people were working side by side on paleontological projects. Meanwhile, large numbers of postdoctoral students joined many departments thanks to programs begun through the Office of Education and Training in the 1960s. Collaborative programs with universities such as The George Washington University led to more staff teaching courses at partner institutions. Each of the subfields within broader disciplines like paleobiology became more specialized.50 By 1975, Secretary Ripley was already advocating “a consolidated Museum Support Facility to house, curate, and conserve collections, in an off-campus setting, away from the Mall” that would become the off-site collections center in Suitland, Maryland.51

Outreach: 1970s–1990s Ripley’s philosophy of growth through dividing and compartmentalizing indeed served to expand the institution. This was true both at the micro level of museum staffs and at the pan-institutional level, with the opening of many new Smithsonian collections, including the Archives of American Art,52 the Renwick Gallery,53 the Hirshorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, and the Air and Space Museum.54 Under this system, major changes in outreach and exhibitry began when, in 1973, two organizational shifts took place. First, a “rearticulation” at the institution split the centralized Smithsonian exhibits structures, so that for the first time each museum had its own internal exhibits, educational, and building management offices. Second, a centralized office, called the Office of Exhibits Central (OEC) was established in 1973 to handle large-scale projects and equipment. Here, the biggest projects at the institution’s museums could be undertaken by a cen-

226

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

tralized staff of specialist artists, model-makers, taxidermists, and designers of all sorts. This was indeed necessary for the new museums opening at an increasing rate. The OEC included two parts: 1. Special Exhibits Resources Group—models, plastics, restoration shops, freeze-dry laboratory, motion picture unit, museum lighting office, audiovisual unit, exhibits editor’s office; 2. Central Design and Production Group—traveling exhibits, folklife, developed shop facilities and procedures. At first, the OEC staff was split between a few facilities, including shops and labs that continued to be used at various museum locations.55 However by 1975, all of these parts were moved into a single coherent space. Exhibits was suddenly a hub of expertise at the Smithsonian. Staff there were recognized for their training in specific exhibits fields. They were professionals. They went to professional conferences. As one federal budget request submission shows, exhibits budgets began to include “several trips by Larry O’Reilly and other management staff personnel to attend conventions and study exhibit techniques at various institutions.”56 However, the Exhibits program at the NMNH began to lull by the mid1970s. After Exhibits Modernization, during which twenty-four major halls at the National History Building (NHB) were redone between 1954 and 1974, the museum went on an exhibit hiatus (from 1974 to 1984 only seven halls were opened).57 In 1973 the former chairman of paleobiology, Porter Kier, became the new museum director; Kier took initiative in once again revamping the NMNH’s exhibits program. Kier thought carefully about what had been institutionalized in a new pan-Smithsonian department: “visitor experience.” By 1973, the Exhibits Committee was discussing the drafting of a new long-term plan, and one of the committee’s first tasks was to implement what they called a “public orientation program” to help visitors with signage around the museum. In addition, the Exhibits Committee agreed in 1973 to print five thousand visitor orientation guides for the NMNH put together by committee members, educational psychologists employed by museum programs, and other public service employees.58 In that year they also debated printing free maps. The committee decided to hang large colorful banners around the rotunda with the names of each of the halls and a corresponding symbol above each of the wing’s main entrances. They similarly adorned the Constitution Avenue entrance and marked the halls on visitor maps.59 Soon after, a series of innovative exhibit spaces opened at the museum. Called “prototype exhibits,” these spaces were “designed to establish a close

Diffusion and Increase

227

and unusual rapport with museum visitors,” who could touch, play with, and experiment with specimens and species. The first of these, opened in March 1974, was the Discovery Room, where children, guided by docents and staff from the newly formed Office of Education, were encouraged “to keep their hands on and not off the exhibits”60 and to handle objects arranged by types, colors, shapes, tastes, textures, and smells. Next among these was the Insect Zoo, opened in 1976.61 Here the public was able to interact with live insects and other arthropods. It was the first experience of its kind and was later mimicked by many other institutions, including the Cincinnati Insect World, Fort Lauderdale Discovery Center, the Denver Museum of Natural History, the Boston Children’s Museum, and the Bronx Zoo. Last among these experimental exhibits was the Naturalist Center, also opened in 1976, which invited “serious amateurs” to explore hands-on natural history collections with microscopes and other equipment, assisted by volunteers.62 In addition to encouraging the formation of spaces such as the Discovery Room, Kier encouraged exhibits that put the showy, aesthetic nature of museum objects first. The Splendors of Nature hall brought together the museum’s most beautiful, stunning, or surprising objects. Kier also applied in 1975 for extra government money to build escalators leading up from the ground floor to the main exhibit halls on the first floor. He also built the first café in the museum—if visitors were going to enjoy all of the exhibits, they’d certainly need energy to do so.63 Notions of the public and how they related to the museum, and therefore the ideal modes of diffusion of exhibit information, were drastically shifting. Tensions were high in Washington following the race riots of 1968 and their aftermath. For the first time, the NMNH began to enlist outside researchers to undertake visitor studies, based on a growing literature of museum education. In fact, in the SIA, I found a copy of an appendix to a study—perhaps from another institution—that included some ninety-six annotated bibliographical entries for literature on museum education and visitors from 1930 up to 1965.64 By the 1970s the museum was beginning to implement recommendations and theoretical models developed over the previous forty years as it became a full-fledged academic field. In the mid-1970s, the NMNH undertook its first visitor studies by hiring behavioral psychologists to systematically assess its galleries.65 As director Richard Cowan wrote, “If ivory towers existed here earlier, they have long since crumbled, spilling their occupants into the midst of the concerns that involve us all.”66 A 1975 study by Robert Lakota analyzed NMNH spaces by “environmental analysis” and “behavioral performance.”67 In

228

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

another study the following year, Lakota described “exhibits themselves,” not just education programs, as educational environments. Learning, he described, refers to any measurable changes taking place within the visitor which can be directly attributable to the exhibit experience. These changes could include the acquisition of new knowledge, concepts, perceptual skills, or attitudes.68

Impact could no longer be judged by attendance. He also noted that fiscal support for projects was beginning to be based on the assessment of their educational role.69 It is in these studies that I found the first mentions of now prominent terms such as “free-choice” and “museum audiences.” Lakota recommended the following: – Make the content interactive by asking questions and directing attention to the exhibit. – Have visitors discover answers by guiding their inspection of the collection. – Use music and sounds only when clearly appropriate, not in an attempt to make a boring narrative more bearable. – Do not let sequences run too long. Short passages are especially important in broadcast systems.70 Visitor demographics were also important at a place that was lacking diversity. In another study that year, Yankelovich, Skelly, and White, Inc. found that NMNH visitors were 93 percent white and 7 percent nonwhite (the lowest percentage of nonwhite visitors among all of the Smithsonian’s museums).71 By 1983, the Smithsonian had its own Office of Museum Evaluation Studies.72 This was a period during which outreach and popular education were considered in a more inclusive manner.73 In 1987, the Smithsonian established the Smithsonian Cultural Education Committee, acknowledging a responsibility to ethnic and cultural minority communities in the United States.74 Likewise, the Office of Institutional Studies was encouraged to look not just at who was coming to the SI Museums but what reactions and educational experiences they were getting from them.75 Fiscal changes at the institution also shaped elements of its diffusion. This was the first time guidebooks were published for individual galleries. Both the Insect Zoo and the Ice Age and the Emergence of Man exhibit acquired funds to print small booklets for sale in the museum shops. These small booklets were produced to promote the exhibit and to give visitors

Diffusion and Increase

229

something to take away. Soon, “The Elephant Press Fund” was established from the revenues to print future booklets.76 By 1980 the NMNH’s chief of exhibitions, Eugene Behlen, had produced four of these guides.77 By the mid-1980s Larry O’Reilly, then the assistant director for exhibits, articulated a plan to pull together outreach activities under a single office at the NMNH—the Division of Public Programs. O’Reilly felt that to handle these increasing demands on Exhibits and to bolster the office with fuller institutional support, a central umbrella division should be founded to house Exhibits, Public Relations, Development, and the new IMAX theater branch. Below is his proposed structural drawing. Under the expanded Division of Public Programs, an associate director, a high-level administrative team member, would now direct outreach activities at the museum. Robert Sullivan became the first to hold such a position in 1990.78 A report finalized in March 1987 solidified this direction for the museum, advocating for a “strategy-making process” that gave equal weight to a “Science Strategy”—scientific departments’ needs and opportunities—and a “Public Programming Strategy”—exhibits and

Figure 6.2. O’Reilly’s draft drawing for the new Division of Public Programs, ca. 1986. Smithsonian Institution Archives. Image # SIA2018-072684.

230

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

education units’ needs and opportunities.79 In the report, a major public programming recommendation was to make exhibits development the responsibility of professional designers and educators; make scientists responsible for concepts and validation, but not for design, execution, text, lighting, and other aspects of implementation.

The rationale, the document stated, was to diffuse “tension in exhibits design and fabrication between research scientists and exhibition specialists by clarifying respective roles and responsibilities.”80

Figure 6.3. Dual science and public programming strategy in the NMNH Management Agenda, 1987. Smithsonian Institution Archives. Image # SIA2018-078946.

Diffusion and Increase

231

Increase and Diffusion in the New Millennium The separation and professionalization of “increase” and “diffusion” (the scientific and public programming, or outreach, agenda) grew as the museum moved toward the new millennium. From the 1980s to today, there were vast changes in funding and professional cultures that affected exhibits. The 1980s saw the end of exhibits designed and funded in house. The fossil hall complex was the last of these. Over the thirty-year period from the 1980s to the 2010s, the notion of diffusion shifted as Smithsonian museums grappled with new financial realities. Smithsonian widened its definition of the public and embraced profit-driven, commercial ventures. By 1990, tighter budgets underscored the need for institutional priorities and goals with measurable outcomes. As Smithsonian Secretary Robert McCormick Adams (1984–1994) put it, “It is always somewhat threatening to hear of the need for establishing priorities in a cultural or intellectual enterprise.”81 However, he noted, the institution was not immune from the recession, from which the United States was just recovering.82 Efficiency and organizational simplicity became new goals of the administration, both to “simplify decision-making” and to “improv[e] accountability and eliminat[e] redundancies.” Under a model of “total quality management,” the institution began thinking more about “cost-effective service at every level.”83 Adams, though, never made concerted efforts to shift the institution’s focus toward private funding, even though federal appropriations, particularly for exhibits, diminished after the bicentennial.84 When I. Michael Heyman, Smithsonian’s next secretary, took office, he noted that while the Smithsonian could continue to rely on generous congressional monies, the future of “bleaker” fiscal prospects would require the Smithsonian to “rely on private support from individuals and corporations.”85 With private monies came a need to show efficient and responsible use of Smithsonian’s resources, “both to husband them and to underscore our credibility to those who provide them—the government and our donors.”86 Importantly, in Heyman’s first report, he also ranked the Smithsonian’s three tasks within the broader mission of increasing and diffusing knowledge, with a mission of diffusion occupying the top spot: “First is public education. Second is a university-like research operation. The third task is hosting and maintaining, at last count, 140 million objects.”87 Heyman invested capital and energy in a number of Smithsonian commercial units, notably hiring Gary Beer, formerly of the Sundance Institute, to head Smithsonian Business Ventures (SBV), founded in 1999, and

232

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

expand “commercial revenue streams.”88 During Heyman’s tenure, annual reports transitioned to flashy hundred-page magazines, with a page for each Smithsonian unit. The last twenty pages were devoted to financial charts and the auditor’s report. The only lists of names included in the reports were those of regents or benefactors.89 Private-sector funding skyrocketed from $40 million in 1996 to $147 million in 1999, up to $206.6 million in 2000.90 Beyond commercial ventures, Heyman set in motion a number of broad institutional changes that set the tone for the period. In October 1994, he combined a number of assistant secretarial offices to establish an Office of the Provost, marking “a major step in the strategic planning of a more efficient and effective institution.”91 Former assistant secretary for the sciences Robert Hoffman was appointed acting provost and was placed in charge of all facets of the increase of knowledge: all of the scientific, museum, and educational work of the institution.92 Heyman was also the first to establish the secretary position as one of managerial power. Where former secretaries had very little to do with the day-to-day workings or goals of exhibits or curatorial work, Heyman had a distinctively hands-on approach. He felt strongly that curators were not necessarily equipped to make exhibit content accessible to the general public.93 These changes came into public consciousness in the early 2000s, with controversies surrounding the secretarial leadership of Lawrence “Larry” Small, sworn in 24 January 2000. After Heyman’s departure, and in the midst of a booming economy, the regents decided on “somebody with ‘financial savvy and managerial panache’” and selected Small, who had been president of Fannie Mae.94 Under Small, who has been criticized for “view[ing] the life of the mind with astonishing indifference,”95 the institution expanded its commercial ventures and integrated them into its other functions.96 New commercial venues sprouted up across the institution, including naming opportunities, restaurants, and expanded gift shop inventory.97 Small’s “streamlining” and his emphasis on commercial opportunities made him very unpopular very quickly, so much so that an ornithology curator at the NMNH said, “In the short 15 months since [Small] assumed office he has become surely the most reviled and detested administrator in the Institution’s history.”98 The Smithsonian Congress of Scholars, a body of nearly all SI staff involved in research, wrote a “letter of concern drafted and addressed to regents” complaining that Small was “obligat[ing] the Museum to relationships with private individuals that breach established standards of museum practice and professional ethics.”99 (One room at Smithsonian’s Museum Support Center still today sports a sign reading “The Larry Small Elimination Room.”)

Diffusion and Increase

233

It was in this context that tensions came to the fore at the NMNH, under the leadership of director Frank Talbot (1989–1994) and associate director for public programs Robert Sullivan (June 1990–October 2006). Still today, many staff in the museum attribute the most drastic cultural shift at NMNH to the arrival of Talbot, followed by Robert Sullivan, who, as mentioned in chapter 3, continues to be a polarizing figure. In Sullivan’s defense, Elizabeth Duggal described the tight fiscal pressures he found himself under, which continue today: In fairness to him—the erosion of the resources . . . it’s really quite astounding to me right now, wearing my public engagement hat, how little of the budget we have. . . . We’ve got all these scientists running around the building. And I’m not saying it’s not quality, but we’re supposed to serve eight million plus visitors, and it’s all done kind of on a shoestring. . . . So, Sully faced a lot of pressure to make cuts.100

Others have noted that the financial and organizational shifts that took place, while gradual, happened faster than the institution could adapt or administrators could pose adequate solutions to them. As paleobotany curator Scott Wing said of this time, I’m not sure that the institution, even the people that were in charge of it, knew how you handle that. So this whole idea of coordination between the goal-setting exercise and the fundraising exercise was less . . . they were not maybe as tightly connected as they are now thought to be or should be and I think mostly are . . . I think it took quite a while to begin to move into the new environment.101

The period saw declines in scientific staff at the NMNH. From 1991 to 1994, for instance, while the number of total staff at the NMNH stayed stable at 600, the number of staff scientists got progressively smaller—130 in 1991, 120 in 1992, and 114 in 1994.102 From 1985 to 2000, the director’s office staff increased by 150 percent, while scientific staff decreased by 23 percent.103 Education and Outreach has actually grown at the NMNH. As educator Amy Bolton said, “In the eighties, when most the other departments were at their peak, education was actually smaller. So it’s one of the few places that seems to be building rather than cutting or not replacing people as they retire.”104 This was not the case for Exhibits, however, where the institution began offering early retirement packages under new fiscal constraints. As Kim Moeller, in-house designer (and previous graphics supervisor), said of the scene in Exhibits, I remember we went through that phase of panic. Everybody had to make sure that their résumés were absolutely current so that all of your information was there

234

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

because they were going through all of that . . . they were offering early retirement packages.105

It was at this point that many staff, including managerial staff, retired from Exhibits. And so, between that [cuts in positions] and then just general retirement over the next bunch of years, there were just less of us. . . . When I was hired . . . there were seven people total in the graphics shop. And the same was true for the fabrication shop. . . . And AV, that was John Anderson at the time who was in charge, and he probably had a good four or five guys.106

Today, each of these subunits has between one and four people (two in graphics, four in fabrication, three in AV, for instance). And where previously there were funds to renovate exhibits on a steady schedule, now there was no internal money to continue taking on big projects. As Scott Wing commented: So, over a period of a few years, the place went from having this kind of, “Well this is part of what we do is renovate halls” . . . But very quickly after I got here I think that just dried up. And by the nineties I think it was pretty much, exhibits were going to get redone if you could raise money to redo them.107

One of the frustrations directed at Sullivan, Talbot, and other administrators at the time was that they seemed to let money dictate core projects rather than the other way around. Scott Wing continued: “The rules are maybe a little clearer now, so you know you’re not going to do a big exhibits project unless you find a donor. That’s just clear. But I think at that time it was much less clear. It was much less clear how the priorities of the museum were going to be determined by who you could raise money from.”108 Under the new system of increased private funding, the first exhibition to open at the NMNH fully funded by outside capital was the new gems and minerals hall. This was also one of the first halls to be named for a donor. On 20 September 1997 it opened as the Janet Annenberg Hooker Hall of Geology, Gems and Minerals named for the $5 million primary donor. However, all in all, more than $13 million was raised from private donations to build the hall.109 Kim Moeller related that exhibit design for Geology, Gems, and Minerals was done by a private firm while production remained in house.110 Scheduling, especially with new pressures from donors supporting exhibits, drove some of these shifts: Back when we were doing Paleo [halls], it was kind of already understood that you could do it in several phases over the course of so many years. Because really from start to finish that was many years in the making. . . . Geology, Gems and Min-

Diffusion and Increase

235

erals was a different thing though because I think that the donors who were giving the money really had a set timeline that they wanted to see stuff open. And at that point they made a quick decision that, OK, we were going to split the work.111

That, she noted, was the beginning of a real swing from in-house to contracted design. According to Rena Selim, assistant director for exhibits, this was “partially due to government cutbacks,” but it was also because a lot of what we were doing became more and more technical. You needed better, more expensive equipment, more expertise, that it made sense to hire companies that were making tens of exhibits a year as opposed to us, where it took us two to three years or more to do an exhibit.112

And so, the staff “got smaller.”113 As noted in chapter 3, this trend toward contract work was very much encouraged by Robert Sullivan, the new associate director for public programs. Thus, it was just as Life in the Ancient Seas opened in 1990, signalling the completion of the Paleo complex, that the museum began contracting more exhibit work. Business language also became common parlance across the museum. As FossiLab coordinator Abby Telfer related, You were asking what the culture was like. The curators were feeling the same thing. They were feeling that the executive branch of their museum was taking on very much of a business model. People started using business acronyms, and business terms . . . You’re supposed to have customer reviews of your service and your customers are the people on staff, who you are doing things for.114

Where before, staff would ask each other for favors or get things done through internal work orders, by the 1990s even internal transactions were charged. Telfer continued, “It was an environment where everyone was being asked to do more with reduced funds. . . . In order to get anything done, you had to, essentially, pay somebody to do it.” 115 Before this sea change, internal staff would undertake these jobs. As Telfer related, “People would say to me, ‘Well, we used to have a machine shop. If you needed something, they would make it for you. And that was just . . . they were there to help you.’ But, budgets have been cut so severely that it was . . . Everything became a transaction . . .”116 Thus, in trying to start a FossiLab website, Telfer, a Paleo staff member, had to apply for an internal grant, the Web Access Grant (WAG), to pay the Office of Education to make videos for the site through the Office of Exhibits.117 These transactions drive longstanding scientists “absolutely nuts.”118 Under the current paradigm, Office of Exhibits Central staff work to complete projects for other “Smithsonian clients.”119 Writer Angela Roberts

236

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Reeder said of working at OEC that staff often had to follow the direction that the “client” wanted, even if it went against OEC staff recommendations.120 Each of these Smithsonian “clients” would have different goals and voices: “So you really had to learn who you were working with.”121 Staff continue, however, to go rogue in order to get things done. Abby Telfer said of the revitalization of the FossiLab, Really, all the progress that we made was because people were giving us time, giving us equipment. I would send out emails saying, “Does anybody have a tripod or does anybody have a photo stand, a copy stand? Does anybody have a microscope that they’re not using? Can we either have it or have it as a long-term loan in the FossiLab?” Every time I did that, someone would dig up something within the department. So, it all worked out.122

Though staff will sometimes lament the loss of camaraderie and the community feel of the “old days” in the museum, things still get done through such relationships and informal economies. “Personal connection,” as Amy Bolton put it in an interview, is the key to finding out information and undertaking projects the museum. As she said of her first experiences there, So, I did what I usually do with a new project, which is I try to find people who can help me navigate the place and find the people who know how to get things done, figure out how they get things done, and either do something similar or do what they do. But really it’s about figuring out the culture, and there isn’t just one culture, there’s like ten cultures in this building. That I learned as well, as I went from department to department.123

Or, put another way: “If they don’t know you, they’re not answering your email.”124 Being “charming,” “respectful,” and not “wast[ing] people’s time” are important to building relationships that facilitate day-to-day work.125 Thus, exchanges built on relationships continue to make up the social fabric of the museum. As French sociologist Marcel Mauss argues in his canonical work The Gift, exchange is a means of creating and maintaining social relations.126 The ability to navigate social networks in the museum is an important kind of power for staff without obvious institutional status.

The Rise of Diffusion Smithsonian’s concept of the public also changed drastically in the midst of the vast ideological, economic, and technological changes in the 1990s and 2000s. In May 1995, the Smithsonian launched its first website. With

Diffusion and Increase

237

this site, the institution intended to “become present throughout the country in new ways, and . . . deeply engaged in this new world of information transmission and sharing.”127 Within five months, the site had received more than 8.5 million hits.128 Today, the Smithsonian is ever expanding its diffusion through new media. The Smithsonian’s strategic plan identifies “broadening access” via new technologies as one of its missions. Its Digitization Strategic Plan and Web and New Media Strategic Plan aim to “stimulate learning and innovation” and make digitized collections available online.129 Broader movements in museums and heritage organizations toward participation alongside web culture have thus dramatically altered the notion of diffusion. User-generated models for engaging with digital objects and spaces entail two-way knowledge exchange, and not merely one-way didacticism.130 Rather than thinking of diffusion as a one-way movement of knowledge outward, the Smithsonian is trying to understand its users, induce affect, cultivate experience, crowdsource knowledge, and engender participatory models. It is trying to know its publics: to draw them in, learn from them, and give them the tools to participate in knowledge production rather than pumping out information at higher rates. The Smithsonian’s archival public transcription center, where members of the public can become “digital volunteers,” is just one of many recent examples.131 Educators now view the museum as a constructivist learning environment, where visitors bring and shape their own experiences.132 This movement of diffusion toward serving the public turns the idea of diffusion inside out. Likewise, as designer Mike Lawrence said of his process, So as I start laying out an exhibit, I think as if I’m in the shoes of the people that are going through it, and what do they see, in what order. . . . How do you attract somebody, and how do you give them space to linger, and how do you give spaces for people to gather or have a private moment with something, or whatever it might be.133

Even curators now take this view. As curator Hans Sues said of changes in exhibits philosophy, In the past . . . curators would really sort of go out of their way to put as many objects as possible into an exhibit. But nobody ever asked, “What does the public actually want to know and see?” and “How is this particular exhibit meaningful to them?” So this whole idea that we’re now sort of thinking about when we design exhibits, is personal meaning-making.134

As Elizabeth Duggal, then the associate director for public engagement, articulated, “It’s about developing an experience our public will find re-

238

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

warding, engaging, fun and intellectually stimulating. . . . Why will that topic be important to our audiences?” 135 This involves a qualitative shift toward engagement over didactic instruction. While the Smithsonian doesn’t rely on admissions for revenue, administrators like Duggal still think about how visitor experience relates to limited funding and staff time: We always need to evaluate our work to ensure we are meeting the public’s expectations. Also, when you have to prioritize your choices because of funding and staff resources, you need to think again about the audience that comes through the door and how to be responsive to them.136

There are, of course long-term financial benefits for cultivating wider communities of devoted Smithsonian supporters. Amid new digital cultures and “a warning from a pollster that Smithsonian name-recognition had slipped slightly and that a quarter of all respondents thought the institution to be ‘elitist,’” secretary Wayne Clough (2008–2014) tasked Pherabe Kolb, associate director of strategic communications, with a new campaign to brand the Smithsonian.137 Wolff Olins, a UK brand experience company, was hired to conduct audience research for a new SI tagline and website. They targeted eighteen- to thirty-four-year-old “aware millennials” and “aware moms.” During my first few weeks at the NMNH, Seriously Amazing, the institution’s first national ad campaign (and SeriouslyAmazing.com) was launched, with mixed internal staff reception.138 The Smithsonian also has to conduct outreach and public engagement in the form of fundraising. While federal appropriations can support capital for facilities and building projects, private funding is the only way to support large-scale exhibit projects. Recall that David H. Koch of Koch Industries donated the initial $35 million to launch Deep Time. During my time at the museum, the goal was to double that initial amount through fundraising. The Smithsonian’s reach has also grown alongside the institution. As of 2013, the Smithsonian employed more than six thousand people, only seven hundred of whom did research.139 Today there are nineteen museums, twenty-one libraries, the zoo, and a number of research centers, plus some 216 affiliate organizations in forty-six states, the District of Columbia, Puerto Rico, and Panama.140 SITES is now the “largest travelling exhibition service in the world,” reaching more than five million people per year. 141 In addition, the Smithsonian delivers its own channel to thirty-eight million households and has a combined readership of some eight million for Smithsonian and Air and Space magazine.142 Smithsonian web-

Diffusion and Increase

239

sites in 2016 had more than 134 million unique visitors, and its Twitter and Facebook accounts had some eleven million followers.143 In a video called “Exciting the Learning in Everyone,” secretary Wayne Clough tells current staff that the mission to diffuse knowledge is increasingly difficult in an era of ubiquitous informational noise.144 Staff agree that “information is hugely democratized now.”145 The Smithsonian’s professionals work ever harder to encourage broad, participatory, and meaningful relationships with the public to cut through the noise.

Conclusion The fossil halls were completed by 1990, when exhibits were still “homemade”—internally designed and funded—and the museum was basking in the afterglow of what staff often refer to as the “golden age,” when Ripley was secretary and Kier was the NMNH’s director. The years since have seen some further changes in the institutional contexts for producing exhibitions. This chapter has described what I argue is an institutional shift in emphasis from the “increase and diffusion” to the “diffusion and increase” of knowledge. Where many aspects of research and collecting culture have remained the same in the postwar era, the notion of “diffusion” has vastly expanded to include the broadest and most ubiquitous forms of dissemination in the Smithsonian’s history for the widest possible national and international publics. Facilitated by new technologies and broader movements in “participatory” methodologies, the institution has even, I argue, inverted this notion of “diffusion.” Rather than disseminating outward, the institution is soliciting public participation and input.

Notes 1. Webster P. True, The First Hundred Years of the Smithsonian Institution (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1946), 55. 2. Ibid. 3. Ray S. Bassler, “Department of Geology,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1944 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1945), 45. 4. A. Remington Kellogg, “Introduction,” in The United States National Museum: Annual Report for the Year Ended June 30, 1951 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1951), 3.

240

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

5. Alexander Wetmore had served as assistant secretary in charge of the USNM from 1925 to 1945, through the Depression and war years, after which he was promoted to secretary of the Smithsonian Institution. 6. W. Donald Duckworth, “Oral History Project Interview,” conducted by Pamela M. Henson, 9 February 1976, Senate of Scientists Oral History Collection, RU9508, Box 1, Interview 9: Transcript, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC, 17. 7. Erle G. Kauffman, “Oral History Project Interview,” conducted by Pamela M. Henson, 25 July 1975, Senate of Scientists Oral History Collection, RU9508, Box 1, Interview 7: Transcript, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC, 2–4. 8. Kier 5.17.13. 9. Martin A. Buzas, “Oral History Project Interview,” conducted by Pamela M. Henson, 26 January 1976, Senate of Scientists Oral History Collection, RU9508, Box 1, Interview 8: Transcript, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC, 15–18. 10. S. Dillon Ripley, “Time Past and Time Present Are Wrapped in Time Future,” in Smithsonian Year 1984: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1984 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1985), 7. 11. The Smithsonian Oceanographic Sorting Center was founded in 1962; Duckworth, “Oral History Project Interview,” 15; also see Raymond Rye, “The History of the Paleobiology Department,” Smithsonian Institution, retrieved 17 October 2018 from https://paleobiology.si.edu/history/rye.html. 12. Pamela M. Henson, “Oral History Project,” 1975, Senate of Scientists Oral History Collection, 1975,” RU9508, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC, 1. 13. A. Remington Kellogg, “United States National Museum,” in Report of the Secretary and Financial Report of the Executive Committee of the Board of Regents for the Year Ending June 30, 1959 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1960), 52. 14. Bambach 5.6.13. 15. Frank A. Taylor, “The United States National Museum,” in Smithsonian Year 1965: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Insitution for the Year Ended June 30, 1965 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1965), 19. 16. S. Dillon Ripley, “Statement by the Secretary,” in ibid., 1. 17. Ibid. 18. Martin A. Buzas, “Oral History Project Interview,” 15–16. 19. Ibid., 15 20. Ibid., 16 21. Ibid., 15–16. 22. Kier 5.17.13. 23. Ripley, “Statement by the Secretary,” 1965, 14. 24. As evidenced by the formation of a Smithsonian Exhibits committee to survey exhibit needs, visit other American museums, and modernize the Smithsonian’s exhibits.

Diffusion and Increase

25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

34.

35. 36. 37.

38.

39. 40.

41. 42. 43.

241

Kellogg, “Introduction,” 1951, 7–8. Ibid. Kauffman, “Oral History Project Interview,” 4. A. Remington Kellogg, “Introduction,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1952 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1952), 1. Ibid., 3. Ibid. Waldo L. Schmitt, “Department of Zoology,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1950 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1950), 31. A. Remington Kellogg, “Exhibits,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1953 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1952), 8–12. Leonard Carmichael, “Report of the Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution,” in Annual Report of the Board of Regents of the Smithsonian Institution: Showing the Operations, Expenditures, and Condition of the Institution for the Year Ended June 30, 1959 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1959), 2. The appropriation of $360,000 was effective 1 July 1953 for FY 1954. A. Remington Kellogg, “Introduction,” in Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1954 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1954), 3–4. Carmichael, “Report of the Secretary,” 1959, 3. Ibid. Leonard Carmichael, “Report of the Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution,” in Annual Report of the Board of Regents of the Smithsonian Institution: Showing the Operations, Expenditures, and Condition of the Institution for the Year Ended June 30, 1956 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1957), 11. Leonard Carmichael, “Other Activities,” in Annual Report of the Board of Regents of the Smithsonian Institution: Showing the Operations, Expenditures, and Condition of the Institution for the Year Ended June 30, 1959 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1959), 232. William S. Walker, A Living Exhibition: The Smithsonian and the Transformation of the Universal Museum (Boston: University of Massachusetts Press, 2013). Under Ripley’s leadership, Congress in 1966 authorized a new National Air and Space Museum building for the unit that had been created in 1946. S. Dillon Ripley, “Statement by the Secretary,” in Smithsonian Year 1966: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Insitution for the Year Ended June 30, 1966 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1966), 13. Ibid., 15. Carmichael, “Report of the Secretary,” 1959, 3. G. Carroll Lindsay, “Smithsonian Associates,” in Smithsonian Year 1966: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Insitution for the Year Ended June 30, 1966 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1966), 39.

242

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

44. 45. 46. 47.

Ripley, Smithsonian Year 1966, 11. Ibid., 16 Taylor, Smithsonian Year 1965, 19. “Appendices,” in Smithsonian Year 1982: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1982 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1983), 528–30; Raymond Rye, personal correspondence, 11 December 2015. With the exeption of a short period when Invertebrate Zoology, Entomology, Botany, and Vertebrate Zoology were combined into a single unit: the Department of Systematic Biology. See, for instance, George Zug, “History of the Division of Amphibians and Reptiles,” July 2018, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, retrieved 22 October 2018 from http://vertebrates.si.edu/herps/herps_historydivision.html. Kauffman, “Oral History Project Interview,” 21–22. In fact, the specialization of disciplines and professionalization of the museum fostered the first “interdisciplinary” research, including the formation of the ETE program in Paleobiology in 1987. S. Dillon Ripley, “Statement by the Secretary,” in Smithsonian Year 1975: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Insitution for the Year Ended June 30, 1975 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1975), 9. Founded in Detroit in 1954, the Archives of American Art joined the SI in 1970. Raymond Rye, personal correspondence, 11 December 2015. With origins in the original National Art Gallery collections of 1906, held at the Old Patent Office Building until 1968 and then brought to Ripley’s newly acquired building. Established by congressional bill in 1947 as the National Air Museum, but now with a new building on the Mall. “Office of Exhibits Central,” in Smithsonian Year 1974: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Insitution for the Year Ended June 30, 1974 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1974), 204. “Federal Budget Request Submission—FY 1988,” 20 August 1987, Acc. 94088, Box 4, Folder: Memoranda 1972–1988 6 of 6, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. “Long Range Exhibit Plans,” 13 November 1984, Acc. 94-088, Box 4, Folder: Long Range Exhibits Plans, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC, 2. Leo J. Hickey, “Exhibits Committee Meeting Minutes,” 27 August 1973, RU363, Box 25, Folder: Exhibits Committee Minutes 1973, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. “A Restatement of the Long Range Plan,” 1978, RU564, Box 1, Folder: Exhibit Program Themes 12/5/86, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC, 4. Kier, Smithsonian Year 1974, 75. Its prototype was open summers beginning in 1971. Raymond Rye, personal correspondence, 11 December 2015.

48.

49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61.

Diffusion and Increase

243

62. “Restatement of the Long Range Plan,” 8–9. 63. Kier 5.17.13. 64. “Appendix A,” 1965, RU363, Box 23, Folder: Museum Refs and Papers, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington DC. 65. See Laura Greenberg, “The Exhibits Program of the NMNH,” 1978, RU564, Box1, Folder: Exhibit Program Themes 12/5/86, Smithsonian Insitution Archives, Washington, DC. 66. Richard S. Cowan, “National Museum of Natural History,” in Smithsonian Year 1970: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Insitution for the Year Ended June 30, 1970 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1970), 30. 67. Robert Lakota, “The National Museum of Natural History as Behavioral Environment,” 1975, RU564, Box2, Folder: NMNH Studies, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. 68. Robert Lakota, “Techniques for Improving Exhibit Effectiveness,” Office of Museum Programs, 1 April 1976, RU564, Box 2, Folder: NMNH Studies, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC, 1. 69. Ibid., 2 70. Ibid. 71. Yankelovich, Skelly, and White, “A Study of Visitors to the Smithsonian,” 1976, RU564, Box 2, Folder: NMNH Studies, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC, 17. 72. Robert Wolf and Jenny Cave, “Don’t Brush Your Teeth Anymore: Toothepaste’s Got Earth in It!,” 1983, RU564, Box 2, Folder: NMNH Studies. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. 73. Robert McCormick Adams, “Statement by the Secretary,” in Smithsonian Year 1990: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1990 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1991), 13–14. 74. Robert McCormick Adams, “Statement by the Secretary,” in Smithsonian Year 1987: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1987 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1987), 24. 75. Robert McCormick Adams, “Statement by the Secretary,” in Smithsonian Year 1988: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1988 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1989), 13. 76. “The Elephant Press Fund,” 11 August 1977, Acc. 94-088, Box 4, Folder: Memoranda 1972–1988 2 of 6, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. 77. Glen Ruh, correspondence to publications coordinators, 14 February 1980, Acc. 94-088, Box 4, Folder: Memoranda 1972–1988 2 of 6, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washingotn, DC. 78. Sullivan 2.18.14. 79. McKinsey & Company, Inc., “Exhibit 5,” in “A Management Agenda: National Museum of Natural History, Final Report, March 1987, RU564, Box

244

80.

81. 82.

83. 84. 85. 86. 87. 88.

89.

90. 91. 92. 93.

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

2, Folder: Management Agenda 3/1987, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC, 1987. McKinsey & Company, Inc., “Exhibit 4: NMNH Public Programming Strategic Ideas,” in “A Management Agenda: National Museum of Natural History, Final Report,” March 1987, RU564, Box 2, Folder: Management Agenda 3/1987, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Robert McCormick Adams, “Statement by the Secretary,” in Smithsonian Year 1990: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1990 (Washington, D.C: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1991), 12. Robert McCormick Adams, “Statement by the Secretary,” in Smithsonian Year 1991: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1991 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1991), 8; also see Robert McCormick Adams, “Statement by the Secretary,” in Smithsonian Year 1992: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1992 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1993), 5. Adams, “Statement by the Secretary,” 1992, 5. Robert C. Post, Who Owns America’s Past? The Smithsonian and the Problem of History (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2013), 225. I. Michael Heyman, “Statement by the Secretary,” in Smithsonian Year 1994: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1994 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1995), 5. Ibid. Ibid. Constance Berry Newman, “Report of the Under Secretary,” in Smithsonian Year 1999: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1999 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 2000), 63; also see Jacqueline Trescott, “Top-Down Change at Museum,” Washington Post, 12 February 2000, retrieved 18 October 2018 from https://www .washingtonpost.com/archive/lifestyle/2000/02/12/top-down-change-at-mu seum/b9f11bdc-9c26-406f-b44c-ca1a3faa8ffa/?utm_term=.47398d5027fb; and Post, Who Owns America’s Past?, 232. See, for instance, the transition of Smithsonian Year from the 1980s to the mid-1990s; e.g. Smithsonian Year 1996: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution, Year Ended September 30, 1996 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1997). Smithsonian Year 2000: Annual Report for the Smithsonian Institution (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 2001), 4. Robert S. Hoffman, “Office of the Provost,” in Smithsonian Year 1995: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1995 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1996), 31. Ibid. I. Michael Heyman, “Do Curators Have Anything to Learn from Lawyers?,” Hart Lecture, Georgetown Law Center, 20 March 1996, cited in Post, Who Owns America’s Past?, 224.

Diffusion and Increase

245

94. Frank Bruni, “Public Lives; Where to Put a Renaissance Man? In the Smithsonian,” New York Times, 20 September 1999, retrieved 18 October 2018 from https://www.nytimes.com/1999/09/20/us/public-lives-where-to-put-arenaissance-man-in-the-smithsonian.html; also see Irvin Molotsky, “President of Fannie Mae Is to Lead Smithsonian,” New York Times, 14 September 1999, retrieved 18 October 2018 from https://www.nytimes.com/ 1999/09/14/arts/president-of-fannie-mae-is-to-lead-smithsonian.html; and “Report of the Board of Regents,” in Smithsonian Year 1999: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1999 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 2000), 17; and Post, Who Owns America’s Past?, 228. 95. Milo Beach, cited in Post, Who Owns America’s Past?, 231. 96. Post, Who Owns America’s Past?, 232. 97. Ibid., 241. 98. Olson, cited in Post, Who Owns America’s Past?, 236. 99. Post, Who Owns America’s Past?, 238. 100. Duggal 12.4.13. 101. Wing 8.16.13. 102. See Smithsonian Year 1991: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1991 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 2001), 49; Smithsonian Year 1992: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1992 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1993), 30; Smithsonian Year 1994: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1994 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1995), 32. 103. Ellis Yochelson, “More Than 150 Years of Administrative Ups and Downs in Washington: Smithsonian Institution, National Museum of Natural History,” Museums and Other Institutions of Natural History: Past, Present and Future, A Symposium Held on the Occasion of the 150th Anniversary of the California Academy of Sciences (San Francisco, CA: California Academy of Sciences, 2003), 167. 104. Bolton 6.26.13. 105. Moeller 6.12.13. 106. Ibid. 107. Wing 8.16.13. 108. Ibid. 109. Robert W. Fri, “National Museum of Natural History,” in Smithsonian Year 1997: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1997 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1998), 42. 110. Moeller 6.12.13. 111. Ibid. 112. Selim 4.10.13. 113. Ibid. 114. Telfer 6.27.13. 115. Ibid.

246

116. 117. 118. 119. 120. 121. 122. 123. 124. 125. 126. 127. 128. 129. 130.

131. 132. 133. 134. 135. 136.

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Reeder 7.31.13. Ibid. Ibid. Telfer 6.27.13. Bolton 6.26.13. Ibid. Ibid. Marcel Mauss, The Gift: The Form and Reason for Exchange in Archaic Societies, trans. W. D. Halls (New York: Routledge, 1990 [1954]), x–xi. Smithsonian Year 1995: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1995 (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1996), 21. Ibid. “Smithsonian Fiscal Year 2013: Budget Justification to Congress,” Smithsonian Institution, retrieved 15 May 2014 from http://www.si.edu/content/ pdf/about/FY2013-BudgetRequest.pdf, 6. Bernadette Lynch, “Whose Cake Is It Anyway? A Collaborative Investigation into Engagement and Participation in 12 Museums and Galleries in the UK,” Paul Hamlyn Foundation, 2011, retrieved 18 October 2018 from http://ourmuseum.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/Whose-cake-is-it-anywayreport.pdf; Krystyna K. Matusiak, “Towards User-Centered Indexing in Digital Image Collections,” OCLC Systems & Services 22, no. 4 (2006); Paul F. Marty, “My Lost Museum: User Expectations and Motivations for Creating Personal Digital Collections on Museum Websites,” Library & Information Science Research 33, no. 3 (2011); Christie Stephenson, “Recent Developments in Cultural Heritage Image Databases: Directions for User-Centered Design,” Library Trends 48, no. 2 (1999); Maria Roussou, “The Components of Engagement in Virtual Heritage Environments,” in New Heritage: New Media and Cultural Heritage, ed. Yehuda Kalay, Thomas Kvan, and Janice Affleck (New York: Routledge, 2008); Nina Simon, The Participatory Museum, retrieved 15 May 2014 from http://www.participa torymuseum.org/; Angelina Russo, Jerry Watkins, Lynda Kelly, and Sebastian Chan, “Participatory Communication with Social Media,” Curator: The Museum Journal 51, no. 1 (2008); Ross Parry, Recoding the Museum: Digital Heritage and the Technologies of Change (New York: Routledge, 2007). “Smithsonian Digital Volunteers: Transcription Center,” Smithsonian Institution, retrieved 8 April 2018 from https://transcription.si.edu/. Bolton 6.26.13. Lawrence 7.31.13. Sues 6.24.13. Duggal 12.4.13. Ibid.

Diffusion and Increase

247

137. Post, Who Owns America’s Past?, 282. 138. “Smithsonian: Seriously Amazing,” Smithsonian Institution, retrieved 2 May 2018 from http://seriouslyamazing.si.edu/#green; Lonnae O’Neal Parker, “Smithsonian Launches Branding Campaign,” Washington Post, 20 September 2012, retrieved 15 May 2014 from http://www.washington post.com/entertainment/museums/smithsonian-launches-branding-campaign/2012/09/20/3ae8f8cc-032b-11e2-91e7-2962c74e7738_story.html; Jonathan L. Fischer, “Smithsonian Aims at Young in First-Ever Branding Campaign,” Chronicle of Philanthropy, 21 September 2012, retrieved 15 May 2014 from http://philanthropy.com/blogs/philanthropytoday/sm ithsonian-aims-at-young-in-first-ever-branding-campaign/54184. 139. “Smithsonian Fiscal Year 2013,” 3. 140. “Smithsonian Fiscal Year 2018: Budget Justification to Congress,” Smithsonian Institution, retrieved 18 October 2018 from https://www.si.edu/sites/ default/files/about/fy_2018_cjb_linked_table_of_contents.pdf. 141. “Smithsonian Fiscal Year 2013,” 4. 142. “Smithsonian Fiscal Year 2018,” 1. 143. “Smithsonian Fiscal Year 2018,” 2. 144. “Exciting the Learning in Everyone,” Smithsonian Institution, retrieved 15 May 2014 from https://www.youtube.com/embed/yb1v1h7gM_o. 145. Blond 7.1.13.

Chapter 7

Conclusion History, if viewed as a repository for more than anecdote or chronology, could produce a decisive transformation in the image of science by which we are now possessed. That image has previously been drawn, even by scientists themselves, mainly from the study of finished scientific achievements as these are recorded in the classics and, more recently, in the textbooks from which each new scientific generation learns to practice its trade. Inevitably, however, the aim of such books is persuasive and pedagogic; a concept of science drawn from them is no more likely to fit the enterprise that produced them than an image of national culture drawn from a tourist brochure or a language text. Thomas Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, 1962

In June , when you enter the DEEP TIME hall, you will be greeted by what you know as the Ice Age. In front of you will be Quaternary mammals—a mammoth, dire wolves, a saber-toothed cat, and early humans—and stretching ahead down a wide, high-ceilinged hall will be the deep history of Earth told in fossils. In front of you to your left will be a slightly raised platform from which you will be able to take in the long view of that history through a sweeping vista of dinosaurs and other species in their ecosystems. There, you will also consider the future of our planet, and your role in it. As you move through the hall, you will be taken back in time, from the familiar worlds of the Cenozoic Ice Age, to the less-familiar Cretaceous and Jurassic periods of the Mesozoic Era—and back ultimately to the truly unfamiliar Paleozoic Era and earlier eons that witnessed the very beginnings of life on Earth. By the time this book is published, the National Museum of Natural History (NMNH) Deep Time exhibit team will have spent more than seven years working to create that finished space; to translate the deep history of Earth and its climatic changes for its seven million visitors a year and beyond. I hope this book has shown that the finished space that visitors will enter in 2019 is the result of intense work and compromise by many, many experts, few of whom are actually curators. The tensions that emerge in an exhibit-planning process are political, and in the early stages are often

Conclusion

249

driven by very different approaches to public communication. Much of the early process is in fact about breaking down cultural stereotypes among experts at the table. Curatorial staff—academic, scientific staff considered content experts—and exhibitions, public engagement, or educational staff—which I have here broadly grouped together as “audience advocates” charged with translating that content for the public—have entrenched opinions about each other’s professional approaches and cultures. If they can overcome the tensions, this collaborative process among experts generates creativity and a balanced research-outreach approach to communicating science. As a museum anthropologist, I employed ethnohistorical and ethnographic methods to document some of this process and its history, to question some scholarly claims about recent changes in museums, and to expose how science is communicated on a national stage. In the early 2000s, when Sharon Macdonald’s seminal edited volume A Companion to Museum Studies was published, museum practitioners and theorists had begun to recognize a new phase in museum studies: new paradigms and the “new museology” had “come of age.” In reflecting on this new era in museology, the volume brought together essays to explore and interrogate new “museum orthodoxies.”1 Indeed, the shift away from curatorial authority, the move toward collaboration (perhaps even as a kind of brand), and the adoption of new efficiency and business models in the museum had all become prevailing models for museums. More recently, across the heritage field we have seen a major cultural change in institutions’ attitudes toward their various publics—from “visitors” or “consumers” to “audiences,” “users,” and, most recently, “participants” and “coproducers.” This book goes some way toward questioning the timing, causes, and grounded realities of this new paradigm through a detailed case study of a set of halls at one museum. The anthropological study of museums—melding participant observation and interviews with historical perspectives from oral histories and archival sources—allows for the study of big issues through the lens of small cases. Indeed, curatorial authority has been destabilized to the extent that museum professionalization has allowed a new group of experts to become important players in exhibits processes. Yet at the NMNH, I argue that the paradigmatic shift took place much earlier—some sixty-five years ago— and has been consistently rocky. Even today no one in the museum is sure of the right balance of curatorship and audience advocacy, or how exactly to achieve it. As with many of these other “new” paradigms, I found that their fundamental roots lie not in shifting Reagan-Thatcher policies of the 1980s but in the beginnings of professional cultures and new imaginings

250

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

of the public in the post–World War II era of the 1950s. I argue that fiscal constraints and moves to efficiency exacerbated, rather than generated, many of these fundamental frictions, particularly as new projects, disciplines, and departments vied for ever fewer resources. In the case of the Smithsonian’s exhibits, conservative policies and behaviors are intrinsic to the institution. They are not merely driven by new funding and revenue policies, as has been argued by Ames and others.2 Kirk Johnson in fact said that these challenges were part of the appeal of the directorship: he wanted the challenge to create a more nimble and effective environment. Comparing the NMNH to his former institution, the Denver Museum of Nature and Science, he said, Well I used to say about Denver that the Denver museum was large enough to be impactful and small enough to be nimble. The National Museum is so huge that it’s not nimble in any way but its potential impact is immense. And it’s also federal and it’s Smithsonian so it’s very complex, and a lot of its procedures defy common sense. So it’s actually very hard to change the course of it. It’s hard to screw it up and it’s hard to make it get better. It’s hard to make it do anything but what it does. I mean, I could literally go to work in my office, sit there and do nothing and it would all just churn ahead. It is not my intention just to sit there.3

This is why there is a staff joke that generating change in the museum is like trying to turn the wheel on a giant ship. Risk aversion is also provoked by the grandeur of the NMNH’s stage and the very real responsibility staff feel as “public servants”4 to the way they spend public money. They are also very serious and sincere about their work. As R+P designer Fang-Pin Lee said, I think there’s a lot of sincerity at this place. Everyone’s very sincere in their efforts. Even at the most challenging moments of trying to come up with solutions or consensus, and the anxiety is because everyone cares so much. So you have to weigh that with the frustration.5

Outreach and managerial discourse center around modularity and becoming a more “nimble and flexible” place.6 Paradoxically, staff are reluctant to make mistakes but feel there should be more room to do so. There is, particularly in Exhibits, a lot of discussion about “permission” to both take initiative and to fail. Tensions between staffs also promote risk aversion. For instance, curatorial staff like to assert what they know; unfortunately, they sometimes achieve this by exclaiming how wrong someone else is. Recall educator Amy Bolton saying, “It’s a sport around here. I get it.’”7 Risk aversion and many departmental tensions are also about fiscal constraints and capacities. Everyone is competing for fewer resources. There is

Conclusion

251

less time for the staff to get things accomplished. Hall renovations are few and far between in part due to scarcity of resources and in part because, with as many halls as the museum has, even if “they do one a year. . . . It takes them forty years to get back to the original ones.”8 Thus risk-taking in permanent halls is dangerous. With so many ongoing exhibit projects, aside from very minor installations, only the next generation of staff will have the chance to make major changes. This institutional culture makes it difficult for exhibits to be responsive to current events. Perhaps, as Ames notes, museums are not properly constituted to be topical when advocacy or controversy is involved. To begin with, curatorship is based on the scholarly model of extensive research, careful accumulation and assessment of evidence over time, a focus on objects rather than on issues, and political neutrality. This discourages their immediate public (though perhaps not private) response to sudden events.9

Ames’s statement gets at the heart of one of Deep Time’s most difficult tasks. For scientists at a national museum, there was no real desire or ability to be political advocates in the true sense of influence. The internal culture of accuracy coupled with committee-driven, approval-based decision-making, with a long lead time and hall lifespan (not to mention its publicly trusted brand), discouraged responsiveness to current issues. Time will tell whether Deep Time, primarily through its “Age of Humans”-focused bridge, generates the kind of shifts in public attitude about humans’ historical relationship to ecosystems and environments the group intended. As Michael Ames observed in Cannibal Tours and Glass Boxes, competing historical forces—democratization and professionalization—have created new paradoxes for museums. Indeed, those forces in the postwar era created functional, organizational and ideological rifts between the two aspects of the Smithsonian’s mission. Today, the NMNH is a museum with pure research still in its “guts” (as I heard undersecretary Richard Kurin once say). But its professionalized and increasingly predominant outreach function has fueled political conflicts over how best to increase and diffuse knowledge. These conflicts accentuate deep-seated cultural stereotypes in the museum. While outreach professionals maintain that they find it productive and stimulating to work alongside science experts, curators have terrible reputations for being elitist, entitled, verbose, stubborn, self-important, naysaying, brutally critical, out of touch, unprofessional, and generally difficult to work with. Research staff tend to find many audience advocates oversensitive or defensive, fearing that they will take curatorial input and twist it, misinterpret it, package it into ill-fitted media venues or gift shop

252

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

gimmicks, or rephrase it into language that changes its meaning, dumbs it down, or otherwise dilutes it with content that doesn’t belong, or worse, isn’t true. These groups also study and train differently, and they attend different conferences. Upon reflection, it is sometimes surprising that these groups work together as well as they do. As then associate director for science Jonathan Coddington put it, “There’s a lot of different voices there, and there’s a lot of collision and vigorous argument about what the content of the exhibit might be.”10 And as then acting assistant director for exhibitions Kara Blond said, “It’s very similar across the board, and similarly contentious and rife with emotion and frustration, and lots of good stuff, too, but it’s a similarly difficult relationship.”11 In working through projects like Deep Time, museum professionals have to get past perceptions and disciplinary doctrines to find complementary solutions. Especially at the start of new projects, cultural differences among these different “communities of practice” are often unknown or invisible to staff themselves.12 While often this “interstitial” space or “contact zone” is fraught and illuminates power imbalances among staff, it also creates a unique area of innovation and problem-solving. As curator Hans Sues said, We realize that all of the different groups of people in the museum have different skill sets, and those are complimentary skill sets. So that when you build an exhibit, yes the curator has knowledge but the technician knows things that are relevant to making the exhibit. The exhibit designer has ideas that flow into the exhibit. . . . [The idea that] the curator basically says, “This is my list, make this happen,” . . . that’s just no longer acceptable.13

The ways I have described these “in-between” spaces and “innovative sites of collaboration and contestation” will, I hope, resonate with the wider museum field.14 The space of exhibits planning, as a microcosm of the wider museum, is a unique one for observing how “social articulations of difference” intersect with shared imaginings and innovation.15 This book has traced the cultural trends and professional discourses that engender messy collaborative spaces. These conflicts began essentially as soon as new experts were brought in help curators communicate with the public. In the 1970s drawing The Finger of Blame, Smithsonian designer Benjamin Lawless depicts two men facing each other at a table. Lawless holds a prop he apparently brought to exhibit meetings to lighten the mood when conflicts got out of hand.16 In his forward to a book on relationality and the Pitt Rivers Museum, Michael O’Hanlon writes that “more than most institutions, museums appear as unusually ‘finished’ entities.”17 At the NMNH, not only were

Conclusion

253

Figure 7.1. The Finger of Blame, Benjamin Lawless Drawing, Bob Post Collection.

exhibits never really finished, they were produced by increasingly diverse groups of people who often didn’t agree. This book therefore follows museum anthropologist Mary Bouquet’s call for more grounded anthropological work in museums to understand the internal workings of such large-scale institutions.18 Approaching the place as an outsider or critical theorist is not sufficient; an insider perspective gives the researcher insight into the complexities of what Tony Bennett calls the museum “apparatus.”19 Rather than pitching “monocausal explanations,”20 I have tried to show how historical developments are made up of moments when the whole of a profession or institution comes “to a new set of commitments” and practices through “increasing shift in the distribution of professional allegiances,” as Thomas Kuhn famously did .21 Further, I have shown that studying the particulars of museum collaborations and the knowledges they produce “moves discussion beyond the eternal standoff between opposing interest groups.” As anthropologist Anna Tsing has noted, “Collaborations create new interests and identities” that affect collaborators unevenly.22 This book has thus tried to look at the postwar foundations of these current museum frictions by tracing grounded moments in the development of today’s museum cultures. Through professionalization, those expert cultures have become increasingly siloed in the museum. For scientists at the NMNH, truths about the world are disciplinarily and politically crucial. When I embarked on this research, I had the tendency to take for granted that scientific truths were socially constructed and that truth-making was subjective. I realized during discussions at the NMNH about my field of cultural anthropology that the term “cultural relativism” is a sullied one among scientists. It seems that the most extreme connotations of the term, of utter moral relativism and deconstructivist approaches, have come to define it for scientists. To them, anyone who uses it seems like a ridiculous, detached opponent to the scientific pursuit of knowledge. After many arguments, I am convinced that a produc-

254

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

tive way to approach these topics theoretically and socially is through a grounded and hybrid approach. As theorist Bruno Latour writes, The ozone hole is too social and too narrated to be truly natural; the strategy of industrial firms and heads of state is too full of chemical reactions to be reduced to power and interest; the discourse of the ecosphere is too real and too social to boil down to meaning effects. Is it our fault if the networks are simultaneously real, like nature, narrated, like discourse, and collective, like society?23

While the scientists I worked with know that scientific truths are politicized, negotiated, and under continuous debate, there is still a drive to be objective in presenting them. More importantly, the stakes for the Earth’s health are too great and the political milieu too fraught and dangerous to call facts “subjective.” As in other anthropological projects, I have tried here to both take a critical view of the social field in which I was embedded and to take seriously the worldviews of my informants. This study shows that while actors strive for objectivity in presenting, here, very serious moral messages, both the exhibit-making process and its final product are clearly political, creative, and subjective. However, understanding the worldviews of scientists also convinced me that Latour’s approach to sociotechnical systems, in which the world studied by scientists (made up of biological, processual, and physical actors of all sorts) is not only real but part of the same world as the scientists studying it, is a productive hybrid stance. In this view, the forces and things out in the world that scientists study and the discourse that circulates in political and cultural life are all real and powerful agents in the modern world. Moreover, as anthropologist Tim Ingold has also argued, and as NMNH staff themselves describe, human practices may not be so different from natural ones. Actors and things in the world coproduce the world together.24 Anthropology’s methods and ethical stance allow for that kind of hybrid analysis and description. Issues involved in Deep Time are both “too social and too narrated to be truly natural” and “too real and too social to boil down to meaning effects.”25 Having focused on the socially delicate space of collaboration, I wonder whether this stance is a way forward in accepting others’ disciplinary practices—both those of scientists and cultural theorists and those of educators and exhibit developers with more varied approaches to knowledge and its construction. Latour has reflected on this division in a more recent piece: “Wars. So many wars. Wars outside and wars inside. Cultural wars, science wars, and wars against terrorism. Wars against poverty and wars against the poor. Wars against ignorance and wars out of ignorance.”26 Should museum staff be at war too?

Conclusion

255

I hope not. In fact I saw that, when managed properly, interdisciplinary tensions drove innovations as much as they stifled others. Staff members who work on these projects, in the long term, have usually described them to me as rewarding. As curator Kay Behrensmeyer said of the Kenneth E. Behring Family Hall of Mammals, which was completed in 2004, there was “so much wrangling over words and how to present things and how to make it interesting to different age groups,” and there were “disagreements and lots of bumps in the road.” But, she said, it was “all a creative process and it was a team process. And I guess I like working in teams.”27 As exhibit developer Sally Love commented, “It’s so important for a team to feel comfortable with each other, to have the discussions that sometimes are not totally agreeable.”28 While group cohesion, based on mutual respect (complementarity), is crucial, that friction or “creative tension”29 is often what makes good exhibits.30 In exhibit meetings, staff from different departments have a chance to “[earn] people’s respect” by “demonstrating [their] expertise, defending [their] position/perspective, and being an honest broker,”31 said educator Amy Bolton. Reiterating the responses of the many staff who had been through an exhibit project, in-house designer Kim Moeller said, And to be honest with you, I think that’s the way it should be. I think that is the core of the dynamic. You’ve got the science side who is doing the research and coming up with this information. We’re the diffusion side that’s trying to get the knowledge out there and the creative way that you do that. And the artistic tension that comes in the middle of that is what we wind up with. That’s the product. And I think it’s always going to be like that and it should be like that. That’s the balance. That’s what keeps the equilibrium. I think if everybody was in one direction or everybody was in the other direction, we’d wind up with a really horrible product, but I think the balance of those two is exactly where it needs to be. And I wouldn’t change that for a minute.32

If it is managed well, the creative tension in that process might make even huge, lumbering institutions like the NMNH ideal places to take on difficult public conversations. In a fraught political environment, trusted museums such as the Smithsonian’s can become leaders in the public discourse by allowing this intense cross-cultural debate among their experts to translate big, difficult ideas for the public. What is important about this case study, beyond the fact that the hall will see more than 200 million visitors over thirty years, is that every line of text, every image, even every screw has been debated in meeting after meeting by a group of experts who don’t in fact agree. That is actually the process’s strength, and what makes a museum an ideal space to tackle a

256

Extinct Monsters to Deep Time

topic like climate change. While a slow process prevents an exhibition like Deep Time from being responsive to more changeable political climates or current media debates, its integrity should give us a hope for the future of museums and their role in public discourse.

Notes 1. Sharon Macdonald, “Expanding Museum Studies: An Introduction,” in A Companion to Museum Studies, ed. Sharon Macdonald (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2006), 2. 2. Michael Ames, Cannibal Tours and Glass Boxes: The Anthropology of Museums (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 1992), 7; Sharon Macdonald, Behind the Scenes at the Science Museum (Oxford: Berg, 2002); John Howard Falk and Beverly Sheppard, Thriving in the Knowledge Age: New Business Models for Museums and Other Cultural Institutions (Plymouth: Altamira Press, 2006); Victoria D. Alexander, Museums and Money: The Impact of Funding on Exhibitions, Scholarship, and Management (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1996); Ruth Rentschler and Ann-Marie Hede, Museum Marketing: Competing in the Global Marketplace (London: Butterworth-Heinemann, 2007); Anthony Alan Shelton “Museums and Anthopologies: Practices and Narratives,” in Companion to Museum Studies, ed. Sharon Macdonald. Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2006). 3. Johnson 7.18.13. 4. Werb 9.6.13. 5. Lee 8.14.13. 6. Duggal 12.4.13. 7. Bolton 6.26.13. 8. Duggal 12.4.13. 9. Ames, Cannibal Tours, 7. 10. Coddington 9.19.13. 11. Blond 7.1.13. 12. See Charlotte P. Lee, “Reconsidering Conflict in Exhibition Development Teams,” Museum Management and Curatorship 22, no. 2 (2007), 197. 13. Sues 6.24.13. 14. Homi K. Bhabha, The Location of Culture (New York: Routledge, 1994), 1–2. 15. Ibid., 2. 16. Robert C. Post, Who Owns America’s Past? The Smithsonian and the Problem of History (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2013), 83. 17. Michael O’Hanlon, “Foreword,” in Knowing Things: Exploring the Collections at the Pitt Rivers Museum, 1884–1945, eds. Francis Larson, Chris Gosden, and Alison Petch, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), xvii. 18. Mary Bouquet, Academic Anthropology and the Museum: Back to the Future (New York: Berghahn Books, 2001).

Conclusion

257

19. Tony Bennett, The Birth of the Museum: History, Theory, Politics (New York: Routledge, 1995). 20. H. Glenn Penny, Objects of Culture: Ethnology and Ethnographic Museums in Imperial Germany (Durham: University of North Carolina Press, 2002). 21. Thomas S. Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2012 [1962]), 6. 22. Anna L. Tsing, Friction: An Ethnography of Global Connection (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2005), 13. 23. Bruno Latour, We Have Never Been Modern (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993), 6. 24. Tim Ingold, The Perception of the Environment: Essays on Livelihood, Dwelling and Skill (New York: Routledge, 2000). On the theoretical (and ontological) move to “things,” see Amiria Henare, Martin Holbraad, and Sari Wastell, Thinking Through Things: Theorizing Artefacts Ethnographically (New York: Routledge, 2007). 25. Latour, We Have Never Been Modern, 6. 26. Bruno Latour, “Why Has Critique Run Out of Steam? From Matters of Fact to Matters of Concern,” Critical Inquiry 30, no. 2 (Winter 2004): 225. 27. Behrensmeyer 6.3.13. 28. Love 8.7.13. See also Lee, “Reconsidering Conflict,” 198, who concludes that such conflicts should be addressed openly to provide cross-cultural learning and exchange. 29. Moeller 6.12.13. 30. For a pragmatic, project-management approach to expertise and team conflict, see Martha Morris Managing People and Projects in Museums: Strategies that Work (New York: Rowman & Littlefield, 2017), chapters 7 and 8. 31. Bolton 5.16.14. 32. Moeller 6.12.13.

Coda The Nation’s T. rex At : am the rotunda is already filled with people—reporters are lined up three deep at the museum’s entrance facing a series of flags, a podium, and a wooden crate—the little altar to herald in the “Nation’s T. rex.” Many of the staff in exhibits have been at the museum since 5:00; press staff since 3:00. The ceremonies will celebrate the arrival of T. rex after a two-day cross-country FedEx trip from the Museum of the Rockies. The husband-and-wife team driving the truck took turns sleeping, so it’s come straight from Montana to D.C. When it left Bozeman, it was sent off with a caravan, and the FedEx truck was rebranded with a giant T. rex logo and the words “Delivering History: The Nation’s T-Rex [sic]” on it. When it arrived at the museum, the temporary light installed to illuminate the unloading of T. rex was visible from Arlington across the river. Staff crowded the loading dock to watch as the sixteen crates were brought off the truck and taken upstairs to the newly installed “Rex Room,” where the T. rex would be unpacked, scanned, and photographed on public display for the next four months. In the fossil halls, a quirky reporter from the Weather Channel is interviewing Matthew Carrano, asking him about his favorite T. rex facts. Other TV and news crews continue to assemble around the front entrance. By 8:50, the whole museum staff seems to be in the rotunda, filling the ground floor and the balconies on the second and third floors. At 8:59, Kirk Johnson and the chief of the Army Corps of Engineers are gearing up to give their opening speeches. As Kirk said at the donor event celebrating T. rex’s arrival, the large amount of press and social media attention T. rex got for the museum was a clear reminder of the “tremendous iconic power Tyrannosaurus rex has.” Both here and at a donor event the next evening, T. rex is greeted with lengthy speeches. The Museum of the Rockies is proud to have the Nation’s T. rex represent Montana and its people on the National Mall. The

Coda

259

Figure 8.1. Entrance to the National Museum of Natural History from the thirdfloor balcony, 15 April 2014, 8:50 am. Photo by the author.

museum is grateful to the Army Corps of Engineers for their stewardship and to Kathy Wankel for her historic find. T. rex’s arrival is covered by most national media stations, trending on Twitter the day it arrives. Off to the side of the rotunda, the Rex Room, in many ways the contemporary iteration of the 1936 Dallas Expo exhibit, showcases the Nation’s T. rex in process to overflowing crowds through October. The Rex Room is in one of the small temporary galleries that’s an offshoot from the rotunda. In front is a giant graphic illustration—a silhouette and side view of a T. rex skeleton, with bright orange highlights. As an online component, the exhibit also links to a Photorama, where the public is encouraged to upload photos of themselves in the current halls before they close. On the weekend of 27 and 28 April, huge numbers of visitors come to the museum to see the current halls one last time before their closure. Staff and volunteers from Paleobiology and Imaging set up stations throughout the hall to talk with visitors about their work, ask them about their memories of the halls, showcase future plans, and upload visitors’ photos to the

260

Coda

live Photorama. Jurassic Park 3D plays twice that weekend to a packed house in the IMAX theater. In November, the Temporary Exhibit, no longer titled Putting Dinosaurs in Their Place but The Last American Dinosaurs will open as a multiyear substitute to maintain a “dinosaur presence” in the museum. Up next, Deep Time.

Appendix A Consent Form

THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA

INTERVIEW CONSENT FORM Project: An Ethnography of Deep Time Principal Investigator: Susan Rowley, Curator of Public Archaeology, Associate Professor in Anthropology, University of British Columbia, Tel. (604) 723-0494 Co-Investigator: Diana Marsh, PhD Candidate, University of British Columbia, Tel. 732 570 2170, email, [email protected]; [email protected] Smithsonian contact: Michael Mason, Director of Exhibits, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, (202) 633-1141; [email protected]. Name: _________________________________ Purpose: Diana Marsh, a fellow at the National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution (“NMNH”), is conducting interviews and recording exhibit-planning meetings as part of her PhD dissertation research, which will result in a PhD thesis. The general aim of this re-

262

Appendix A

search is to investigate the ways that museums bring knowledge to the public, giving attention to the way this process is shaped by the particular museums’ institutional histories and cultures. This research takes the formation of the NMNH’s Fossil Hall as a case study, from its first iteration at the turn of the century to plans for its upcoming renovation. This project will contribute to a better understanding of how knowledge is mediated in the public presentation of scientific research and what grounded impact historical shifts in museum institutional organization have on the contemporary process of exhibit-making. Study Procedures: If you agree to be interviewed, Ms. Marsh will ask you to talk about your understanding of, and relationship(s) to, the upcoming Deep Time project and Fossil Hall as well as exhibits work in general at NMNH. The interview itself will last one hour, although the whole process may take up to two hours to complete. Ms. Marsh will record your interview by written note-taking, audio recording, or videotape recording: you can decide which of these she may use. If you would like, and if time permits, Ms. Marsh can also schedule additional interviews with you. Ms. Marsh will provide you with copies of transcripts or the recording if you wish. If there are parts of notes or the recording you would like removed from records, they will be removed. You may request to withdraw the whole interview from records. Based on the level of consent you provide below, materials not withdrawn may be included in the final reports of this project, in academic publications, or in Smithsonian publications. By consenting to participate, you hereby grant individually to each of Ms. Marsh, the Smithsonian Institution and the University of British Columbia a royalty-free, perpetual and irrevocable license to use, reproduce, and distribute all of your rights to the results of this interview, including but not limited to audio and video recordings, photographs, and transcriptions of the interview in connection with Ms. Marsh’s dissertation, in print and electronic publications including but not limited to distribution on the internet and in conference papers, for museum exhibitions, programs, films, and for all other educational, research, archival, and museum purposes. By consenting to participate, you also grant to Ms. Marsh a royalty-free, perpetual, and irrevocable license to sub-license the foregoing rights to third parties for the purposes of publishing, reproducing, archiving, distributing, loaning, or selling her PhD dissertation or other academic works of Ms. Marsh relating to her PhD dissertation.

Appendix A

263

You have your choice of how your interview will be recorded. You may choose any or all of the below (please initial): _____You agree that Ms. Marsh may record your interview through written note-taking. _____You agree that Ms. Marsh may record your interview on audiotape and use the audiotape as part of this project. _____You agree that Ms. Marsh may record your interview on videotape and use the videotape as part of the project. Confidentiality and Publication: Original restricted records of this project will be maintained in secure storage in the office of Susan Rowley at the University of British Columbia Museum of Anthropology and in the Smithsonian Institution Archives. Only Diana Marsh, Susan Rowley, the Director of Exhibits, Michael Mason (hereinafter “We”), or Smithsonian archival staff will have access to your original records. Your personal observations are important, and, if you agree, we may wish to quote you directly in publications. If you have agreed to be recorded in video or audio, we may wish to include your image or voice in publications. Any of these uses, and especially uses of video, may identify you personally. If you would prefer, we will not include information in our publications that identifies you personally. We will only include the information you have shared with us in general summaries. Please indicate your preference by choosing one of the following options (please initial): _____We may identify you by name in reports and academic publications. We may quote you directly. If you have agreed to audio or video recording, we may use those recordings and you may be personally identified in publications. _____We may not identify you personally in reports and academic publications. We may quote you directly or include your recorded voice or image. If you have agreed to audio recording, we may use those recordings but you will not be personally identified in publications. _____We may not identify you personally in reports and academic publications. We may not quote you directly or include your re-

264

Appendix A

corded voice or image. We may only include the information you have shared in general summaries of participant responses. Remuneration/Compensation: Though we very much value your contribution to this project, no remuneration or compensation will be paid as part of this project. Contact Information: If you have any questions about this project, would like further information, or would like to provide feedback, you may contact: Michael Mason, [email protected] or Susan Rowley, Associate Professor and Curator, Museum of Anthropology, University of British Columbia (604) 723-0494 [email protected] Contact for Information about the Rights of Research Subjects If you have any concerns about your treatment or rights as a research subject, you may contact the Research Subject Information Line in the UBC Office of Research Services at 604.822.8598. Consent: Your participation in this study is entirely voluntary and you may refuse to participate or withdraw from the study at any time. Your signature below indicates that you have received a copy of this consent form for your own records. Your signature indicates that you consent to participate in this study. __________________________________ Participant Signature

______________ Date

Appendix B Interview Questionnaires Sample Team Interview Questionnaire INTERVIEW QUESTIONNAIRE Project: An Ethnography of Deep Time Principal Investigator: Susan Rowley, Curator of Public Archaeology, Associate Professor in Anthropology, University of British Columbia, Tel. (604) 723-0494 Co-Investigator: Diana Marsh, PhD Candidate, University of British Columbia, Tel. 732 570 2170, email [email protected] Interviewee: Date:

Location:

Purpose: Diana Marsh is conducting interviews as part of her PhD dissertation research, which will result in a PhD thesis. The general aim of this research is to investigate the ways that museums bring knowledge to the public, giving attention to the way this process is shaped by the particular museums’ institutional histories and cultures. This research takes the formation of the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History (NMNH)’s dinosaur hall as a case study, from its first iteration at the turn of the century to plans for its upcoming renovation. This project will contribute to a better understanding of how knowledge is mediated in the public presentation of scientific research and what grounded impact historical shifts in museum institutional organization have on the contemporary process of exhibit-making.

266

Appendix B

Background Questions 1. Tell me a little about your background and training. 2. How did you get interested in that? a. How about as a child growing up? 3. Who did you study with in your undergraduate and graduate programs? Did you have any important mentors that inspired you to do what you do now? a. Are there different schools of thought in your field/ ____________? Were you trained under a certain philosophy of ____________________? In museums specifically? 4. How would you characterize your overall approach to your discipline/______________________? a. In museums specifically? 5. How have you seen the field of ____________ change since you got started? a. What about specifically in museum education? Institution Questions 6. When did you first get started at the Smithsonian? What brought you to the NMNH? 7. What positions have you had at the institution? 8. When was your very first project here? 9. What was the Education department like when you got here? 10. What was the museum like when you got here? (first impressions) a. How would you describe your daily work here when you started? b. Who showed you the ropes? 11. What would you say the relationship between scientific departments and education departments was like? a. How about scientific departments and exhibits and programming work in general? b. What is that relationship like now?

Appendix B

267

12. What do you think has changed about the museum from when you started to now? Exhibits Questions 13. In what capacities have you been involved in exhibits at the museum? a. Were there any that were your favorite? 14. Can you describe the relationship between exhibits and research in general and at this museum? To you, how do they—or should they—relate? a. What’s your approach to communicating the research that goes on at the museum? b. I’ve heard you talk about the importance of affective learning and personalizing exhibit content, as well as understanding the diversity of visitor experience at the museum. Can you tell me a little about how you see research ideally being communicated or learned in exhibits? 15. When you got here the dinosaur hall would have been complete. What do you remember about those halls at the time? What were your first impressions of them? 16. Were you involved in any of the planning for any part of the Fossil Hall complex or more recent updates? a. Can you tell me a little bit about that space? i. What was the main vision for that installation? What is its main goal now? ii. What are your main goals for that project? 17. What has been your involvement in the FossiLab? Do you have any recollections about the space in terms of an active lab or as a public face for science? 18. Do you recall between now and when you first got here how decisions regarding exhibits were made and how exhibits were developed? Has that process changed at all over the years? 19. When did you first get involved with Deep Time? 20. How were exhibit development or team roles similar or different from the Deep Time project in process, vision, or team structure in other exhibits work you’ve been involved in?

268

Appendix B

21. Overall, what are the main challenges and opportunities in creating exhibits? a. Today more often (and certainly for Deep Time) the development process involves a team with really varied expertise. How do you see the dynamic of the team working? How would you describe the decision-making process over content and design decisions? 22. You’re the main _________________ on the Deep Time project; how would you characterize that role on the Core exhibit team? 23. On the Temporary Exhibit team? a. What are your main priorities for the project? b. How is the Deep Time vision different or unique from other projects? c. How would this project rate for you in terms of importance relative to other exhibitions? d. How would you summarize your dream for the exhibition— either in your vision of what the space would look like, what people would feel or do there, or what they might say or do upon leaving? e. How does your particular expertise play into the Deep Time project? f. How would you characterize the role of curators in the exhibit process? g. We’ve heard in other interviews that the exhibit development process really changed beginning with the Exhibits Modernization program through to today. The inclusion of educators, exhibit developers, and project managers on teams indicates one shift, the other being a change from editors who copyedited curatorial research documents to writers who generate content. Have you experienced these or other changes? What impact have changes in the development process created in exhibitions? Are there other changes you’ve noticed? h. Education is one of the departments that’s really grown since the 1980s and the last iterations of the Fossil Halls. How has that changed the process of exhibits work at the museum? (opportunities/challenges?)

Appendix B

269

i. At 10% there was emphasis on designating programming spaces in the halls early on in the process, and even doing some initial brainstorming as to what programming might look like in the halls. How is this similar or different to other exhibits you’ve seen developed? 24. How has the change in directorship affected the exhibit process? How does having a director with an expertise in paleobiology impact the exhibit? 25. How would you say Deep Time compares overall to earlier iterations of the Fossil Halls? a. What’s different? What remains constant? b. What about other exhibits you’ve worked on?

270

Appendix B

Sample Oral History Interview Questionnaire INTERVIEW QUESTIONNAIRE Project: An Ethnography of Deep Time Principal Investigator: Susan Rowley, Curator of Public Archaeology, Associate Professor in Anthropology, University of British Columbia, Tel. (604) 723-0494 Co-Investigator: Diana Marsh, PhD Candidate, University of British Columbia, Tel. 732 570 2170, email [email protected] Interviewee: Date:

Location:

Purpose: Diana Marsh is conducting interviews as part of her PhD dissertation research, which will result in a PhD thesis. The general aim of this research is to investigate the ways that museums bring knowledge to the public, giving attention to the way this process is shaped by the particular museums’ institutional histories and cultures. This research takes the formation of the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History (NMNH)’s dinosaur hall as a case study, from its first iteration at the turn of the century to plans for its upcoming renovation. This project will contribute to a better understanding of how knowledge is mediated in the public presentation of scientific research and what grounded impact historical shifts in museum institutional organization have on the contemporary process of exhibit-making. Your Background Questions 1. Tell me a little about your background and training. 2. What brought you to the Smithsonian or the NMNH? 3. How long did you work at the NMNH? At the Smithsonian? 4. What was your position(s) at the institution?

Appendix B

271

a. How would you describe your daily work when you were there? b. Did you have any other positions at the institution? 5. In what capacities did you work on exhibits at the museum? Institution Questions 6. How would you characterize how the museum worked when you first got there? 7. What would you say the relationship between scientific departments and exhibits work was like? 8. What do you think changed about the NMNH (or Smithsonian) from when you started to when you left? Paleo Hall/ Exhibits History Questions 9. When you worked on the last project in the Paleo Halls, what would you say the main goal of the exhibit was? a. What were your main priorities for the project? b. Who were your most important audiences for that exhibit? Did those audiences influence the exhibit planning process? 10. What do you remember about the planning of those halls? 11. As you know, the museum is beginning a seven-year project to renew the Fossil Halls. How do you think this new project and exhibit, Deep Time, compares to earlier iterations of the Fossil Halls (or other exhibits) you’ve seen at the NMNH?

Bibliography Abbot, Charles Greeley. “The Smithsonian Institution—Its Activities and Capacities.” In Proceedings of the Conference on the Future of the Smithsonian Institution, February 11, 1927, 19–43. Baltimore: Lord Baltimore Press, 1927. Adams, Robert McCormick. “Statement by the Secretary.” In Smithsonian Year 1985: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1985, 9–29. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1986. ———. “Statement by the Secretary.” In Smithsonian Year 1987: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1987, 9–27. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1987. ———. “Statement by the Secretary.” In Smithsonian Year 1988: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1988, 9–26. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1989. ———. “Statement by the Secretary.” In Smithsonian Year 1990: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1990, 9–34. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1991. ———. “Statement by the Secretary.” In Smithsonian Year 1991: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1991, 8–9. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1991. ———. “Statement by the Secretary.” In Smithsonian Year 1992: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1992, 5. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1993. Alexander, Victoria D. Museums and Money: The Impact of Funding on Exhibitions, Scholarship, and Management. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1996. Ames, Michael. Cannibal Tours and Glass Boxes: The Anthropology of Museums. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 1992. Anderson, Robert Geoffrey William. “To Thrive or Survive? The State and Status of Research in Museums.” Museum Management and Curatorship 20, no. 4 (2005): 297–311. “Appendices.” In Smithsonian Year 1982: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1982, 379–639. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1983. “Appendix A.” 1965. RU363, Box 23, Folder: Museum Refs and Papers. Smithsonian Institution Archives. Washington, DC. Bailey, Frederick George. Stratagems and Spoils: A Social Anthropology of Politics. New York: Schocken Books, 1969.

Bibliography

273

Bakhtin, Mikhail, The Dialogic Imagination. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1991. Bassler, Ray S. “Department of Geology.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1931, 95–109. Washington, D.C. : Government Printing Office, 1931. ———. “Department of Geology.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1932, 67–77. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1932. ———. “Department of Geology.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1937, 45–55. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1938. ———. “Department of Geology.” Gilmore Copy of Bassler Report, submitted to John Enos Graf for the Budget Bureau. 13 May 1944. RU156, Box 6, Folder: 12. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. ———. “Department of Geology.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1943, 48–59. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1944. ———. “Department of Geology.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1944, 45–56. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1945. ———. “Department of Geology.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1946, 50–62. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1947. Bell, Philip, Bruce Lewenstein, Andrew W. Shouse, and Michael A. Feder. Learning Science in Informal Environments: People, Places, and Pursuits. Washington, DC: The National Academies Press, 2009. Benedict, Burton, and Marjorie M. Dobkin. The Anthropology of World’s Fairs: San Francisco’s Panama Pacific International Exposition of 1915. Berkeley, CA: Scolar Press, 1983. Bennett, Tony. The Birth of the Museum: History, Theory, Politics. New York: Routledge, 1995. Bhabha, Homi K. The Location of Culture. New York: Routledge, 1994. Bitgood, Stephen. “Deadly Sins Revisited: A Review of the Exhibit Label Literature.” Visitor Behavior 4, no. 3 (Fall 1989): 4–13. ———. “The ABCs of Label Design.” In Visitor Studies: Theory, Research, and Practice, edited by Stephen Bitgood, Arlene Benefield, and Donald Patterson, 3:115–29. Jacksonville, AL: Center for Social Design, 1990. Born, Georgina. Rationalizing Culture: Ircam, Boulez, and the Institutionalization of the Musical Avant-Garde. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995. Bouquet, Mary. Academic Anthropology and the Museum: Back to the Future. New York: Berghahn Books, 2001. Boylan, Patrick J. “The Museum Profession.” In A Companion to Museum Studies, edited by Sharon MacDonald, 415–30. Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2010. Bramwell, Valerie, and Robert McCracken Peck. All in the Bones: A Biography of Benjamin Waterhouse Hawkins. Philadelphia: Academy of Natural Sciences, 2008.

274

Bibliography

Brinkman, Paul D. The Second Jurassic Dinosaur Rush: Museums and Paleontology in America at the Turn of the Twentieth Century. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2010. Bruner, Jerome S. The Process of Education. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999 [1960]. Bruni, Frank. “Public Lives; Where to Put a Renaissance Man? In the Smithsonian.” New York Times, 20 September 1999. Retrieved 18 October 2018 from https://www.nytimes.com/1999/09/20/us/public-lives-where-to-put-arenaissance-man-in-the-smithsonian.html/. Bryman, Alan. “The Disneyization of Society.” Sociological Review 47, no. 1 (1999): 25–47. Buckland, William. “Notice on the Megalosaurus or Great Fossil Lizard of Stonesfield.” Transactions of the Geological Society of London Series 2, no. 1 (1824): 390–96. Butler, Shelley Ruth. “The Politics of Exhibiting Culture: Legacies and Possibilities.” Museum Anthropology 23, no. 3 (2000): 74–92. Buzas, Martin A. “Oral History Project Interview.” Conducted by Pamela M. Henson. 26 January 1976. Senate of Scientists Oral History Collection. RU9508, Box 1, Interview 8: Transcript, 1–70, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Carmichael, Leonard. “Report of the Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution.” In Annual Report of the Board of Regents of the Smithsonian Institution: Showing the Operations, Expenditures, and Condition of the Institution for the Year Ended June 30, 1956, 1–13. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1957. ———. “Report of the Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution.” In Annual Report of the Board of Regents of the Smithsonian Institution: Showing the Operations, Expenditures, and Condition of the Institution for the Year Ended June 30, 1959, 1–7. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1960. ———. “Other Activities.” In Annual Report of the Board of Regents of the Smithsonian Institution: Showing the Operations, Expenditures, and Condition of the Institution for the Year Ended June 30, 1959, 231–34. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1960. Clarke, Roy S., Jr., Howard Plotkin, and Timothy J. McCoy. “Meteorites and the Smithsonian Institution.” In The History of Meteoritics and Key Meteorite Collections: Fireballs, Falls and Finds, edited by Gerald Joseph Home McCall, Alan John Bowden, and Richard John Howarth, Special Publication 256, 237–65. London: The Geological Society of London, 2006. Clifford, James. Routes: Travel and Translation in the Late Twentieth Century. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997. Conn, Steven. “Science Museums and the Culture Wars.” In A Companion to Museum Studies, edited by Sharon MacDonald, 494–508. Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2010. Cooper, G. Arthur. “Curatorial Report for FY 1963.” 1963. RU158, Box 97, Folder 23, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC.

Bibliography

275

Cowan, Richard S. “Development of Exhibits in Hall 6,” correspondence to Clayton Ray. 27 May 1964. RU7314, Box 28, Folder 2, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. ———. Correspondence to Curators, MNH, 1 February 1968. RU7314, Box 28, Folder 1, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. ———. “National Museum of Natural History.” In Smithsonian Year 1970: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Insitution for the Year Ended June 30, 1970, 30–39. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1970. ———. “National Museum of Natural History.” In Smithsonian Year 1971: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Insitution for the Year Ended June 30, 1971, 34–42. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1971. Craig, Barbara. “Dinosaur Hall Drawings.” 1962. RU363, Box 14. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. “Creating Exhibits: Policies and Practices of the Department of Public Programs.” Draft with Modifications 2/04. Internal Report. 5 June 1998. National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. Daston, Lorraine. “Type Specimens and Scientific Memory.” Critical Inquiry 31, no. 1 (2004): 153–82. Davis, Susan. Spectacular Nature: Corporate Culture and the Sea World Experience. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997. Debord, Guy. Society of the Spectacle. Translated by Ken Knabb. London: Rebel Press, 1983 [1967]. “Deep Time 10% Design Package.” Internal Report. 24 April 2013, 1–32. National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution and Reich + Petch Design International, Washington, DC. “The Deep Time Project: 4.6 Million Years of Global Change.” Unpublished project proposal, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC, 2009. Delano, Frederic A. “Address.” In Proceedings of the Conference on the Future of the Smithsonian Institution, 43–49. Baltimore: The Lord Baltimore Press, 1927. Dewey, John. Experience and Education. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1997 [1938]. Directory of the Staff of the National Museum of Natural History for the 75th Anniversary Jubilee. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Internal Publication, 1985. Dornfeld, Barry. Producing Public Television, Producing Public Culture. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1998. Dubin, Steven. “Incivilities in Civil(-Ized) Places: ‘Culture Wars’ in Comparative Perspective.” In A Companion to Museum Studies, edited by Sharon Macdonald, 477–93. Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2008. Duckworth, W. Donald. “Oral History Project Interview.” Conducted by Pamela M. Henson, 9 February 1976. Senate of Scientists Oral History Collection. RU9508, Box 1, Interview 9: Transcript, 1–108. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Durant, John. Museums and the Public Understanding of Science. London: The Science Museum, 1992.

276

Bibliography

“The Elephant Press Fund.” 11 August 1977. Acc. 94-088, Box 4, Folder: Memoranda 1972–1988, 2 of 6. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. “Exciting the Learning in Everyone.” Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution, 2013. Retrieved 15 May 2014 from https://www.youtube.com/embed/ yb1v1h7gM_o. “Exhibit Hall Planning in the National Museum of Natural History.” 1 July 1983. Acc. 94-088, Folder: Memoranda 1972–1988, 4 of 6. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. “Exhibits Committee Minutes.” 17 September 1974. RU363, Box 25, Folder: Exhibits Committee Minutes 1974. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. “Exhibits Committee Records.” National Museum of Natural History, RU 366, Smithsonian Institution Archives. Falk, John Howard. Identity and the Museum Visitor Experience. Walnut Creek, CA: Left Coast Press, 2009. Falk, John Howard, and Lynn D. Dierking. Learning from Museums: Visitor Experiences and the Making of Meaning. Plymouth: Altamira Press, 2000. Falk, John Howard, Joe E. Heimlich, and Susan Foutz. Free-Choice Learning and the Environment. Plymouth: Altamira Press, 2009. Falk, John Howard, and Beverly Sheppard. Thriving in the Knowledge Age: New Business Models for Museums and Other Cultural Institutions. Plymouth: Altamira Press, 2006. “Federal Budget Request Submission—FY 1988.” 20 August 1987. Acc. 94-088, Box 4, Folder: Memoranda 1972–1988, 6 of 6. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Federal Writer’s Project, Works Progress Administration. Washington City and Capital: American Guide Series. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1937. Fischer, Jonathan L. “Smithsonian Aims at Young in First-Ever Branding Campaign.” Chronicle of Philanthropy, 21 September 2012. Retrieved 15 May 2014 from http://philanthropy.com/blogs/philanthropytoday/smithsonianaims-at-young-in-first-ever-branding-campaign/54184. Fiske, Richard S. “National Museum of Natural History.” In Smithsonian Year 1982: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1982, 91–110. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1983. Fri, Robert W. “National Museum of Natural History.” In Smithsonian Year 1997: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1997, 41–42. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1998. Gazin, C. Lewis. “Talk on the Halls of Vertebrate Paleontology.” 6 June 1963. RU7314, Box 28, Folder 1. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Geertz, Clifford. The Interpretation of Cultures. New York: Basic Books, 1989. Gilmore, Charles W. “Annual Report, Division of Vertebrate Paleontology 1905– 1906.” 1906. RU158, Box 49, Folder 34. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC.

Bibliography

277

———. “Daybook 1908–1909.” 1909. RU156, Series 1, Box 1, Folder 4. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. ———. “Daybook 1909–1910.” 1910. RU156, Series 1, Box 1, Folder 5. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. ———. “Annual Report, Division of Vertebrate Paleontology 1910–1911.” 1911. RU158, Box 50, Folder 4. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. ———. “Daybook 1910–1911.” 1911. RU156, Series 1, Box 1, Folder 6. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. ———. “Daybook 1911–1912.” 1912. RU156, Series 1, Box 2, Folder 1. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. ———. “Daybook 1912–1913.” 1913. RU156, Series 1, Box 2, Folder 2: Daybook for 1912–1913. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. ———. “Description of Two New Species of Fossil Turtles, from the Lance Formation of Wyoming.” Proceedings of the United States National Museum 50, no. 2137 (1916): 641–46. ———. Correspondence to Barnum Brown. 15 July 1925. RU156, Box 6, Folder 23, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. ———. Correspondence to Arthur Coggeshall, Carnegie Museum. 29 September 1927. RU156, Box 7, Folder 17. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. ———. Correspondence to Dr. A. Avinoff, Director, Carnegie Museum, Pittsburgh, PA. 17 April 1936. RU156, Box 6, Folder 7. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. ———. Correspondence to Barnum Brown. 5 June 1941. RU156, Box 7, Folder 5. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. ———. “A History of the Division of Vertebrate Paleontology in the United States National Museum.” In Proceedings of the United States National Museum, 305–77. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution, 1942. ———. “Extinct Monsters of North America.” Public lecture script. Date unknown. RU156 Series 5, Box 20, Folder 11: Articles drafts, notes, speeches, and radio talks. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Goffman, Erving. The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. New York: Doubleday, 1959. Golding, Viv, and Wayne Modest. Museums and Communities: Curators, Collections and Collaboration. New York: Bloomsbury, 2013. Greenberg, Laura. “The Exhibits Program of the National Museum of Natural History.” 1986. RU564, Box 1, Folder: Exhibit Program Themes 12/5/86. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Handler, Richard, and Eric Gable. The New History in an Old Museum: Creating the Past at Colonial Williamsburg. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1997. Harper, Richard. Inside the IMF: An Ethnography of Documents, Technology and Organisational Action. San Diego, CA: Academic Press, 1998. Heath, Christian, and Dirk vom Lehn. “Interactivity and Collaboration: New Forms of Participation in Museums, Galleries, and Science Centres.” In Mu-

278

Bibliography

seums in a Digital Age, edited by Ross Parry, 266–81. New York: Routledge, 2010. Hein, George E. Learning in the Museum. New York: Routledge, 1998. Henare, Amiria, Martin Holbraad, and Sari Wastell. Thinking Through Things: Theorizing Artefacts Ethnographically. New York: Routledge, 2007. Henson, Pamela M. “Oral History Project.” 1975. Senate of Scientists Oral History Collection. RU9508. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. ———. “A National Science and a National Museum.” In Museums and Other Institutions of Natural History: Past, Present, and Future, edited by Alen E. Leviton and Michelle L. Aldrich, 34–57. San Francisco: California Academy of Sciences, 2004. Heyman, I. Michael. “Statement by the Secretary.” In Smithsonian Year 1994: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1994, 4–5. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1995. Hickey, Leo J. “Exhibits Committee Meeting Minutes.” 27 August 1973. RU363, Box 25, Folder: Exhibits Committee Minutes 1973. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. ———. Correspondence to Exhibits Committee. 1979. Personal Records of Ian G. Macintyre, Department of Paleobiology. National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. Hinsley, Curtis, M. The Smithsonian and the American Indian: Making a Moral Anthropology in Victorian America. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1981. Ho, Karen. Liquidated: An Ethnography of Wall Street. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2009. Hoffman, Robert. “National Museum of Natural History/National Museum of Man.” In Smithsonian Year 1987: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1987, 9–27. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1988. ———. “Office of the Provost.” In Smithsonian Year 1995: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1995, 31–32. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1996. Holmes, Douglas R., and George E. Marcus. “Cultures of Expertise and the Management of Globalization: Toward the Re-functioning of Ethnography.” In Global Assemblages: Technology, Politics, and Ethics as Anthropological Problems, edited by Aihwa Ong and Stephen J. Collier, 235–53. Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2005. ———. “Para-Ethnography and the Rise of the Symbolic Analyst.” In Frontiers of Capital: Ethnographic Reflections on the New Economy, edited by Melissa S. Fisher and Greg Downey, 33–57. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2006. Hooper-Greenhill, Eilean. Museums and Their Visitors. New York: Routledge, 1994. ———. The Educational Role of the Museum. New York: Routledge, 1999. Hotton, Nicholas. “Statement for Budget Book Regarding Dinosaur Hall.” 1959. RU 7314, Box 28, Folder 2. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC.

Bibliography

279

———. “Hall of Dinosaurs and Other Reptiles.” 1962. Acc. 05-084, Box 5, Folder: 1960s. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. ———. Correspondence to Benjamin Lawless. 28 May 1975. RU7314, Box 28, Folder 1. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. ———. “Tentative Explanatory Material for Systematics and Evolution Case in Great Hall of SI Building.” Correspondence to Benjamin Lawless. 28 May 1975. RU7314, Box 28, Folder 1. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Howard, Robert West. The Dawnseekers: The First History of American Paleontology. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1975. Hutton, James. “Theory of the Earth; or an Investigation of the Laws Observable in the Composition, Dissolution, and Restoration of Land upon the Globe.” Transactions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh 1, no. 20 (1788): 209–304. Information File, Box 14, Brief Guide to the Smithsonian Institution: National Museum, National Gallery, National Zoological Park. Washington, DC, National Capital Press, 1931, 1933, 1936, 1939, 1940, 1946, 1950, 1954, 1956, 1958, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Ingold, Tim. The Perception of the Environment: Essays on Livelihood, Dwelling and Skill. New York: Routledge, 2000. “Internship Registration and Orientation Guide.” Smithsonian Institution. Retrieved 14 January 2014 from http://www.nmnh.si.edu/rtp/other_opps/ guide_internships.html. Isaac, Gwyneira. Mediating Knowledges: Origins of a Zuni Tribal Museum. Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2007. Jaffe, Mark. The Gilded Dinosaur: The Fossil War between E. D. Cope and O. C. Marsh and the Rise of American Science. New York: Crown Publishers, 2001. “James Smithson, Last Will and Testament, October 23, 1826.” Smithsonian Institution Archives. Retrieved 1 May 2014 from http://siarchives.si.edu/ history/exhibits/stories/last-will-and-testament-october-23-1826. Karras, Ann. “Report on Visits to Various Natural History Museums for the Purpose of Studying Fossil Mammal Exhibit Presentations in Connection with Pending Renovation of Hall 5.” Correspondence to A. Remington Kellogg. 18 December 1958. RU7314, Box 28, Folder 3. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Kauffman, Erle G. “Oral History Project Interview.” Conducted by Pamela M. Henson. 25 July 1975. Senate of Scientists Oral History Collection. RU9508, Box 1, Interview 7: Transcript, 1–105. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Kellogg, A. Remington. “Introduction.” In The United States National Museum: Annual Report for the Year Ended June 30, 1951, 1–9. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1951. ———. “Introduction.” In The United States National Museum: Annual Report for the Year Ended June 30, 1952, 1–7. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1952. ———. “Introduction.” In United States National Museum: Annual Report for

280

Bibliography

the Year Ended June 30, 1953, 1–7. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1954. ———. “Exhibits.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1953, 8–12. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1954. ———. “Introduction.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1954, 1–4. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1954. ———. “Scientific Staff.” In The United States National Museum: Annual Report for the Year Ended June 30, 1954, vi–vii. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1955. ———. “Report on the United States National Museum.” In Annual Report of the Board of Regents of the Smithsonian Institution Showing the Operation, Expenditures, and Condition of the Institution for the Year Ended June 30, 1954, 13–28. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1955. ———. “Scientific Staff.” In United States National Museum: Annual Report for the Year Ended June 30, 1955, iii–iv. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1956. ———. “Scientific Staff.” In United States National Museum: Annual Report for the Year Ended June 30, 1956, iii–iv. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1957. ———. “United States National Museum.” In Report of the Secretary and Financial Report of the Executive Committee of the Board of Regents for the Year Ending June 30, 1959, 11–59. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1960. ———. “United States National Museum.” In Report of the Secretary and Financial Report of the Executive Committee of the Board of Regents for the Year Ending June 30, 1960, 20–48. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1961. Kier, Porter. “National Museum of Natural History.” In Smithsonian Year 1974: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Insitution for the Year Ended June 30, 1974, 74–95. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1974. ———. “National Museum of Natural History.” In Smithsonian Year 1975: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Insitution for the Year Ended June 30, 1975, 92–118. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1975. Kohn, Richard H. “History and the Culture Wars: The Case of the Smithsonian Institution’s Enola Gay Exhibition.” Journal of American History 82, no. 3 (1995): 1036–63. Krauss, Rosalind. “The Cultural Logic of the Late Capitalist Museum.” October 54 (1990): 3–17. Kreps, Christina F. Liberating Culture: Cross-Cultural Perspectives on Museums, Curation, and Heritage Preservation. New York: Routledge, 2003. ———. “Non-Western Models of Museums and Curation in Cross-Cultural Perspective.” In A Companion to Museum Studies, edited by Sharon MacDonald, 457–72. Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2010.

Bibliography

281

Kuhn, Thomas S. The Structure of Scientific Revolutions. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2012 [1962]. Lakota, Robert. “The National Museum of Natural History as Behavioral Environment: Internal Report.” 1975. RU564, Box 2, Folder: NMNH Studies. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. ———. “Techniques for Improving Exhibit Effectiveness.” Office of Museum Programs. 1 April 1976. RU564, Box 2, Folder: NMNH Studies, Smithsonian Institution Archives. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, D.C. Larson, Francis, Chris Gosden, and Alison Petch. Knowing Things: Exploring the Collections at the Pitt Rivers Museum, 1884–1945. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Lassiter, Luke Eric. The Chicago Guide to Collaborative Ethnography. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005. Latour, Bruno. We Have Never Been Modern. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993. ———. “Why Has Critique Run Out of Steam? From Matters of Fact to Matters of Concern.” Critical Inquiry 30, no. 2 (Winter 2004): 225–48. Latour, Bruno, and Steve Woolgar. Laboratory Life: The Construction of Scientific Facts. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1986. Lee, Charlotte P. “Reconsidering Conflict in Exhibition Development Teams,” Museum Management and Curatorship, 22, no. 2 (2007): 183–199. Lindsay, G. Carroll. “Smithsonian Associates.” In Smithsonian Year 1966: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Insitution for the Year Ended June 30, 1966, 38–40. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1966. Lubar, Steven “The Making of ‘America on the Move’ at the National Museum of American History.” Curator 47, no. 1 (January 2004): 19–51. Lyell, Charles. Principles of Geology: The Modern Changes of Earth and Its Inhabitants. New York: D. Appleton & Co., 1853 [1830]. Lynch, Bernadette. “Collaboration, Contestation, and Creative Conflict: On the Efficacy of Museum/Community Partnerships.” In The Routledge Companion to Museum Ethics, edited by Janet Marstine, 146–63. London: Routledge, 2011. ———. “Whose Cake Is It Anyway? A Collaborative Investigation into Engagement and Participation in 12 Museums and Galleries in the UK.” Paul Hamlyn Foundation, 2011. Retrieved 18 October 2018 from http://ourmuseum .org.uk/wp-content/uploads/Whose-cake-is-it-anyway-report.pdf. “Long Range Exhibits Plans.” 13 November 1984. Acc. 94-088, Box 4, Folder: Long Range Exhibits Plans. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Macdonald, Sharon. Behind the Scenes at the Science Museum. Oxford: Berg, 2002. ———. “Expanding Museum Studies: An Introduction.” In A Companion to Museum Studies, edited by Sharon Macdonald, 1–14. Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2006. Macintyre, Ian G. Memo to Marty Buzas. December 1977. Personal Records of Ian G. Macintyre. National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC.

282

Bibliography

———. “Immediate Call for Invertebrate Paleontologist.” 1978. Personal Rec­ ords of Ian G. Macintyre. National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. Macintyre, Ian G., Daniel E. Appleman, Robert J. Emry, Leo J. Hickey, Nicholas Hotton, Kenneth M. Towe, and Thomas R. Waller. “Fossils: The History of Life, the Paleontology Hall Theme Statement.” 28 June 1977. Personal Rec­ ords of Ian G. Macintyre. National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. Mackey, Eva. “Postmodernism and Cultural Politics in a Multicultural Nation: Contests over Truth in the Into the Heart of Africa Controversy.” Public Culture 7, no. 2 (1995): 403–32. Manias, Chris. “The Lost Worlds of Messmore & Damon.” Endeavor (New Series) 40, no. 3 (2016): 163–77. Mantell, Gideon A. “Notice on the Iguanodon, a Newly Discovered Fossil Reptile from the Sandstone of Tilgate Forest, in Sussex.” Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London, no. 115 (1825): 179–86. Marcus, George E., and Michael Fischer. Anthropology as Cultural Critique. Chi­ cago: University of Chicago Press, 1986. Marstine, Janet, ed.. The Routledge Companion to Museum Ethics: Redefinng Ethics for the Twenty-First Century Museum. New York: Routledge, 2011. Marty, Paul F. “My Lost Museum: User Expectations and Motivations for Creat­ ing Personal Digital Collections on Museum Websites.” Library & Information Science Research 33, no. 3 (2011): 211–19. “Master Work Order and Summary.” 1 September 1961. RU363, Box 14, Folder: Hall 2 Dinosaurs and Other Fossil Reptiles. Smithsonian Institution Ar­ chives, Washington, DC. Matusiak, Krystyna K. “Towards User-Centered Indexing in Digital Image Col­ lections.” OCLC Systems & Services 22, no. 4 (2006): 283–98. Mauss, Marcel. The Gift: The Form and Reason for Exchange in Archaic Societies. Translated by W. D. Halls. New York: Routledge, 1990 [1954]. McKinsey & Company, Inc. “A Management Agenda: National Museum of Nat­ ural History, Final Report.” March 1987. RU564, Box 2, Folder: Manage­ ment Agenda 3/1987. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Mclean, Fiona. Marketing the Museum. New York: Routledge, 2002. Mead, Margaret. Coming of Age in Samoa: A Study of Adolescence and Sex in Primitive Societies. New York: Penguin, 1954. “Meeting Roster, Paleo Reconstruction Meeting.” 1984. RU363, Box 2, Folder: Hall 3 Contract Material. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. MEM & Associates. “Human Origins Initiative: What Does It Mean to Be Hu­ man? Evaluation Report #1.” March 2011. National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. “Men’s Club of the Foundry M. E.” in Washington Evening Star, 18 March 1927. Chronicling America: Historic American Newspapers. Library of Congress. Retrieved 6 December 2018 from http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/ sn83045462/1927-03-18/ed-1/seq-27/.

Bibliography

283

Merrill, George P. “Department of Geology.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1912, 55–65. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1913. ———. “Department of Geology.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1918, 52–67. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1919. ———. “Department of Geology.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1919, 97–113. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1920. ———. “Department of Geology.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1924, 73–89. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1924. Miller, Benjamin. “Extinct Monsters: The Hybrid Identities of Fossil Mounts.” MA diss., University of Kansas, 2013. “Minutes of Meeting.” Exhibits Committee. 20 December 1973. RU363, Box 25, Folder: Exhibits Committee Minutes 1973. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Mitchell, W. J. T. The Last Dinosaur Book: The Life and Times of a Cultural Icon. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998. Morris, Martha. Managing People and Projects in Museums: Strategies That Work. New York: Rowman & Littlefield, 2017. Nader, Laura. “Up the Anthropologist—Perspectives Gained from Studying Up.” In Reinventing Anthropology, edited by Dell H. Hymes, 284–311. New York: Vintage, 1969. “Natural History in the Age of Humans: A Plan for the National Museum. NMNH Strategic Plan 2016–2020.” Smithsonian Institution. Retrieved 6 December 2018 from https://naturalhistory.si.edu/sites/default/files/media/file/NMNH _StrategicPlan_2016-2020_accessible.pdf. “New Amendment for Exhibition Design Services: Smithsonian Institution, National Museum of Natural History Paleontology Halls ‘Deep Time’ Exhibition—T12sol10027.” Washington, DC: Government Services Administration. Retrieved 15 May 2014 from https://www.fbo.gov/Index?S=Opportunity& Mode=Form&Id=A17854fb9640c10dd40d587f9855f1a2&Tab=Core&_ Cview=1. Newman, Constance Berry. “Report of the Under Secretary.” In Smithsonian Year 1999: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1999. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 2000. Noble, Brian. Articulating Dinosaurs: A Political Anthropology. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2016. O’Neal Parker, Lonnae. “Smithsonian Launches Branding Campaign.” Washington Post, 20 September 2012. Retrieved 15 May 2014 from http://www.washing tonpost.com/entertainment/museums/smithsonian-launches-branding-cam paign/2012/09/20/3ae8f8cc-032b-11e2-91e7-2962c74e7738_story.html. “Office of Exhibits Central.” In Smithsonian Year 1974: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Insitution for the Year Ended June 30, 1974, 204. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1974.

284

Bibliography

“Office of Exhibits Central.” In Smithsonian Year 1987: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1987, 143–44. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1988. “Office of Protection Services.” Smithsonian Institution. Retrieved 14 January 2014 from http://www.ops.si.edu/PSIO.html. Owen, Richard. “Report on British Fossil Reptiles, Part Ii.” Report of the British Association for the Advancement of Science, no. 11 (1842 ): 60–203. “The Paleontology Hall.” Personal Records of Ian G. Macintyre. National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. “Paleontology 2, Unit 18 (Additions 1/11/63).” 11 January 1963. RU363, Box 14, Folder: Hall 2 Dinosaurs and Other Fossil Reptiles Scripts. Smithsonian Institution Archives. Washington, DC. “Paleo Phase V Outline: Life in the Ancient Seas.” 1987. RU363, Box 2, Folder: Life in the Sea, Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Parry, Ross. Recoding the Museum: Digital Heritage and the Technologies of Change. New York: Routledge, 2007. Peers, Laura L., and Alison K. Brown. Museums and Source Communities: A Routledge Reader. New York: Routledge, 2003. Pekarik, Andrew J., and Barbara Mogel. “Ideas, Objects, or People? A Smithsonian Exhibition Team Views Visitors Anew.” Curator: The Museum Journal 53, no. 4 (2010): 465–82. Penny, H. Glenn. Objects of Culture: Ethnology and Ethnographic Museums in Imperial Germany. Durham: University of North Carolina Press, 2002. Post, Robert C. Who Owns America’s Past? The Smithsonian and the Problem of History. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2013. Pratt, Mary Louise. Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation. New York: Routledge, 1992. Prior, Nick. “Postmodern Restructurings.” In A Companion to Museum Studies, edited by Sharon MacDonald, 509–24. Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2010. Rader, Karen A., and Victoria E. M. Cain. Life on Display: Revolutionizing U.S. Museums of Science and Natural History in the Twentieth Century. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2014. Rathbun, Richard. “Inception and History.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1912 , 7–12. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1913. ———. “Summary of the Development of the Museum and of Recent Activities.” Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1915, 12–18. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1916. Ravenel, William de C. “Operations of the Year: War Activities.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1918, 13–15. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1919. ———. “Operations of the Year.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1924, 3–35. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1924.

Bibliography

285

Raz, Aviad E. Riding the Black Ship: Japan and Tokyo Disneyland. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999. Rectanus, Mark W. Culture Incorporated: Museums, Artists, and Corporate Sponsorships. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2002. Reeder, Angela Roberts. “Deep Time Exhibition 10% Concept Narrative.” Internal Report. 10 April 2013, 1–21. National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. ———. “Putting Dinosarus in Their Place: Concept Script for Paleobiology Temporary Exhibition.” Internal Report. 2013. Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. ———. “The Last American Dinosaurs: Discovering a Lost World.” 65 percent draft script. Internal Report. 24 February 2014. Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. Reeder, Angela Roberts, and Sally Love. “Putting Dinosaurs in Their Place, Paleo Temporary Exhibition: Statement of Purpose.” Internal Report. 2012. Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. Reichman, Daniel. “Migration and Paraethnography in Honduras.” American Ethnologist 38, no. 3 (2011): 548–58. Rentschler, Ruth, and Ann-Marie Hede. Museum Marketing: Competing in the Global Marketplace. London: Butterworth-Heinemann, 2007. “Report of the Board of Regents.” Smithsonian Year 1999: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1999, 17–21. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 2000. “A Restatement of the Long Range Plan.” 1978. RU564, Box 1, Folder: Exhibit Program Themes 12/5/86. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington DC. Rhees, William Jones. An Account of the Smithsonian Institution: Founder, Building, Operations, Etc., Prepared from the Reports of Prof. Henry to the Regents, and Other Authentic Sources. Philadelphia: Collins, 1866. ———. Visitor’s Guide to the Smithsonian Institution and National Museum, Washington. Washington, DC: Judd & Detweiler, 1884. “Ribbon of Life.” 1978. RU363, Box 23, Folder: Phase 3 Precambrian Life. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Riles, Annelise. The Network Inside Out. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2000. Ripley, S. Dillon. “Statement by the Secretary.” In Smithsonian Year 1965: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Insitution for the Year Ended June 30, 1965, 1–18. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1966. ———. “Statement by the Secretary.” In Smithsonian Year 1966: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Insitution for the Year Ended June 30, 1966, 1–19. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1966. ———. “Statement by the Secretary.” In Smithsonian Year 1975: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Insitution for the Year Ended June 30, 1975, 3–26. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1975. ———. “Time Past and Time Present Are Wrapped in Time Future.” In Smithsonian Year 1984: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year

286

Bibliography

Ended September 30, 1984, 5–36. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1985. Roberts, Lisa C. From Knowledge to Narrative: Educators and the Changing Museum. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1997. Roussou, Maria. “The Components of Engagement in Virtual Heritage Environments.” In New Heritage: New Media and Cultural Heritage, edited by Yehuda Kalay, Thomas Kvan, and Janice Affleck, 225–41. New York: Routledge, 2008. Ruh, Glen. Correspondence to Publications Coordinators. 14 February 1980. Acc. 94-088, Box 4, Folder: Memoranda 1972–1988, 2 of 6. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Russo, Angelina, Jerry Watkins, Lynda Kelly, and Sebastian Chan. “Participatory Communication with Social Media.” Curator: The Museum Journal 51, no. 1 (2008): 21–31. RU363, Box14, Folder: Hall 2 Drawings Dinosaurs and Other Fossil Reptiles File 2 of 4. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. RU363, Box 14, Folder: Hall 2 Drawings Dinosaurs and Other Fossil Reptiles File 4 of 4. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Rydell, Robert W. All the World’s a Fair: Visions of Empire at American International Expositions, 1876–1916. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987. ———. “Worlds Fairs and Museums.” In A Companion to Museum Studies, edited by Sharon Macdonald, 135–53. Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2006. Rydell, Robert W., John E. Findling, and Kimberly D. Pelle. Fair America: World’s Fairs in the United States. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 2000. Rye, Raymond. “The History of the Paleobiology Department.” Smithsonian Institution. Retrieved 17 October 2018 from https://paleobiology.si.edu/his tory/rye.html. Sahlins, Marshall D. Culture and Practical Reason. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1976. Sanjek, Roger. “A Vocabulary for Fieldnotes.” In Fieldnotes: The Makings of Anthropology, edited by Roger Sanjek, 92–138. Ithica, NY: Cornell University Press, 1990. Sanz, José Luis, Starring T. rex!: Dinosaur Mythology and Popular Culture. Translated by Philip Mason. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2002. Schmitt, Waldo L. “Department of Zoology.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1950, 21–39. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1950. Schuchert, Charles.“Annual Report, Department of Paleontology 1895–1896.” RU158, Box 16, Folder 2: Department of Paleontology 1895–1896. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC.. ———. “Annual Report, Division of Vertebrate Paleontology 1897–1898.” RU158, Box 49, Folder 27. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC, 1898. “Science.” In Smithsonian Year 1974: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Insitution

Bibliography

287

for the Year Ended June 30, 1974, 57–59. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1974. “SD 323 Use of Funds Handbook: Spending Policy for Federal and Trust Funds.” Internal Policy Document. May 2018 (v. 7.0). Washington, DC: Smithsonian Instituion, 2018. Semonin, Paul. American Monster: How the Nation’s First Prehistoric Creature Became a Symbol of National Identity. New York: NYU Press, 2000. Sepkoski, David. Rereading the Fossil Record: The Growth of Paleobiology as an Evolutionary Discipline. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2012. Shannon, Jennifer. “An Ethnography of ‘Our Lives’: Collaboration, Native Voice, and the Making of the National Museum of the American Indian.” PhD diss., Cornell University, 2008. ———. Our Lives: Collaboration, Native Voice, and the Making of the National Museum of the American Indian. Santa Fe, NM: School for Advanced Research Press, 2014. Shelton, Anthony Alan. “Museums and Anthropologies: Practices and Narratives.” In Companion to Museum Studies, edited by Sharon Macdonald, 64– 81. Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2011. Simon, Nina. The Participatory Museum. Retrieved 15 May 2014 from http:// www.participatorymuseum.org/. “Smithsonian Digital Volunteers: Transcription Center.” Smithsonian Institution. Retrieved 5 April 2018 from https://transcription.si.edu/. “Smithsonian Fiscal Year 2013: Budget Justification to Congress.” Smithsonian Institution. Retrieved 15 May 2014 from http://www.si.edu/content/pdf/ about/FY2013-BudgetRequest.pdf. “Smithsonian Fiscal Year 2018: Budget Justification to Congress.” Smithsonian Institution. Retrieved 18 October 2018 from https://www.si.edu/sites/de fault/files/about/fy_2018_cjb_linked_table_of_contents.pdf. Smithsonian Institution. Brief Guide to the Smithsonian Institution: National Museum, National Gallery, Freer Gallery, National Zoological Park, 1st edition. Washington, DC: National Capital Press, 1931. Smithsonian Institution. Brief Guide to the Smithsonian Institution: National Museum, National Gallery, Freer Gallery, National Zoological Park, 2nd edition. Washington, DC: National Capital Press, 1933. Smithsonian Institution. Brief Guide to the Smithsonian Institution: National Museum, National Gallery, Freer Gallery, National Zoological Park, 3rd edition. Washington, DC: National Capital Press, 1936. “Smithsonian: Seriously Amazing.” Smithsonian Institution. Retrieved 2 May 2018 from https://www.si.edu/#green. Smithsonian Year 1991: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1991. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1991. Smithsonian Year 1992: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1992. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1993.

288

Bibliography

Smithsonian Year 1994: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1994. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1995. Smithsonian Year 1995: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1995. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1996. Smithsonian Year 1996: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Institution for the Year Ended September 30, 1996. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1997. Smithsonian Year 2000: Annual Report for the Smithsonian Institution. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 2001. Spiro, Rand J., Brian P. Collins, Jose Jagadish Thota, and Paul J. Feltovich. “Cognitive Flexibility Theory: Hypermedia for Complex Learning, Adaptive Knowledge Application, and Experience Acceleration.” Educational Technology 43, no. 5 (2003): 5–10. “A Star Is Hatched Scripts.” 1980. Acc. 01-203, Box 1, Folder: Dinosaurs. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Stephenson, Christie. “Recent Developments in Cultural Heritage Image Databases: Directions for User-Centered Design.” Library Trends 48, no. 2 (1999): 410–37. Stewart, T. Dale. “Museum of Natural History.” In Smithsonian Year 1965: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Insitution for the Year Ended June 30, 1965, 23–104. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1965. Strathern, Marilyn. Audit Cultures: Anthropological Studies in Accountability, Ethics, and the Academy. New York: Routledge, 2000. Sullivan, Robert. “The Museum as Moral Artifact.” Moral Education Forum 10, nos. 3–4 (1985): 2–18. Taylor, Frank A. “The United States National Museum.” In Smithsonian Year 1965: Annual Report of the Smithsonian Insitution for the Year Ended June 30, 1965, 19–22. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1965. Terrell, John. “Disneyland and the Future of Museum Anthropology.” American Anthropologist 93, no. 1 (1991): 149–53. Trescott, Jacqueline. “Top-Down Change at Museum.” Washington Post, 12 February 2000. Retrieved 18 October 2018 from https://www.washing tonpost.com/archive/lifestyle/2000/02/12/top-down-change-at-museum/ b9f11bdc-9c26-406f-b44c-ca1a3faa8ffa/?utm_term=.47398d5027fb. True, Webster P. The First Hundred Years of the Smithsonian Institution. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1946. Tsing, Anna L. Friction: An Ethnography of Global Connection. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2005. “Understanding Diversity within the National Museum of Natural History: A Preliminary Report of NMNH Community Perceptions of Current Workplace Diversity.” Office of Policy and Analysis, March 2012, Smithsonian Institution. Retrieved 5 April 2018 from https://soar.si.edu/sites/default/files/ reports/12.03.nmnhdiversitypreliminary.final.pdf.

Bibliography

289

Voss, Sue. “Scripts.” 1980. RU564, Box 1, Folder: Paleo Phase II. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Vygotsky, Lev S. “Interaction between Learning and Development.” In Mind in Society: The Development of Higher Psychological Processes, edited by Michael Cole, Vera John-Steiner, Syvlia Scribner, and Ellen Souberman, 71–91. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1978. Walker, William S. A Living Exhibition: The Smithsonian and the Transformation of the Universal Museum. Boston: University of Massachusetts Press, 2013. Warner, William Lloyd, and Josiah Orne Low. The Social System of the Modern Factory: The Strike, a Social Analysis. Hartford, CT: Yale University Press, 1947. “Welcome.” Smithsonian Institution. Retrieved 5 April 2018 from https://www .si.edu. Weiner, Joseph George. “Why Johnny Can’t Read Labels.” 1963. RU7314, Box 28, Folder 1. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Wetmore, Alexander. “Operations for the Year.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1925, 3–29. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1926. ———. “Operations for the Year.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1926, 3–39. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1927. ———. “Operations of the Year.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1927, 5–41. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1927. ———. “Operations for the Year.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1931, 5–47. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1931. ———. “Operations for the Year.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1935, 1–18. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1936. ———. “Operations for the Year.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1936, 1–17. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1937. ———. “Operations for the Year.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1937, 1–19. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1938. ———. “Operations for the Year.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1942, 1–21. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1943. ———. “Operations for the Year.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1943, 1–17. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1944. ———. “Operations for the Year.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1944, 1–16. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1945.

290

Bibliography

———. “Operations for the Year.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1945, 1–16. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1946. ———. “Operations for the Year.” In Report on the Progress of the United States National Museum for the Year Ending June 30, 1946, 1–16. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1947. ———. “General Statement.” In Annual Report of the Board of Regents of the Smithsonian Institution Showing the Operation, Expenditures, and Condition of the Institution for the Year Ended June 30, 1950, 1–3. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1951. “When the Dinosaurs Held Sway.” Washington Sunday Star, 11 June 1905. Department of Paleobiology Information Office, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution. Wolf, Robert, and Jenny Cave. “Don’t Brush Your Teeth Anymore: Toothepaste’s Got Earth in It!” 1983. RU564, Box 2, Folder: NMNH Studies. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Yankelovich, Skelly, and White. “A Study of Visitors to the Smithsonian.” 1976. RU564, Box 2, Folder: NMNH Studies. Smithsonian Institution Archives, Washington, DC. Yochelson, Ellis. 75 Years in the Natural History Building. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution, 1985. ———. “More Than 150 Years of Administrative Ups and Downs in Washington: Smithsonian Institution, National Museum of Natural History.” Museums and Other Institutions of Natural History: Past, Present and Future, A Symposium Held on the Occasion of the 150th Anniversary of the California Academy of Sciences. San Francisco: California Academy of Sciences, 2003. Zug, George. “History of the Division of Amphibians and Reptiles,” July 2018, National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Institution. Retrieved 22 October 2018 from http://vertebrates.si.edu/herps/herps_historydivision .html.

Index Abbot, Charles Greely, 28 abstraction. See debates: detail/abstraction accessibility intellectual/emotional, 6, 45, 73, 122, 159, 168, 189–90, 232 via media, 221, 237 language, 146, 167 public physical, 73, 79, 143 research, 30, 146, 150 See also democratization accountability, 23n29, 231. See also transparency accuracy institutional, 164, 251 scientific (in exhibits), 75, 143, 150–52, 196, 200 See also debates: detail/abstraction activism. See advocacy Adams, Robert McCormick, 1, 14, 135, 231 admission charges, 238 advertising, 5, 221 Seriously Amazing, 238 Advisory Board (NMNH), 83 Advisory Team. See Extended/Advisory Team advocacy, 1, 143, 161, 166, 170, 251. See also audience advocates Age of Quaternary Vertebrates, 112–13, 200–202 American Museum of Natural History (AMNH), 2, 44, 49n25, 192 Ames, Michael, 250–51 anatomy, 169, 198 comparative, 32, 37–38, 169 (see also Comparative Osteology Hall) animatronics. See technology: animatronic Anglim, John E., 109, 111 Anthropocene, 147, 166, 170, 173, 175, 251 anthropology cultural (field of ), 7–8, 123, 253 department at NMNH, xv, 113–14, 224 and fieldwork methods, 254 of institutions, 5, 8 museum, xv–xvi, 3, 7, 249, 253 of politics, 56, 100 Appleman, Daniel E., 115, 119 appropriations (federal), 31, 48n15, 109, 231, 238, 241n34

Approval Team, 12, 72, 75–76, 84, 101, 137, 139, 167, 175–76 architecture expertise, 11, 95, 109 NMNH building, 3, 82 archives Archives of American Art, 225, 242n52 informal, 10, 13 Smithsonian Institution Archives, 9, 13, 96, 118, 208 See also methods: archival research arena (social), 15–16 armature, 146, 156. See also assemblage; mounts artifact. See display; mounts; specimens artwork, 33, 122, 133n40, 144, 196, 197–99, 203–6 murals, 116, 122, 144, 148, 155, 163, 189–90, 194, 197–99, 200, 203–6 sculpture, 30, 33, 148, 165, 196, 200 See also dioramas; and by artist (e.g. Gurche, John) assemblage in exhibit, 38–40, 144–48, 156–57, 165, 189–90, 198, 200–201, 204 in the field, 41, 145, 153 (see also taphonomy) audience, 1, 10, 27, 46, 69, 74, 84, 93, 129, 138–39, 143, 154, 160, 166–69, 176, 190, 223, 237–38, 249 institutional shift, 27, 46 motivation, 7, 22n21, 73, 177 servicemen and women, 45–46 targeted, 138–39, 223 users, 168, 237, 249 audience advocates, 2, 15, 18, 71–73, 92, 100, 120, 130, 176, 215, 249, 251 best practices, 94–95, 167 See also outreach; and by role (e.g. Exhibit Writer) audience research, 7, 9, 94, 167, 238 for Deep Time, 9–10, 93, 175, 177 development of, 118, 122, 223, 227–28 educational testing, 93 previous studies, 118, 122, 167, 181n7, 208, 227–28 audit. See accountability augmented reality, 162, 166, 168, 190

292 authenticity, 17, 136, 141–50, 156, 158, 161, 169, 171. See also debates authority collaborative, 88, 96, 139 curatorial, 123, 249 expert, 98–99, 124 institutional and Deep Time (see debates: authority/participation authorship) of exhibit text, 109–10 (see also Exhibit Writer) background check, 9, 58 See also security; trust: institutional badges, 9, 58–60 Bailey, Fredrick, 56, 87, 100 Baird, Spencer Fullerton, 30, 48n15 Bakhtin, Mikhail, 97 Bambach, Richard, 189 Behlen, Eugene F. (Gene), 116–17, 119, 229 Behrensmeyer, Anna K. (Kay), xvii, 70–71, 76, 83, 95, 100, 102, 125–27, 129, 136, 150, 153–55, 158, 163, 169–74, 202, 255 benchmarking, 71, 93, 143, 152, 177 Bennett, Tony, 48n15, 253 Bhabha, Homi K., 56, 87 bias, xxii, 4, 12, 60–61 “Big Ideas,” 83 Bitgood, Stephen, 122 blockbuster exhibitions, 7, 23n27 Blond, Kara, xvii, 75, 79, 86, 92, 94–95, 97, 99–101, 127, 138, 158, 164, 166, 168, 172, 174, 252 Board of Regents, 76, 232 Bolton, Amy, xvii, 61, 70, 74, 83, 88–89, 92–95, 126, 135, 156, 162, 167, 169, 171, 174, 176, 233, 236, 250, 255 bone wars, 30–31, 38 Boss, Norman, 31–32, 44, 49n25, 50n31, 52n50 Bouquet, Mary, 21n17, 253 “the bridge,” 85, 149, 154–55, 158–59, 166, 170, 172–75, 251 Brinkman, Paul D., 38, 53n69 bubble diagram, 78, 137, 141, 154, 178 Buckland, William, 29, 47n11 budget exhibit, 72, 91, 105n37, 122, 127–28, 133n40, 190, 198, 226 institutional, 226, 231, 233, 235 scientific departmental, 111, 217 See also appropriations; development bureaucracy, 5–6, 85, 216–218, 220. See also badges Buzas, Martin A. (Marty), 218 Cain, Victoria, 8, 23n8 Carmichael, Leonard, 109, 216–17, 219–20, 222, 224 Carnegie Museum of Natural History, 49n25, 208–9 carpentry, 28, 33, 51n39, 62–63

Index Carrano, Matthew T., xviii, 59, 70, 79, 83, 100, 135–36, 140, 143, 145, 150, 152, 154–55, 162, 166, 168–72, 258 cases (exhibit), 33, 36–38, 45, 49n22, 49n28, 192, 196, 221–22 casts, 33, 35, 41, 43, 49n21, 80, 143, 145, 149, 196, 209. See also preparator; mounts (fossil/skeletal) Cenozoic Era, 115, 248 Chaney, Dan, 208 children, 58, 109, 135, 143, 148, 163, 167, 171, 221–22, 227 school, 42, 58, 74, 215, 221–22 “citizens for a changing planet,” 136, 169–70, 173, 177 class (visitor), 33, 45, 215. See also prestige classification, 19, 28, 34–35, 37, 39–40 climate (change), 5, 19, 85, 135, 137, 142–45, 147–49, 151–52, 159, 161, 167, 169–70, 248, 256 deniers, 143, 161, 169 Clough, G. Wayne, 238–39 Coddington, Jonathan (Jon), 75, 82, 89–90, 95–96, 128–29, 167, 252 collaboration as anthropological method, 10 (see also methods) and conflict (see friction) on exhibit artwork, 197, 204 as exhibit planning model, 6–7, 13–16, 19, 56–57, 69, 71–83, 86, 97–104, 113–30, 146, 180, 249, 252–54 in science, xx–xxi, 96 collections in exhibits (see display; mounts; specimens) collections work/management, 27–29, 31–34, 37, 49n28, 80–81, 90, 108, 209, 216, 220 spaces, 49–50n28, 50n33, 63–64, 112, 218, 225 Collections Managers, 64–65, 72, 78, 80–81, 91 committee. See committees by name (e.g. Exhibits Committee) communication changing techniques/tone, 7, 15, 18–19, 27, 43–46, 117, 192–94, 204–8, 216, 220, 222–24, 238 expert modes of, 55, 66, 73, 85–89, 92–94, 96–98, 100, 103, 128, 249, 252 public, 7, 16, 72, 92, 94, 117, 119, 190, 194, 220, 223, 238 of science, 5, 7, 17, 118, 123, 152, 249, 252 See also debates: detail/abstraction; Exhibit Writer; Deep Time: main messages; Deep Time: main themes; technology communities of practice, 252 exhibits/outreach, 226 research/scientific, 17, 218–219 See also by expertise (e.g. Exhibit Writer); and by department (e.g. Paleobiology)

Index comparative anatomy, 32, 37–38, 169 Comparative Osteology Hall, 35 complementarity, 1, 13–19, 46, 56, 101–103, 121–22, 136, 138, 141, 146–50, 153–58, 164–66, 172–79, 250, 252, 255 compromise. See complementarity concepts. See Deep Time: concept narrative; Deep Time: main themes Concept Committee, 120 conflict. See friction Congress. See United States Congress connections. See Deep Time: main messages The Conquest of Land, 115, 204 consensus, 15, 72, 92, 101, 138, 141, 143–44, 147–48, 151, 158, 161–62, 166, 172, 176, 250 scientific, 37, 156 See also complementarity consent forms, 11, 261–264 conservation, 3, 73, 79, 80, 81, 82, 84, 137, 142, 146, 199, 225. See also preparation; preparator construction (expertise), 79, 81–82, 84, 111, 118, 164 consultation (exhibit process), 75, 113, 117, 119, 123 content matrix, 140–141 context ecological, 136, 202–3 exhibit, 142, 196–97 See also debates: detail/abstraction; debates: real/interpretation; methods contractors, 11, 31, 33, 59–60, 66, 72–74, 76–78, 80–82, 84, 104n9, 107, 117–18, 122–23, 127–28, 130, 190, 224, 235. See also by name/firm (e.g. Reich + Petch) controversy, 4, 76, 232, 251 Cooper, G. Arthur (Gus), 112, 190, 218, 67 Cope, Edward Drinker, 30–31, 38 Core Team (general), 69, 71–75, 77–79, 81, 84, 91, 99–101, 120, 124 Deep Time, xvii–xviii, 5, 11–13, 15, 60, 85–86, 136–38, 176–77 Temporary Exhibit (Last American Dinosaurs), xvii–xviii, 12, 79–80, 84–86, 139 corporate (culture), 7 Cowan, Richard S., 227 Craig, Barbara, 110–11, 192, 196 creativity, 1–2, 14–15, 56–57, 72, 94, 97, 100, 102–103, 110, 121, 123–24, 127–28, 176, 180, 249, 254–55 Cretaceous Period, xx, 125, 151, 159, 197–98, 200, 247 Cultures. See by department (e.g. Office of Exhibits) curators and changing role, 7, 59, 99, 107, 110, 113–25, 128–29, 200–210, 215–16, 232, 237, 247, 249, 252 and conflicts with audience advocates, 1–2, 18, 88, 91, 93–94, 110, 113–114, 117, 120–21, 125–26, 201, 215

293 contemporary institutional role, 17, 64, 75, 79, 83, 96–97, 129, 219, 249–251 curatorial authority, 98, 123, 249 (see also debates: authority/participation) departmental culture (see Department of Paleobiology) and exhibit roles, 75–76, 79, 91, 96–98, 100–101, 138, 200–204, 206, 209–210 historical roles, 27–33, 46, 197 prestige, 66, 88–91, 94, 100–101, 250–51 professional training, 95–96 stereotypes, 18, 96, 250–51 See also debates; Department of Paleobiology; support staff; and by name (e.g. Wing, Scott) Darwin, Charles. See evolution Davis, Susan, 6 Deaton, Norman Neal, 111, 191, 197–98 debates (Deep Time content) authority/participation, 166–76 detail/abstraction, 150–58 real/interpretation, 142–50 reliability/innovation, 158–66 Deep Time 10% package, 137, 140–41, 154, 165, 175, 176–79 concept narrative, 75, 137, 176–77 exhibit themes, 84, 110, 136, 138, 140–41, 144–45, 149, 151–52, 154–55, 157–58, 165, 176–77, 180, 202–5 floorplan, 69, 78, 137, 141, 147, 154, 158, 173, 175, 176, 178, 180, 248 main messages, 144–45, 151, 154–57, 159, 166, 176–77, 180 main themes, 138, 140, 144, 154–155, 176, 177 metaphors, 85, 136, 154–55, 158, 167, 170, 173–75 origins of, 83–84 phases, 4, 11–12, 60–61, 71, 73–74, 75, 78–79, 118, 136–38, 140–41, 146, 167, 174, 179–80 ribbon, 148–49, 155, 158–59, 165, 203 timeline, 4, 79–80, 84, 137 See also Core Team; Extended/Advisory Team; Temporary Exhibit deinstallation. See installation (exhibit): deinstallation Delano, Frederic A., 28 democratization, 6, 8, 46, 143, 172, 190–91, 239, 251. See also accessibility; “increase and diffusion”; transparency Department of Geology, 31, 34, 43, 45, 49n24, 112, 190 Department of Paleobiology, xvii–xviii, 11–13, 24n47, 61, 67, 83–84, 114–20, 138, 153, 201–03, 259 chairmen, 68–69 departmental culture, 63–65, 75 growth of, 217, 224–225

294 name change from Paleontology, 111–12, 190–91 support staff in, 80–81 See also curators; research design, 13, 29, 34, 72, 86, 92, 99, 102, 122–24, 128, 138–39, 142, 200–2, 204–5, 208–9 10% package, 176–77 in-house design and production, 62, 71, 73, 78, 121, 123, 127–28, 189, 194, 204, 224, 231, 235 professionalization, 7, 109–10, 189–95 shift to contracts, 122, 127–28, 231, 233–35, 239 designers, xvii, 11, 59–60, 62–63, 69–71, 81–82, 96, 98, 103, 108, 110–11, 113, 115–16, 118, 120, 144, 198, 226, 230, 237, 252, 255 and exhibit roles, 73, 76–79, 98, 121, 237, 255 external hiring process, 84 and professional training, 95 See also contractors; debates; and by name (e.g. Karras, Ann) developer. See Exhibit Developer development (office), 83–84, 91, 229 didacticism, 1, 155, 231, 238 dinosaurs, xx, 5, 7–8, 18, 35, 38, 41–44, 57, 86, 88, 115, 122, 136, 142–52, 162, 172, 195–200, 204–6, 208, 247, 260 and pop culture (see popular culture: and dinosaurs) See also exhibit halls Dinosaurs and Other Fossil Reptiles, 111–12, 191 Dinosaurs: Reptiles—Masters of Land, 210 dioramas, xx, 8, 17, 43, 125, 146, 148–49, 152, 189, 191, 196–98, 200, 204 Diplodocus, 38–39, 46, 55n102, 145 Director’s hallway, 12, 61, 65–66 discovery (scientific), 29–30, 36, 41, 206 Disneyfication, 7, 23n27 display encyclopedic, 28, 42, 189 systematic/taxonomic, 35, 37, 40, 46, 189 See also cases diversity ecological, 5, 137, 170, 203, 205 and NMNH staff, 14, 66 the public, 224, 228 Division of Invertebrate Paleontology and Paleobotany, 112 Division of Mineralogy and Petrology, 112. See also Mineral Sciences Division of Public Programs, 229 Division of Stratigraphic Paleontology, 31 Division of Vertebrate Paleontology, 31–32, 34, 112, 131n20 documents, 12, 23n38, 69, 71–73, 75, 76, 79–80, 83, 88–89, 96–97, 110, 119, 120, 123–24, 137, 139–40, 175–80, 202–3, 230 email, 12, 139, 236

Index Dolovich, Pauline, 70, 77, 78, 172 donors, 72, 83, 180, 223, 231, 234–35, 258 See also Koch, David H. Duggal, Elizabeth, 8, 75, 82, 125, 128–29, 233, 237–38 dumbing-down, 18, 89, 120, 152, 159, 252 Earth, xx, 3, 5, 15, 17, 45, 47n12, 69, 85, 115, 135–38, 140–41, 144–45, 149–50, 154, 156, 166, 168–69, 173–74, 177, 180, 203, 248, 254. See also climate East Wing, 63, 112, 224 ecology, 85–86, 136, 138, 141–142, 144, 146, 155, 191, 202–03 ecosystems, xx, 5, 43, 85, 112, 135, 138, 140–42, 144, 145, 147–48, 150–52, 155–56, 167, 173, 188, 196–98, 201–3, 206, 248, 251 editor (exhibits), 110, 116–17, 120–21, 226. See also Exhibit Writer; and by name (e.g. Reeder, Angela Roberts) Edmontosaurus, 35 education department (see Office of Education and Outreach) theory, 7, 118, 167, 221, 228 See also children: school; Education Specialist; learning Education Specialist, 70, 73–74, 86, 91, 93, 95, 156 and exhibit role, 73–74 and professional training, 95, 126–27 edutainment, 7, 23n28 elephant (Fénykövi), 57, 197. See also rotunda elitism, 89, 123, 171, 238, 251 email. See documents: email Emry, Robert J. (Bob), 113, 115, 201, 202 engagement, 1, 9–10, 17, 74, 89, 129, 162, 164, 177, 211, 233, 238, 249. See also debates: authority/participation entertainment, 1, 162, 171, 206 environment (Earth), 40–41, 43, 101, 122, 138, 144, 147–49, 151, 155, 177, 197–201, 203–05, 227, 251 institutional/work, 19, 93, 124, 126, 176, 233, 235, 250 political, 4, 8, 255 epistemology, 7–8, 94, 254–55 ethnography. See anthropology; methods evaluation. See audience research evidence, 4, 135, 143, 150–51, 153, 190, 206, 251 evolution (in exhibits), 5, 37–38, 45, 116, 135, 138, 140–42, 144–45, 153, 167, 169–70, 173, 177, 199, 202–3, 210 and science of paleontology, 37, 52n61, 190 excavation, 17, 30, 33, 53n70, 65. See also preparation; preparator exchange institutional, 237 scholarly, 27, 29–30

Index specimen, 48n14, 80 between staff, 60, 103, 236 Exhibit Developer, xxii, 58, 62, 70–72, 28, 86 and conflict with curators, 94, 98–99, 206, 254–55 development of role, 123–24, 127 and professional training, 95, 176 and role, 71–72, 78, 81, 84, 91–92, 99–100, 139, 176 exhibit halls Age of Quaternary Vertebrates, 112–13, 200–202 Comparative Osteology Hall, 35 The Conquest of Land, 115, 204 David H. Koch Hall of Human Origins, 75, 84, 138, 160–61 Dinosaurs and Other Fossil Reptiles, 111–12, 191 Dinosaurs: Reptiles—Masters of Land, 210 The Flowering Plant Revolution, 204 Fossil Fishes & Amphibians, 111, 194, 200 Fossil Plants & Invertebrates, 111 Hall of Extinct Monsters, 39 Janet Annenberg Hooker Hall of Geology, Gems, and Minerals, 122, 234 Kenneth E. Behring Family Hall of Mammals, 84, 92, 255 Life in the Ancient Seas, 91, 122, 189, 204–5, 235 Mammals in the Limelight, 205 Prehistoric Mammals, 111 Sant Ocean Hall, 58, 71, 75, 164 Exhibit Writer, xxii, 12, 61–62, 67, 84, 98, 103 and conflict with curators, 88–89, 93–94, 96–97, 168 development of role, 95, 116–17, 120–21, 124, 126–27, 205, 235–36 and professional training, 95, 97, 176 and role, 70–71, 73, 75, 86, 99, 137, 139, 167, 175 Exhibits. See Office of Exhibits Exhibits Committee, 113–16, 119–20, 226, 240n24 Exhibits Modernization, 16, 46, 104, 109, 180, 189, 192, 195–96, 198, 215–16, 221–22, 226 expertise. See by role (e.g. curator); and by title (e.g. Exhibit Writer) expositions. See world’s fairs/expositions Extended/Advisory Team, 12, 69, 72, 75, 84, 101, 139 extinction, xx, 43, 138, 140–41, 153, 170, 206 evaluation. See audience research fabrication, 63, 78–79, 84, 111, 121, 230, 234 facts, 4, 8, 19, 32, 88–89, 91, 125, 151, 169, 172, 216, 254, 258. See also debates: detail/abstraction Falk, John Howard, 167 the field (paleontology), xviii–xxi, 12–13, 32, 34, 41, 45, 64–65, 80, 160

295 author’s (see methods) replicating for visitors, 160, 166, 168 Field Museum of Natural History, 2, 192 fieldnotes. See methods Fiske, Richard S. (Dick), 112 Fitzhugh, William W. (Bill), 113–14, 201 floorplan. See Deep Time: floorplan The Flowering Plant Revolution, 204 Fossil Fishes & Amphibians, 111, 194, 200 Fossil Plants & Invertebrates, 111 FossiLab, xviii, 9, 60, 80–81, 87, 156, 164, 166–68, 175, 177, 208–9, 236 fossilization, 37, 145, 153, 156 fossils. See assemblage; dinosaurs; preparation; specimens friction, 1, 13–19, 25n52, 46, 56, 97–104, 114, 119, 121–22, 136, 142–46, 150–53, 158–64, 166–72, 176, 215, 250, 253–55. See also debates funding. See appropriations; budget; development; Koch, David H. Gable, Eric, 6 Gazin, C. Lewis, 111, 197–98 gender, 66 geologic time, 69, 79, 140, 144, 151, 157–58, 160, 192, 199–200, 205. See also specific (e.g. Jurassic Period) geology, xxi, 5, 41, 137 gift shop, 58, 232, 251 Gilmore, Charles W., 31–33, 37–39, 41–42, 44, 30nn30–31, 108 Goffman, Erving, 56, 87 Goode, George Brown, 27 Gurche, John, 204–5, 207 Hadrosaurus, 35, 88 “highlights” (halls of ), 116, 202–3, 205 Hall of Extinct Monsters, 39 Hall of Geology, Gems, and Minerals (Janet Annenberg Hooker), 122, 234 Hall of Human Origins (David H. Koch), 75, 84, 138, 160–61 Hall of Mammals (Kenneth E. Behring Family), 84, 92, 255 Handler, Richard, 6 hands-on. See participation: hands-on/ interactivity Harrison, Jessica, 118 Hart, Harry T., 113–14 Hell Creek Formation, xvii–xviii Henry, Joseph, 28, 30, 48n15 Henson, Pamela M., 23n37, 25n47 Heyman, I. Michael, 231–32 Hickey, Leo J., 113–15, 120, 201 Hoffman, Robert S., 232 Holmes, Douglas R., 56, 85 Hotton, Nicholas III (Nick), 111, 113, 115, 197–99 Huber, Brian T., 25–25n47, 61, 75, 84 hubs. See Temporal Positioning Systems

296 Hueber, Francis M. (Fran), 119 humans, 5, 38, 137, 140–41, 145, 147–49, 166–67, 169–70, 173–75, 177, 205, 208, 248, 251 impact on environment, 25, 147, 151, 161, 167, 170, 175, 177 See also Anthropocene; Deep Time: main themes hybrid. See technology: hybrid/steampunk; debates Ice Age, 57, 112–13, 147, 167, 180, 200–1, 228, 248. See also Age of Quaternary Vertebrates; Cenozoic Era Iguanodon, 29 illustration. See artwork; design imagination informed imagination, 102, 150–54 public, 7, 13, 135 (see also popular culture) of the public (see audience) immersive display. See technology: immersive impact (of exhibits), 4, 5, 17, 19, 113, 167, 228, 250. See also humans: impact on environment “increase and diffusion,” 1, 18, 27–28, 46, 214, 216–39 information technology, 65, 161, 236–37, 239 informed imagination. See imagination Ingold, Tim, 254 in-house exhibits. See design: in-house design and production innovation. See creativity; debates: reliability/ innovation installation (exhibit), 33, 39, 111, 208, 251 deinstallation, 81, 146 interactivity. See participation: hands-on/ interactivity interdisciplinarity, xxi, 23, 13, 15–16, 56, 102–3, 108, 113–21, 179, 191, 200–202, 224, 255 interpretation. See debates: real/interpretation; Deep Time; Exhibit Writer; labels; Office of Exhibits interrelationships, 135, 144, 197, 203 interstitial spaces, 56, 88, 252 invertebrate paleontology displays, 37, 39, 111, 115, 151, 206 (See also hall: Hall of Fossil Plants & Invertebrates) early department, 31, 112 subdiscipline/expertise, 81, 111–12, 117 jargon/expert language, 18, 24n46, 67, 72, 87–88, 97–99, 102, 108 Johnson, Kirk, xvii–xviii, 2, 82, 101, 250, 258 Jurassic Period, 43, 122, 145, 151, 197, 200, 248 Karras, Ann, 110–11, 131n20, 192, 196–98, 200–201 Kauffman, Erle G., 220, 225 Kellogg, A. Remington, 27, 217, 220

Index Kier, Porter M., 113–14, 117, 201, 217, 219, 225–27, 239 knowledge expert, 14, 18–19, 71–83, 87–104, 252, 255 indigenous, 7 production, 4, 8, 85, 237, 253–54 scientific, 3, 135, 150, 152, 155, 160, 211 See also “increase and diffusion” Koch, David H., 84, 91, 238 Kolb, Pherabe, 238 K/Pg boundary, xviii, xx, 157 Kremer, Randall, 83 Kuhn, Thomas S., 8, 248, 253 Kurin, Richard, 251 Labandeira, Conrad, 83 labels, 17, 31–32, 34, 36–37, 40–41, 50n31, 71, 97, 151, 165, 179, 180, 202, 211 and disciplinary conflict, 110, 113–14, 92–94, 96–97, 126, 129, 159, 167–68 historical shift, 13, 45, 110, 122, 192–95, 202, 205, 252 and message hierarchy, 73–74, 109, 179–80, 192, 211 writing process, 32, 73, 96, 109–10, 117, 205 See also editor; Exhibit Writer; script Lakota, Robert, 118, 227–28 language. See accessibility; jargon/expert language; labels Last American Dinosaurs. See Temporary Exhibit Latour, Bruno, 254 Lawless, Benjamin, 109, 113, 252–53 Lawrence, Michael (Mike), xvii, 70, 95, 154, 162, 164, 172–73, 237 layout. See Deep Time: floorplan learning constructivist, 7, 169, 237 distance, 168, 237–239 and exhibit role (see Education Specialist) free-choice, 228 informal, 7, 109, 129, 167 institutional/professional, 97 See also education; Education Specialist; Office of Education and Outreach Lee, Fang-Pin, 70, 77–78, 98, 102, 138, 141, 146–47, 149, 154–55, 157–58, 160, 165, 171–73, 250 Lewis, Richard, 70, 99, 150–51, 158–63, 165 Life in the Ancient Seas. See exhibit halls: Life in the Ancient Seas logbook, 85, 136, 167, 170 Lomax, Lucious (Lou), 113, 198 Love, Sally, xvii, 92, 94, 121, 124, 126–27, 206, 255 Macdonald, Sharon, 6, 249 Macintyre, Ian G., 114–17, 119–20, 202 Madden, Joan C., 114 mammals (on display), 142, 199, 200–201, 205, 221, 248, 255. See also exhibit halls Mammals in the Limelight, 205

Index Mantell, Gideon, 29 Marcus, George E., 20n7, 85 Marsh, Othniel Charles, 30–32, 37–38. See also bone wars Mason, Michael, 9–10, 13, 27, 61, 84, 152, 162, 164, 166–67, 175 Matternes, Jay H., 111, 197–98, 200 Mauss, Marcel, 236 media. See Richard Lewis Media Group; technology meeting rooms 71A, 63, 67, 69–70 Cooper Room, 67–69, 160 meetings, 9–10, 12, 14, 16, 25n52, 60–64, 66, 69–71, 85–104 Mello, James F., 114 Merrill, George P., 31–32, 37, 41, 49n24, 50n32 Mesozoic Era, 248 messages. See Deep Time: main messages metaphors. See Deep Time: metaphors methods analysis, 17, 23–24n38, 24n43, 25n48, 87 archival research, 8–10, 13, 17–18, 24nn38– 39, 56, 88, 96, 118, 208, 249 interviews (current/team), 9, 11–13, 16–17, 24n43, 24n46, 25n48, 56, 66, 88, 95–96, 100, 103, 121, 164, 217, 249 oral history, 8–10, 12–13, 17–18, 23n37, 25–26nn47–48 participant observation, 6, 10, 13, 24n40, 24n43–44, 85–86, 249 use of ethnography, 4–8, 10, 16, 18–19, 46, 56, 60, 103 microfossils, xviii, xix, 13, 142, 208 Miles, Elizabeth (Beth), 116, 204 Mineral Sciences Department of, 113–15, 190, 224 Division of Mineralogy and Petrology, 112 split with Paleobiology, 112 mission (NMNH), 27–28, 209 Smithsonian. See “increase and diffusion” Mitchell, W. J. T., 5 Modernization. See Exhibits Modernization modularity, 159–61, 250 Moeller, Kimberly (Kim), xvii, 103, 176, 233–34, 255 mold-making, 80 Molinaroli, Richard, 116, 119, 204 morphology, 37 See also learning mounts (fossil/skeletal), 3, 5, 32, 35–40, 46, 49n21, 50nn30–31, 55n102, 65, 80, 82, 123, 131n20, 135, 196–98, 202, 204, 208–9. See also armature; assemblage; preparation; preparator; specimens murals, 116, 122, 144, 148, 155, 163, 190, 197–200, 203, 205–6 Museum Director, xvii, 2, 27, 76, 82–83, 101, 110, 112–14, 116, 120, 128, 137, 201, 217–20, 225–26, 233, 239, 250 Musteen, Elizabeth, 83, 92

297 Nader, Laura, 5 narrative Deep Time (see debates; Deep Time: concept narrative; Deep Time: main messages) shift to use, 45, 189–90, 205–6, 210, 228 See also communication National Mall, 13, 31, 57, 163, 172, 258 national museum. See United States National Museum Nation’s T. rex, 17, 258–60 negotiation. See complementarity; friction niche ecological, 86, 141 professional, 90, 108, 161, 224 Noble, Brian, 7 objectivity, xiv, 4, 89, 169, 254 objects. See display; mounts; specimens Ocean Hall (Sant), 58, 71, 75, 164 Office of Education and Outreach, 15, 83–84 development/growth of, 114, 123, 126–27, 219–230, 233, 235 and exhibit roles (see Education Specialist) and prestige/power, 89, 91, 94–95, 124–25 relationship to Office of Exhibits, 15, 67, 93 Office of Exhibits and departmental culture, 61–64 development/growth of, 109–11, 116–21 and exhibit roles (see by role [e.g. Exhibit Developer]) perceptions/stereotypes, 88–97 and prestige/power, 71, 91, 94 staff structure, 62, 78 Office of Exhibits Central, 95, 224–25, 235 O’Hanlon, Michael, 252 oral history. See methods O’Reilly, Lawrence P. (Larry), 118, 176, 208, 226, 229 organization major shifts, 37, 108, 223–25, 233, 251 structure of Smithsonian, 12, 46, 67, 108, 123, 129, 231 See also Smithsonian Institution; and by specific department (e.g. Office of Exhibits) Ostrander, Mark, 70, 77, 155, 159 outreach, 15, 19, 27, 34, 44, 80, 83, 90–91, 94, 138, 175, 209, 219, 231, 249, 251 and change through time, 16–17, 45, 108, 117, 122, 130, 211, 215–16, 218, 220, 223, 225, 228–29, 231, 233 and growth of expertise, 16, 71–74, 90, 94, 96, 126, 130, 251 tension with research, 1, 5, 8, 15–18, 46, 94, 125, 129, 249 See also audience advocates; “increase and diffusion”; Office of Education and Outreach; technology Owen, Richard, 29–30 Paleobiology (department). See Department of Paleobiology

298 paleobotany early hall of, 37 See also Division of Invertebrate Paleontology and Paleobotany; plants Paleozoic Era, 248 paraethnography, 56, 85 participation hands-on/interactivity, 158, 160, 163–65, 168–69, 171, 173 and meeting content debates (see debates: authority/participation) as model, 7, 167, 169, 172, 175, 190, 237, 239 user-generated, 237, 249 See also engagement; learning pathways, 45, 189–90, 192, 194, 210 Peabody Museum of Natural History, Yale University, 144, 198 pedagogy. See education; learning; Office of Education and Outreach Pekarik, Andrew J., 167 Permian Period, 200 Permian-Triassic Extinction, 157 Petri, Stephen, 70, 77, 150, 156, 172 phylogeny, 2 Pinsdorf, Michelle, 80 plants (fossil), xix–xx, 13, 81, 151, 159 and exhibit techniques, 37–40, 159, 196–97, 204 flowering, 115, 204 and illustrating ecosystems, 125, 144, 151 and insect damage, 152, 159 See also paleobotany politics contemporary U.S., 13, 19, 251, 253–56 institutional, 2, 4, 56, 86–94, 99–101, 126, 248, 251, 254 popular culture and dinosaurs, 5, 30, 43–44, 53n69, 135, 205–6 and exhibit titles, 205 porkchops, 102, 147–48, 155–56, 160, 165 as group language, 102, 147 positionality, xxii, 12, 61 Post, Robert C. (Bob), 110, 253 Prehistoric Mammals, 111 preparation, 50n31, 80, 113, 131n20, 137, 146, 156, 208, 215 preparator, 29, 31–33, 38, 41, 50, 75, 79–81, 86, 111, 1346, 208–9 role of, 41, 79–80 prestige and staff hierarchy, 60, 65, 124 See also by specific role or office (e.g. Office of Exhibits: and prestige/power) Professional Accomplishments Evaluation Committee (PAEC), 90, 219 professionalization (museum), 14–16, 18, 46, 95, 108–9, 117, 122, 124, 126, 167, 189. See also specific (e.g. Office of Exhibits: development/growth of )

Index project management, 13, 71–72, 77, 84, 122 Project Manager, 70–73, 78, 81, 84, 92, 99, 118, 124, 127, 139 development of role, 118, 124, 127 professional training, 95 and role (see Exhibit Developer: and role) See also Exhibit Developer; Office of Exhibits public. See audience race, 33, 66, 227–28 Rader, Karen, 8 radio, 41–43, 205, 221 National Public Radio (as comprehension level), 93 Ravenel, William de Chastignier, 51n41 Ray, Clayton, 113 Reagan-Thatcher (economic policies), 249–50 real. See authenticity Reeder, Angela Roberts, 67, 70–71, 73–74, 79, 84, 89, 92–93, 95, 98–100, 103, 127, 137, 155, 172, 175, 181, 236 Reich + Petch, 11, 70–71, 73, 77–78, 82, 84, 137, 141, 147, 149, 178–79 research and change through time, xx–xxi, 26, 112, 119, 129, 216–219, 224–25, 231–32, 238–39 culture, 1, 8, 28, 32, 34, 64–67, 88, 90–91, 95–96, 251 tension with outreach, 1, 5, 8, 15–18, 46, 94, 125 See also curators; “increase and diffusion” research assistants, 64–65, 108, 117, 224–25 Research Casting International, 80, 146 Richard Lewis Media Group, 70, 77, 84, 137, 157, 160, 165 Ripley, S. Dillon, 112, 118, 218–19, 223–25, 239, 241n40 risk (and institutional culture), 124, 158, 164, 250–51 rotunda, 3, 57–58, 131n20, 194, 258–59 safety (museum), 58, 73, 79, 118, 164 Samper, Cristián, 83, 128 scanning (3D/digital), 209–11 schedule. See Deep Time: timeline school programs. See education science wars, 254 scientists. See curators script (exhibit), 73, 75, 86, 88, 96, 111, 119, 137 second Jurassic dinosaur rush, 38, 53n69 Secretary, 1, 28, 30, 60, 76, 83, 109, 216, 218, 225, 231–32, 238–39 security, 57–59, 66, 118 Selim, Lorena (Rena), 121, 126, 128, 235 Senate of Scientists, 217, 219–20 Sepkoski, David, 37, 190, 203 Seriously Amazing, 238 Shannon, Jennifer, 6, 56, 85 showy specimens. See specimens: iconic/ charismatic/showy

Index Simon, Nina, 7 skeletons, 35–38, 111, 145, 148, 169, 196–99, 206, 259. See also assemblage; mounts Small, Lawrence (Larry), 83, 232 Smithson, James, 1, 27, 218, 223 Smithsonian Business Ventures, 231 Smithsonian Castle, 35, 65 Smithsonian Institution Archives. See archives specimens, 7, 12, 31–43, 45, 65, 72, 75, 78–82, 108, 111–13, 122, 137, 139, 142–50, 153, 165, 179, 196, 198–99, 201, 204, 215, 227 iconic/charismatic/showy, 36, 38–39, 43–44, 108, 143–45, 149 and value, 40–41 See also assemblage; display; mounts spectacle, 1, 7, 30 Sputnik 1, 111, 217, 223 Stanley, George, 116–117 A Star is Hatched, 206, 208 Starrs, Siobhan, xvii, 58, 69–70 status. See prestige Stegosaurus, 38, 41–42, 145 Stewart, T. Dale, 112 storyline. See narrative Sues, Hans-Dieter, xviii, 88–89, 129, 143, 153, 161, 237, 252 Sullivan, Robert, 123–27, 129, 206, 229, 233–35 support staff, 46, 64–65, 88, 218, 225 systematics. See display: systematic/taxonomic Talbot, Frank, 233–34 Taylor, Frank A., 109–10, 218 taphonomy, 112, 153, 202 taxidermy, 117, 196–97, 226 taxonomy. See display: systematic/taxonomic teams. See specific (e.g. Core Team) technology (exhibit), 154, 158, 160, 162, 165, 189 animatronic, 172 digital, 210, 237 digitization, 237 and experimentation, 17, 171, 173 hybrid/steampunk, 149, 165 immersive, 165 smartphone, 158 stereomotorgraphs, 41 stereoscope, 85, 154, 165 theatrical approaches, 110, 155, 173, 175 tone of (see debates: reliability/innovation) virtual/augmented reality, 162, 166, 168, 190 web, 79, 168, 236–39 See also debates: reliability/innovation Telfer, Abby, xviii, 60, 87, 164, 209, 235–36 Temporal Positioning Systems, 85, 156–57, 165 Temporary Exhibit (Last American Dinosaurs), 87–88, 179, 260 core team/exhibit team, xvii–xviii, 12, 75, 80, 86, 139

299 text (exhibit), 2, 32, 73, 88, 96, 108–10, 117, 126, 142, 144, 163, 165–66, 168, 189, 192, 194, 206, 230, 255 hierarchies, 74, 179–80 See also Exhibit Writer; narrative; script themes. See Deep Time: Concept Narrative; Deep Time: main themes timeline. See Deep Time: timeline; geologic time Towe, Kenneth M. (Ken), 115, 119 Trachodon annectens, 35 translation. See communication: expert modes of transparency, 3, 18, 125 Triassic Period, 151, 157, 197, 200, 208 Triceratops, 36, 52n56, 200, 209 True, Webster P., 29 trust, 59, 93, 164, 166 institutional, 4, 11, 57–58, 171, 251, 255 truth, 1, 14, 89, 151, 169–70, 252–54 and objectivity, 4, 89, 169, 254 Tsing, Anna L., 1, 14, 253 typology, 190 university culture, 61, 119, 216–18, 223, 231 United States Congress, 30–31, 46, 109, 112, 220, 222 Congressional monies (see appropriations) United States National Museum (USNM), 28–31, 35, 37, 40–41, 48n15, 49n21, 109–10, 217–18, 220, 222–23 restructuring, 223 value. See specimens: and value vertebrate paleontology. See Department of Paleobiology; Division of Vertebrate Paleontology visitors. See audience visitor studies. See audience research volunteers, 45, 59, 66, 80, 156, 160, 222, 227, 237, 259 Voss (Willis), Sue, 116–17, 119, 205–06 Waller, Thomas R., 115 websites. See technology: web Weiner, Joseph George, 110 Werb, Shari, 19, 75, 84, 92–94, 129 Wing, Scott, xviii, 8, 61, 64, 69–70, 83, 98, 100, 121, 125, 142, 145, 148, 151, 153, 155, 162–63, 165, 167, 169–75, 233–34 Wolff Olins, 238 Wong, Chun-Hsi, 164 world’s fairs/expositions, 30, 35, 41, 43–44, 48n14, 49n21, 52n56, 109, 208, 215 World War I, 33, 46, 52n41, 215 World War II, 16, 29, 33–34, 41, 44, 46, 109, 190, 211, 216, 250 Writer. See Exhibit Writer Writer/Editor. See editor Yankelovich, Skelly, and White, Inc., 228 Zallinger, Rudolf, 144, 148, 198