Historical Men of Movember: Frank Oliver

While the concept of growing moustaches in November (or Movember) to raise awareness for prostate cancer is a recent phenomenon, moustaches themselves have a long history.  Throughout November, I will be featuring a variety of historically awesome moustaches. If you would like to donate to the Movember cause, please consider donating to Adrian Petry who is participating in honour of his great-grandfather who passed away from prostate cancer.

In honour of my new position as junior researcher at the Canadian Museum of Immigration at Pier 21, I thought it would be fitting to present Frank Oliver as the first candidate for this year's historical moustache tour. Between 1905 and 1911, Mr. Oliver was the Minister of the Interior, which at that time made him responsible for the regulation of immigration. He accomplished many significant things during his time as a politician, including the growth of a magnificent moustache.

 Although the hair grows gray...

...the moustache stays the same

Frank Oliver started his career as journalist, training in Toronto and Winnipeg before settling in Edmonton in 1880.   Once there, Oliver founded the Edmonton Bulletin, which became the first newspaper in what would later become Alberta. Apparently running the newspaper didn't keep Oliver busy enough so he decided to try his hand at politics, first as a member of the Legislative Assembly of the Northwest Territories and then as a Liberal Member of Parliament.  In 1905, Oliver became the Minister of the Interior under Prime Minister Wilfrid Laurier, overseeing significant changes to Canada's immigration policy.

Shortly after assuming his new position, Oliver laid out plans to make immigration policy more restrictive.  Unlike his predecessor Clifford Sifton (who had a respectable moustache himself), Oliver did not favour the unregulated flow of immigrants into the country for the sake of filling the prairies with farmers. This open-door policy led to the immigration of many Eastern Europeans and there was public concern they would not assimilate to Canada's Anglo-Saxon norms.  Oliver was a staunch supporter of the British and made it known that the most desirable immigrants were of British and American origin. The Immigration Acts of 1906 and 1910 drafted under Oliver reflected this hierarchical preference for certain immigrants as they greatly expanded the prohibited classes of immigrants.

As biased as I am toward immigration history, Oliver did not devote all his time as minister to crafting immigration policy.  Or to growing his moustache.  When hot springs were discovered in a little place called Banff, Alberta, Oliver led the effort to have the area set aside for the people of Canada, leading to the creation of Canada's first national park.  He also played an important part in influencing the powers that be to make Edmonton the capital of the new province of Alberta rather than Calgary.   Perhaps it is our friend with the fine follicles that is responsible for initiating the friendly feud between these two fair Alberta cities.

Check back soon for more delightfully moustached men. 

Risk according to Frank Zappa

There is a magnet on my fridge that says "Without deviation from the norm, progress is not possible." Good ol' Frank Zappa. I wish I could say I bought that magnet to reflect my personal philosophy in life, but really, it just happened to be left behind when I moved into my first house. Deviating from the norm often requires risk and when risk is involved, I tend to run in the opposite direction.

When the discussion in our Digital History class turned to taking risks in grad school, I stopped to consider whether or not being in the Public History program involved any risk.  My initial thought was no. It is relatively safe to go into a program that focuses on giving you knowledge and hands on experience for multiple career paths. The collaborative nature of the program also means that our entire group will be accountable for any risk or experimentation that is a part of our final project. Students in the traditional history graduate programs do not have the same opportunity to share the burden or success of their risks, nor do their programs encourage diverse outcomes in terms of post-graduate opportunities. So while the public history program deviates from traditional historical scholarship, I would argue that it is initially a less risky path to take.

This is not to say that being a public historian does not provide the occasion for risk.  After we graduate, many of us within the public history program hope to move onto careers within the heritage sector.  The opportunities awaiting us are unknown, but within them is our chance to take a risk.  Whether we are creating programs, developing interpretive plans or curating exhibits, we will be faced with the choice between sticking with what is familiar or pushing the boundary of what has previously been achieved.   The risk we avoid in graduate school awaits us in our careers and we must be prepared to undertake the less traveled path in order to progress.  That of course is easier said than done.  Risk is not the natural course of action for many of us, nor is it always supported by institutions or colleagues.  I guess otherwise it wouldn't be called a risk.

The class discussion forced me to question my own ability to pursue risk and innovation in my work.  Right now, I have to admit that I have a tendency toward what is safe, fearing the potential of failure and the uncertainty of what lies beyond the broadened horizon.  For that reason, I have a feeling Mr. Zappa's words will hang on my fridge for a long time, serving as a reminder of the possibilities of progress when I am tempted to run toward the status quo.

Who Says Field Trips are for Kids?

Fridays were made for field trips.  Graduate school generally requires more field work rather than field trips, but then again, public history isn't your regular graduate program.  Our public history group has been tasked with developing an i-phone app tracing the retreat of General Proctor and Tecumseh up the Thames River during the war of 1812, coinciding with the bicentennial of the war next year. As an introduction to this project, we spent the day visiting important sites along the Tecumseh Parkway - all the way from Amherstburg to Thamesville.

A few highlights:

 Fort Malden National Historical Site of Canada

St.John's Church at corner of Brock St. and Sandwich St. in Sandwich, ON

Duff-Baby House in Sandwich, ON

St.Peter's Church - Tilbury, ON

As a foreigner (from Alberta), my knowledge of the war of 1812 and this region is...well...severely lacking. My synopsis of the war before embarking on this project would have gone something like this:

The British and First Nations fought the Americans. 

Laura Secord told warned someone the Americans were going to attack.

The White House was burned.

I think the British won. Go Canada!

Embarrassing, I know.  While today was really just a whirlwind tour short on detailed explanations, I was still able to come away with a tangible sense of the scope and geography of the British retreat and feel more equipped to tackle this project.  

Physically tracing the route the soldiers took all those years ago also highlighted the important benefits of relating history to physical space.  A text can inform me of the events of the war of 1812, but taking that knowledge into a perceptible environment makes history palpable in a way that cannot be achieved through mere study. The experience of stepping into a house where Tecumseh ate dinner, standing in a field where soldiers camped and walking onto a former battlefield can never be understood without engaging with the physical space.  Historical understanding is significantly enhanced through spatial relations.  This may seem like an obvious concept, but it is one I did not reflect upon until I followed the route of the 1812 retreat for myself and connected with the history at an organic level.

It is with this in mind that I am going to approach the creation of the i-phone app.  If we can use the technology to allow its users to imagine the past through an immersion in their environment, I think we will have been successful.

 

The Art of Interpretation

Today I had the immense pleasure of visiting Banting House National Historic Site with my Public History class.  My knowledge of Sir Frederick Banting was quite limited before going to the museum - besides of course the whole inventing insulin thing.  Banting proved himself to be a fascinating character on multiple levels - I mean who tries to turn down the Nobel Prize and a knighthood and decides to experiment with mustard gas on himself?

                                                                        The esteemed Sir Frederick Banting

While on the tour however, I was struck most not by the content of the museum, but the artful interpretation that made that information so easy to absorb and dissect.  The curator of the museum, Grant Maltman, did an exceptional job relaying the story of Dr. Banting as well as his own passion for his work.  As someone who has never worked as an interpreter, his tour really emphasized the necessity of storytelling in making history readily accessible to the public.  It's not that information cannot be obtained from text panels, photographs and multimedia - many museum visitors expect to glean their knowledge from those sources.  Successfully communicating with the museum audience through those forms requires great skill- but it is the interpreter that has the potential to bring history off the page and engage the public in a way that an inert medium can never do. The human interaction  makes the history more tangible and relatable.  Successfully learning the art of interpretation - and yes I do believe it is an art - is not only an asset, but a necessary aspect of being an effective public historian. 

Grant Maltman inspired me today.  His passion for history and his skillful crafting of Frederick Banting's narrative not only showed me what it takes to be an effective public historian, but also reaffirmed my love for this discipline.

"We cannot think without language, we cannot process experience without story." 

Christina Baldwin