The Journal of New York Folklore · The New York Folklore Society’s annual meeting will be held...

OccupationalFolkloreat theRacetrack

Exhibit: BlackHomesteadersin theAdirondacks

Upstate’sDance MusicTraditions

B.A. Botkin’sCity

Spring–Summer 2003Volume 29: 1–2

The Journal ofNew York Folklore

From the DirectorThis spring saw thecompletion of twoprojects that havebeen in developmentfor several years.

First, our series ofradio documentarieson folklore and folk-

life topics finally saw its completion and wasreleased to be aired by public radio and in-dependent radio stations throughout NewYork and elsewhere. The series compriseseleven radio documentaries highlighting folkarts within New York State. The documen-taries describe the work of specific individ-uals as well as the vibrant and diverse tradi-tions within New York State. Several indi-viduals lent their expertise to this majorproject, including radio producers GingerMiles, Joyce Kryszak, Robert Brown; LamarBliss was executive producer. Dale Johnsonserved as project director and collaboratedwith folklorists Mary Zwolinski, BeverlyButcher, Karen Canning, Jim Kimball, JamieMoreira, Varick Chittenden, and NancySolomon, as well as myself. Acknowledg-ment is also due to Rebecca Miller, whooriginally conceived this project, albeit in adifferent form.

Acting on the suggestion of Lamar Bliss,we expanded the project further. We re-ceived assistance from the National Endow-ment for the Arts to develop a curriculumguide to accompany the completed radiodocumentaries and serve as a resource guidefor schools, especially for fourth-grade lan-guage arts. The curriculum guide will receivewidespread distribution within the schooldistricts of New York State. Kathy Condonhas served as chief consultant for thisproject and was assisted by folklorists ChrisMuia and Dale Johnson. Teacher-consult-ants for the project included Linda Kelly

Armour, Mark Van Sluyters, Jeni Friedland,and Jackie Hobbs. Also assisting in the de-velopment and distribution of the curricu-lum guide was Tracy Racicot of BOCES/Questar II.

Please see NYFS News, page 2 of thisissue, for details on the eleven documenta-ries, and contact the New York FolkloreSociety for further information.

The second project has a basis in an on-going concern of the New York FolkloreSociety. Since 1991, NYFS has been an ad-vocate and champion for the safety andpreservation of folklore archives through-out the state. This “archives project” beganin 1991 as a survey and needs assessmentof folklore collections. At that time, severalcollections were identified as being of par-ticular concern. Archivists were sent to sur-vey these collections and to make recom-mendations for their storage and long-termcare. One of these collections was the col-lection of the New York State Fiddlers’ Hallof Fame in Osceola, New York. Since 1976,fiddlers had been recorded and interviewedthrough the vision and efforts of the lateAlice Clemens. Herself a fiddler and a long-time champion for the preservation of old-time fiddling in New York State, Clemenshad initiated a documentation project withsupport from the New York State Councilon the Arts. Consulting folklorist NancyGroce had worked with the Hall of Fameto develop a project to interview Hall ofFamers. More than one hundred and fiftytapes were recorded, creating an importantaudio collection showcasing New York’sold-time fiddling styles.

In 2000, the New York Folklore Societyreceived support from the New York Foun-dation for the Arts to begin to explore theissue of the audio digitization of folklorematerials. Responding to a Library of Con-

gress study, Collections in Crisis, and workingwith archival and digitization specialists,NYFS decided to develop a digitizationproject to help in the preservation and ac-cessibility of audio folklore collections with-in the state. The collection of the Fiddlers’Hall of Fame became a test case. Supportwas received from the New York StateCouncil on the Arts and the National En-dowment for the Arts to accomplish thiswork. This spring, with the assistance ofaudio technician Jameson Bruhn, the Hallof Fame tapes were digitally copied ontoaudio compact disk. In addition, an archivecopy of each taped interview and recordedfiddler was made on reel-to-reel analog tape.

The New York Folklore Society wouldlike to make this technology available toother collections within the state. If youhave a collection, or individual tapes, whichyou would like to have rerecorded onto dig-ital CD, please contact us.

Fall ConferenceThe New York Folklore Society’s annual

meeting will be held October 24–26 in Sack-et’s Harbor, New York, on the shores ofLake Ontario. This year’s conference will bea collaboration with Traditional Arts ofUpstate New York, and the theme will be“Common Places, Uncommon Stories: Is-sues and Examples of Cultural Landmark-ing and Cultural Conservation in UpstateNew York Communities.” As with all ourmeetings, there will be provocative presen-tations, visits to significant North Countrysites, and plenty of opportunity for experi-encing the local cuisine and musical fare.Details will follow by mail, or visit our web-site, www.nyfolklore.org, for updated infor-mation.

Ellen McHale, Ph.D.Executive Director, New York Folklore Society

[email protected]

“Today, unchecked mass communication bullies and shouts humanity into passivityand silence. Artists everywhere are losing their local audiences… If we are to have arich and varied musical future, we must encourage the development of as many localmusics as possible.”

—Alan Lomax, “Appeal for Cultural Equity,” Journal of Communication, Spring 1977

1Spring Summer 2003, Volume 29: 1–2

Features 7 An Ethnography of the Saratoga Racetrack

by Ellen McHale

12 The Making of an Exhibitionby Amy Godine

22 Zillahby Thea Kluge

24 Old-Time Dance Musicin Western New Yorkby James Kimball

34 Cities within the City:B.A. Botkin’s New Yorkby Michael L. Murray

39 Ruby Marcotte Remembers

Departments and Columns 2 New York Folklore Society News

4 Upstateby Varick A. Chittenden

5 Downstateby Steve Zeitlin

20 Eye of the Cameraby Martha Cooper

21 Foodwaysby Lynn Case Ekfelt

32 On Air

33 Lawyer’s Sidebarby Paul Rapp

41 Archival Questionsby Nancy Johnson

42 Obituaries

43 Announcements

7

12

34

26

ContentsSpring–Summer 2003

The “backside” community atthe Saratoga Racetrack has itsown folkways and occupation-al lore. See page 7. Photo-graph by Dorothy Ours,courtesy of the NationalMuseum of Racing and Hall ofFame

2 VOICES: The Journal of New York Folklore

NY

FS N

EW

SNew York Folklore Society News

Fall–Winter 2002 · Volume 28: 3-4

Editors Karen Taussig-Lux ([email protected])and Sally Atwater ([email protected])

Photography Editor Martha CooperDesign Mary Beth MalmsheimerPrinter Digital Page, Inc.

Editorial Board Varick Chittenden, Amy Godine,Kate Koperski, Cathy Ragland, Kay Turner, DanWard, Steve Zeitlin

Voices: The Journal of New York Folkloreis published twice a year by theNew York Folklore Society, Inc.133 Jay StreetP.O. Box 764Schenectady, NY 12301

New York Folklore Society, Inc.Executive Director Ellen McHaleDirector of Services Dale JohnsonAdministrative Assistant Deborah MusticoWeb Administrator Patti MasonVoice 518 346-7008Fax 518 346-6617Website www.nyfolklore.org

Board of DirectorsPresident Mary ZwolinskiPast President Todd DeGarmoVice President Hanna GriffSecretary-Treasurer Ladan AlomarBeverly Butcher, Karen Canning, Pam Cooley,James Corsaro, Eniko Farkas, Nancy Johnson,Madaha Kinsey-Lamb, Ted McGraw, Stan Ransom,Bart Roselli, Greer Smith, Midge Stock, LynneWilliamson

Advertisers: to inquire, please call the NYFS518 346-7008 or fax 518 346-6617

The programs and activities of the New York Folklore Society, andthe publication of Voices: The Journal of New York Folklore, are madepossible in part by funds from the New York State Council on the Arts.

Voices: The Journal of New York Folklore is indexed in Arts & HumanitiesCitation Index and Music Index and abstracted in Historical Abstracts andAmerica: History and Life.

Reprints of articles and items from Voices: The Journal of New YorkFolklore are available through the ISI Document Solution, Institute forScientific Information, 3501 Market Street, Philadelphia, PA 19104. 215386-0100.ISSN 0361-204X© 2001 by The New York Folklore Society, Inc. All rights reserved.

Voices is available in Braille and recordedversions. Call NYFS at 518 346-7008.

Forums AfieldEvery year the New York Folklore Soci-

ety holds forums on topics of interest tothe folklore field, professionals in relatedfields, and NYFS members. On April 9, theNew York Folklore Society conducted aforum entitled “What to Do with ThoseOral Histories,” hosted by the Center forFolklife, History and Cultural Programs atthe Crandall Public Library in Glens Falls.The forum addressed issues of use for col-lected narratives and oral histories beyondarchival storage and access for researchers.

Special guest was folklorist Greg Sharrow,director of education at the Vermont Folk-life Center. The Vermont Folklife Center hasfound compelling uses for its collection ofrecorded narratives, including a series ofchildren’s books and radio programming.Sharrow offered ideas and practical adviceabout exhibitions, publications, and otherproducts that can be developed from nar-ratives, which otherwise have a tendency togather dust.

The presentation was in conjunction withthe Crandall Library’s exhibition, FamilyStories, Family Sagas, an audiovisual instal-lation showcasing the remarkable historiesof six New England families who share apowerful tradition of storytelling to pre-serve their identity and heritage.

In August the Maybee Farm, the oldestcontinuously inhabited Dutch farm in theMohawk Valley, will host another NYFSforum, “Built to Use, Not to Last: Tempo-rary Structures and the Use of Space inCommunity Life.” This meeting will takeplace in a reconstructed Dutch barn on theproperty in Rotterdam Junction, just westof Schenectady. The topic complements theNovember 2002 forum on the vernaculararchitecture of the Hudson Valley and thestone structures of Ulster County, whichwas hosted by the Huguenot Historical So-ciety in New Paltz. This will be a continu-ing series: we are planning more forums onvernacular architecture; check with theNYFS office for future events.

If your organization is interested in host-ing a forum, call the NYFS at 518 346-7008.We also welcome suggestions for futuretopics.

Breakfast at the CapitolOn March 18, 2003, the New York Folk-

lore Society initiated its first-ever folk artsbreakfast. “A Taste of New York” was a pro-gram of Arts Day, an advocacy effort orga-nized primarily by the Alliance of New YorkState Arts Organizations. Held at the NewYork State Capitol, Legislative Office Build-ing, Arts Day brings arts administrators, art-ists, and other arts professionals to Albanyto advocate for support for the New YorkState Council on the Arts. This year, withthe involvement and support of the folk artscommunity throughout the state, NYFS or-ganized a gala breakfast to bring togetherlegislators and the arts community.

This breakfast reception featured Italianspecialties prepared by John and Cathy Lan-ci of Lanci’s Tavola Caldi. Featured wereperformances of Kuchipudi dance, a clas-sical Indian dance, by Kantham Chatlapalliand Harika Chatlapalli of Hopewell Junc-tion, and Irish traditional dance music per-formed by Father Charlie Coen of RedHook and Danny Guerney of Rhinecliff.The breakfast was cosponsored by the NewYork Folklore Society and Senator HughFarley of Schenectady. Special thanks toDan Ward and Jean Crandall for their as-sistance in this endeavor.

Ready to AirThe completed series of radio documen-

taries titled Voices of New York Traditions isnow being sent to public radio stationsthroughout the United States. After fieldtesting, a curriculum guide linked to learn-ing standards will be available to accompa-ny the series for use in schools later thisyear.

The New York Folklore Society devel-oped the folklife radio series to celebratethe people of New York and the art they

create in their everyday lives—their tradi-tional art forms, unique community life, andthe sense of order and aesthetics that per-vades both work and play. The series tapsthe cultural riches found in the folklife of astate that, perhaps more than any other inthe Union, is the product of many cultures.

Each documentary features one masterof a traditional art form recorded on loca-tion. In their own words—the voices ofNew York traditions—these tradition bear-


Baskets of varying sizes were an everydayitem used for storage, food gathering, andorganization in the home. In the nineteenthand twentieth centuries the baskets assumedeconomic importance, and styles becamemore innovative and decorative. Voices ofNew York Traditions looks at the souvenirbasket trade at the Akwasane reservation,located on the U.S.-Canadian border alongthe St. Lawrence River.

African American Quilts and Their Makers.The late Ora Kirkland and Virginia Hallspeak about their art as African Americanquilt makers. Africans brought to Americaa long tradition of working with textiles.They added their own aesthetic to quiltingtechniques, overturning rules of geometry,balance, and order to create a unique blendof cultural forms.

La Quinceañera Dressmaking: Francisca “Pan-chita” Davila. Seamstress Francisca Davilawas born into a family of farmers in 1934close to the town of Ponce, Puerto Rico.She learned the art of crochet and tailoringfrom her mother. Panchita moved to Am-sterdam in 1961 and today is knownthroughout the local Latino community asa quinceañera dressmaker and party plan-ner for Latinas. La Quinceañera is a fifteen-year-old girl’s celebration of her passage intoadulthood, and Panchita helps maintain thisimportant cultural tradition.

The features are “evergreen”—they arenot tied to a specific date, season, or holi-day and can be heard anytime—and exem-plify traditions found in various regions ofNew York State. They are intended for allages and are free for nonprofit use. Includ-ed in each documentary are an introduc-tion and funding credits to be read by radiostations’ local announcers.

The radio series provided a unique op-portunity for folklorists around the stateto partner with professional radio produc-ers. We enjoyed successful collaborationswith Joyce Kryszak of WBFO in Buffalo,Lamar Bliss from Potsdam, Robert Brownof WMHT in Schenectady, and GingerMiles of New York City. The project wasproduced by Dale Johnson and LamarBliss.

ers describe how they learned their skills,whether from family members or from el-ders handing traditions down to a new gen-eration. The series seeks to show thestrength and power of folk traditions andhow they affect people’s lives and shape theiridentity. It demonstrates that traditions canremain remarkably similar over time, changefrom outside influences, or become vehi-cles for personal expression as people in-fuse tradition with their own artistic sensi-bilities.

The series consists of eleven documen-taries (some of which have been transcribedand published in this journal), each four anda half to five minutes long:

James Donato: Out of the Woods. This docu-mentary explores the art of chainsaw carv-ing, told by carver James Donato from Al-tamont. James discusses at the process ofmaking a chainsaw carving. Most of hiswork depicts animals and fishermen andother outdoor subjects.

Polka Music in Western New York State. Pol-ka has been a strong tradition in the Polishcommunity of Buffalo and the surroundingregion since the early 1900s. Brought by im-migrants from Poland, the music is part ofthe identity of their descendants, who todaycontinue to celebrate their East Europeanheritage through music and dance. In thisdocumentary performers Joe Macielag andJerry Darlak talk about both the mechanicsand the significance of polka music.

Mark Hamilton: Old-Time Fiddler and SquareDance Caller. The late Mark Hamilton is con-sidered one of the finest old-time fiddlersfrom New York State. This documentaryuses narrative and interviews to explore amuch-loved tradition bearer’s life and mu-sic and reveals the historical perspective ofold-time music and square dance, as seenthrough his eyes.

Shad Fishing on the Hudson. Shad fishinghas been an occupation on the Hudson Riv-er since New York’s early years. Althoughshad populations were affected by pollutionand the fish nearly disappeared, they are nowmaking a comeback. Producer Ginger Milesinterviews fisherman Everett Nack aboutthe folkways of this occupational craft. (See

page 32 in this issue for a transcription ofthe interview.)

Bill Smith: Traditional Storyteller. Bill Smithis a well-known storyteller and basket mak-er who tells traditional tall tales of the Ad-irondacks as well as stories of growing upin the North Country. He mixes narrativesabout the humorous antics of relatives andcommunity members with song to presentportraits of life in this region of the state.

Sara and Colleen Cleveland: A Rich Legacy ofFolksong. Sara Cleveland was a folksong col-lectors’ dream, singing a vast repertoire ofBritish ballads and American folksongs dat-ing back hundreds of years. Her contribu-tion to the recording and preservation ofthese songs as documented by folklorists isa chronicle of the music traditions of earlyNew York settlers. Now her daughter Col-leen continues this tradition of folksong,and she and her father Jim describe theirfamily heritage of music.

Square Dancing in Western New York. Thisdocumentary shows that dance traditionsdeveloped by early Americans from Euro-pean styles were retained and practiced inNew York State. Interviews with squaredance callers and musicians give a glimpseinto the celebratory life of communitymembers in the region and explore howthese traditions have changed as well as con-tinued over time.

Edith Cutting: Folklore Collector. A pioneercollector of Adirondack folklore, EdithCutting grew up near Elizabethtown, in Es-sex County, where her family had farmedthe land since the early 1800s. In the 1930sshe attended the Albany Normal School andtook classes from folklorist Harold Thomp-son, a cofounder of the New York Folk-lore Society. She was inspired by a class as-signment to collect stories from her familyand community, some of which appearedin Thompson’s book, Body, Boots and Britch-es. Later she published her own book, Loreof an Adirondack County. She continues tocollect and teach folklore.

Akwesasne Iroquois: Native-American BasketMaking Traditions. Baskets made of sweet-grass and black ash splints have an impor-tant place in the Mohawk Iroquois tradition.


An Evening at Cooks Corners BY VARICK A. CHITTENDEN

Since that time, the schoolhouse has beentheir community center.

For years, Bill has told me that Cooks Cor-ners is a special place, and that Cooks Cor-ners people are special, too. He’s describedthem with great admiration and respect, call-ing them hard-working, family-oriented peo-ple who’ve known poverty and how to sur-vive, and who are content with their simpletastes and basic values, learned from ances-tors in the neighborhood and passed to chil-dren whom they raise there.

So I was pleased that he arranged an invi-tation for “TAUNY folks”—Jeanmarie Fal-lon, Jill Breit, our summer intern Cris Muia,friend and photographer Marty Cooper (whowas visiting us at the time), and me—to asummer social event this past July. Becausethe gathering was announced by word-of-mouth and telephone tree only a few daysbefore, organizer Brenda Bonno worried that

schoolhouse. The North Country is stillhome to many such buildings. If they areused at all today, they have been convertedto family homes (some beautifully restoredand adapted to modern use), antiques shops,animal pens, or in one instance, a manureshed for a dairy farmer.

But the Cooks Corners schoolhouse is dif-ferent. I know this because of my good friendBill Smith, who grew up and today lives acouple of miles away as the crow flies.Though Bill didn’t attend that school, heknows plenty of people who did. This school-house, like many others in the area, wasclosed in the late 1940s, as children fromrural roads were transported to nearby vil-lages for centralized education. Unlike manyother districts, the people of Cooks Cornersdecided soon thereafter that they needed agathering place where they could vote, con-duct neighborhood business, and socialize.

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For a local shortcut going south into theAdirondack foothills, I have taken OrebedRoad in the town of Pierrepont scores oftimes in the last few years. It’s a lovely drive,in all seasons, winding and rolling throughmaples and oaks, pines and tamaracks, somemuch older than the road itself. Along theway is a scattering of modest farmhouses andrustic bungalows, tucked into the woods forprivacy from neighbors and protection fromthe weather. Most of them have been therea long time, too.

A few miles off the state highway, I cometo Wilson Road, where I usually turn left andcontinue toward what the old-timers calledthe Great South Woods. But it’s the sight ofa small white building on the opposite cor-ner that regularly catches my eye. A simplewooden sign in front declares “Cooks Cor-ners Community Center,” yet I’ve always rec-ognized it by form and size to be a one-room

continued on page 6

Homemade desserts were offered at the end of the evening at the schoolhouse. Photo: Martha Cooper


The Folklore Fundamentalist BY STEVE ZEITLIN

S t eve Ze i t l i n i sexecutive directorof City Lore andcodirector of theP l a c e Ma t t e r spro ject , 72 EastFirst Street, NewYork, NY 10003;[email protected].

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“Why were human beings created?” goesa traditional saying that I first learned fromElie Wiesel. The answer: “Because Godloves stories.” Some years ago, I used thatphrase for a title of a book of interviews,stories, and essays—an anthology of Jew-ish storytelling.

As I happily slaved over that work, I be-came interested in interviewing a Hasidicwoman who, I had heard, told remarkablestories about surviving the Holocaust andher subsequent life in Crown Heights. Icalled up the family to ask about setting upan interview and spoke to her daughter.Since most folks seem to want a chance totell their stories, I was surprised when thedaughter hesitated. She asked if I couldshow her anything I had written previouslyto help the family decide. Not long before,I had coauthored a children’s book of Jew-ish folktales with Nina Jaffe, called WhileStanding on One Foot. It contained some beau-tiful Hasidic tales. I sent a copy to her, con-fident that this would prove me worthy. Aweek later I called and asked about settingup an interview.

“The answer is no,” the daughter said.“No?” I said. “Didn’t you like the book?”“Your book is a collection of folktales,”

she told me. “These stories are not our folk-tales—this is our religion.”

Needless to say, the book was publishedwithout the Hasidic woman’s stories, and Ieventually became involved in a new writ-ing project—a collection of tales fromaround the world on the theme of justice.Each story would pose a question, askingyoung readers what they would have donehad they been in the protagonist’s shoes. Mycoauthor and I discovered a story from theKoran, a theodicy legend, that addresses theage-old and still compelling question, “Whydo the righteous suffer and the wicked pros-per in life?” We retold the story in our ownwords, and as the book was nearing com-pletion, we sent the manuscript to an Ara-bic scholar to ask whether it contained anyinappropriate material. She could barelyhold her temper with me on the phone. The

words of the Koran, dictated by the AngelGabriel to the Prophet Mohammad in theseventh century, could not be paraphrasedor improved upon, she said emphatically.Besides, inserting a question into the piecewas nothing short of blasphemy.

I thought of the last line of the tale, spo-ken by a bird: “Every person on this earthpossesses as much knowledge as the quan-tity of water I have taken from the oceanwith my beak.” We apologized for our ig-norance and struck the Koranic tale fromthe book. But I came away with a renewedappreciation for the importance of storiesas key to cultural understanding.

Story. Such a simple term, and yet one thatholds a key to an issue that continues toelude us: peaceful coexistence. As we teachour children to grow up in a world wherewe can’t afford to hate our neighbors, thewealth of folktales that folklorists and oth-ers have researched and made available canmake a difference. As my friend the story-teller Roz Perry put it, “It is difficult to hatesomeone whose stories you know.” In theshadow of conflagration, folklorists have arole to play in creating tolerance, and whatthey bring to the table is stories (sometimesin the form of songs), tales without bor-ders that can be shared because they can beapprehended and appreciated whether ornot the listener believes they are “true.”Perhaps this explains the fanaticism of folk-lorists—our dedication to documenting sto-ries, preserving and sharing them—and al-lowing the literal truth of each story to re-main in the minds of their readers and au-diences.

I love the story my wife Amanda tells ofher South Carolina grandmother, who be-lieved above all in the literal truth of threethings: the Bible, professional wrestling, andthe Democratic Party. Once a great uncleasked her if she believed that the whale lit-erally swallowed Jonah.

“I do,” she said.“And if the Bible had said that Jonah

swallowed the whale, would you have be-lieved that?”

“Absolutely.”As cultures clash over religion in our

world, we all sit in the belly of the whale,and would do well to consider the storiesthat brought us here, and turn an ear to thestories we may not yet have heard.

In the shadow ofconflagration, folkloristshave a role to play increating tolerance...

When I was writing those books, I wasnot conscious of shifting narratives fromthe domain of religion into the realm ofstory. Like most folklorists, I work on theassumption that it is not only acceptable butlaudable to collect and present stories, eventhough the context for each story is crucial.I took for granted that even the faithfulwould appreciate the way that those whodid not share their beliefs might enjoy thetexts as beautiful but secular stories, uplift-ing nonetheless. One person’s religion isanother’s mythology.

The Hasidic family and the Arabic schol-ar believed that I was disparaging the ve-racity of the stories by placing them underthe rubric of folklore. Perhaps they sharedthe popular conception of the terms folk-lore and myth as untruths, falsehoods—“it’sjust a myth.” As folklorists, we recognizethat folklore is a useful term because it en-compasses myth, legend, and oral history,because it embraces both what is verifiableand embellished—sacred myths, tall tales,oral histories, and everything in between.


Ashley Bonno demonstrated a favorite recessgame of “crawling the wall” at the former CooksCorners schoolhouse. Photo: Martha Cooper

there would be small attendance. So she hadadded the incentive of a night of music andstories to the invitation: Bill Smith, DonWoodcock, and neighbor Dawn Atkinsonwould be the entertainment, with old-timefiddling, songs, and stories.

When we arrived an hour before the an-nounced start time of seven o’clock, severalcars were already there. I should have known.Country people always arrive early. Somewere unpacking lawn chairs and blankets;others were carrying baskets or foil-coveredplates of cookies or cakes or other dessertsfor ritual refreshments later in the evening.Everybody, it seemed, had brought some-thing. There were cheery hellos, concerned-but-friendly inquiries about crops or personalhealth, warm introductions of us to them andvice versa. Much to organizer Brenda’s de-light and surprise, the cars and people keptcoming. By the time the music began, a hun-dred people were arranging themselves onthe grassy schoolhouse lawn under the hun-dred-year-old maples.

What followed was a folklorist’s dream.From toddlers to octogenarians—four gen-

erations there at one time, someone pointedout—nearly everyone knew each other,where they lived, and what they had in com-mon. Between such old musical favorites as“Red Wing” and “Listen to the Mockingbird”and “Silver Threads among the Gold,” peo-ple stood up to recall schooldays and pastgatherings. There were stories about Mrs. EllaCorcoran, a favorite teacher, about playingball in the adjacent pasture at noon recess,and Everett Waite (whose mother taughtthere years ago) remembered one morningafter Halloween, when Maurice Roach’s wag-on was found perched on the schoolhouseroof. There were stories of square dances,birthday celebrations, bridal and baby show-ers, anniversary parties, even a funeral for apoor family’s child who had been killed bylightning. Rena Davis got up and talked aboutbox socials and courtship games; Fay VanBrocklin and his sister Norma June Casolararecalled favorite movies—cowboys-and-In-dians and Laurel and Hardy—shown at theschoolhouse for 25 cents for a double fea-ture; and Lynn Hewitt described wintertimefun at pedro parties, a popular card game stillplayed at the center.

There was joking and gentle ribbing andoccasional gales of laughter. There weresome tears when someone remembered Ber-nice Hewitt, who truly loved such gatherings

as these and had died recently. There werealso very special Kodak moments—onewhen someone realized that nearly a dozenelderly men and women, most in their eight-ies, were sitting in a row enjoying this timetogether, another when Ashley Bonno, Bren-da’s twelve-year-old-daughter, demonstratedthe generations-old game of walking theschoolhouse foundation wall without falling.Everybody there understood what was hap-pening.

The stories and music stopped about nine,but only because it was dark. All those des-serts were still waiting on long tables set upon the lawn, so there was more talk and laugh-ter to come.

The ride home was memorable, too. I canhardly think of a time when I have seen moresense of community and mutual respect thanI did then. We talked about it all the way homeand for days afterward. If I ever want to bereminded of what we do and why we do it,Cooks Corners is one of those places I hopeI can always go back to for reassurance.

Varick A. Chittendenis professor emeritusof English, SUNYCanton College ofTechnology, andexecutive director ofTraditional Arts inupstate New York(TAUNY). Photo:Martha Cooper

Cooks Corners native Paul Norman shared a story about his family living in the oldschoolhouse for a few months after their nearby home and grocery store burned in the1950s. Photo: Martha Cooper


An Ethnographyof the

By Ellen McHale

The backstretch of the thoroughbred racetrack at Saratoga Springs, NewYork, is an “intentional” community, a voluntary community forged througha common occupation—the care of the racehorse. Here the assistant train-ers, exercise riders, jockeys, and others tend to the horses that are a locusfor wealthy owners and high-society spectators and bettors. This back-side community creates its own identity through naming practices, speech,and the use of language. It is a community that views itself as generous,open, and regular yet is marked by secrecy and control and ruled by chance.Because the workers’ future is never certain, allegiances are tenuous andidentities are constructed.

Funded by the New York State Council onthe Arts, my survey has taken me throughthe hierarchy of racetrack officials andworkers, from the placing judges who de-termine the races’ winners, to the groomswho muck out the stalls and the hot walk-ers who cool the horses down. This is a workin progress with substantial fieldwork stillto be undertaken.

The Track and Its WorkersSaratoga has a long and distinguished his-

tory as a first-class racetrack. Already a re-sort in the mid-nineteenth century becauseof its mineral springs, Saratoga Springs hadan early reputation for an interest in fasthorses. This interest was confined to wealthyresidents and resort-goers until an Irish-born boxer and gambler, John Morrissey,returned to upstate New York from NewYork City in 1863. Placing an advertisementin a racing newspaper, The Spirit of the Times,Morrissey proclaimed that there would bethree days of racing at Saratoga, with tworaces each day. Attendance warranted moreracing, and the meet was extended to a

fourth day. The grandstand, still in opera-tion today, was built for the meet in 1864.The newly constructed racecourse was con-sidered the best race course in the country,an opinion still expressed by many Sarato-gians today. From these beginnings Sarato-ga has become a world-class thoroughbredracetrack that supports a six-week seasonwith ten races each day.

A unique world of work revolves aroundthe racetrack, with specialized roles andtasks, specific language and vocabulary, rit-uals, and a shared knowledge and historyamong the people who make the races oc-cur. Because of their common experience,those who work at the racetrack make up adistinct occupational folk group, with sharedexperiences, a specialized language, specif-ic tools and techniques, and unique customsand beliefs. Their occupational world is dic-tated by the horse. Each day has a routine,ritualized series of activities that constitutean attempt to control the unpredictable andmake a racehorse run to its full potential.

One groom explained:

I come in about four-thirty. Feed break-fast. Most people have watchers [whoobserve a horse to make sure it is eat-ing well and shows no signs of illness]when they feed breakfast. We don’tbecause the stable’s not that big. But Icome in about four-thirty. Feed. Muckout my stalls. Then about five-thirty–six we start training. You know, we packthem up and send them to the track.They come back, we bathe them. Butthat lasts until ten or ten-thirty. Thenwe do them up. We put all kinds of lin-iments and poultices on them and putbandages on them. We feed about elev-en A.M. Then we come back about

rom the second week in July throughLabor Day, Saratoga Springs expe-F

riences the carnival known as the RacingSeason. During this six-week period, thou-sands of spectators throng into a city of60,000, swelling its population into the mil-lions. The subject of interest, the thorough-bred racetrack, employs thousands of peo-ple: betting clerks, wait-staff, custodians,parking lot attendants, food service work-ers, groundskeepers, tip sheet hawkers, se-curity guards—all of whom take tempo-rary employment during the racing season.

Besides the workers of the “frontside”are the thousands of workers in the “back-side.” This underclass of track workers com-prises temporary residents of SaratogaSprings who are permanent employees inthe business of racing. They are the peoplewhose lives are inextricably linked to thehorses: the grooms, “hot walkers,” trainers,assistant trainers, and exercise riders.

Since 1996, I have been documenting thetraditional arts and culture of the back-stretch under the auspices of the NationalMuseum of Racing and Hall of Fame.

Saratoga Racetrack


Juan “Bon Bom” Galbez demonstrates the Chilean art of braiding manes and tails at the National Museum of Racing’s annual Fiesta ofRacetrack Traditions. Galbez is an outrider for the New York Racing Association. (See the front cover for a completed hacerle chapé.)Photo: Dorothy Ours, courtesy of the National Museum of Racing and Hall of Fame

three-thirty. Muck out the stalls againand feed them about five. And thenwe’re done.

It’s a long day. We do get a little bitof time off but you can’t do a lot. Notreally. We’re usually gone by twelve andyou have to clean up, so about twelveto three, what can you really do? Youcan’t go shopping. What we do, we getevery other afternoon off.

We both come in every morning. Irub three and Jerry rubs three and thehot walker, he’s rubbing the pony.That’s good…we come back every oth-er afternoon. Because the mornings,that would be too tough to do for oneperson. But it’s not bad, every otherafternoon. And sometimes we swapafternoons or I pay him to come backfor me. Something like that.

By six or six-thirty A.M., the exercise rid-ers have begun the horses’ daily workouts.

It is the exercise riders’ job to advise thetrainer about the mood and fitness of thehorse. He or she will let the trainer know ifthe horse is “off,” an indication that theremight be a hidden physical ailment. Theworkouts continue for the next few hours,as each horse is run through its paces. Un-tried horses—two-year-olds that have notyet raced—are schooled during this period.If they are entered in an upcoming race,they will be taken to the practice startinggates. The horses are then led to the shed-row between the barns and walked until theirbody temperature cools. They will bebathed, rubbed down, and returned to theirstalls. Other service people begin to ap-pear—the salespeople for feed, shoes, andmedicines are arriving—as do the farriers

who will fit each horse entered in the day’sraces with new aluminum shoes.

If a horse is entered in that day’s race,the trainer has the groom remain with thehorse and accompany it to the track. Manygrooms are proud of the part they play inthe success of their horses, but they are frus-trated as well, for the grooms are the mostinvisible people at the track. Although they,the exercise riders, and the hot walkers havebeen involved with the horse on a daily ba-sis and are present at the race, in the win-ner’s circle, it is the owner, trainer, and jock-ey—who arrives only minutes before therace to take his mount—who receive theaccolades.

The jockeys get ten percent [of thepurse]. It’s too much for them. I’ve


spent more time with this horse in themorning time than with my wife. Youknow what I’m saying? I’m feeling likethe groom should be getting more thanwhat they’re getting. How much timedo they spend with them? Two minutes?They’re on them maybe two minutes.They come out and work them some-time and that’s it. You could put a mon-key on a horse and it could win. Theyshould at least recognize the groom andthe hot walker.

The racetrack world is a stratified societyand the hot walkers are at the bottom. It is inthis low-skill position where many peoplebegin their racing careers. A former jockeywho is now the wife of a trainer began by“walking on the hots.” From that position,one can move up to groom and become in-volved with the horses’ training regimen andcare. From there, one can become an assis-tant trainer or, if one is an aspiring rider, beginto gallop the horses. Both of these positionscan be a springboard for the more prestigiousposts of trainer or jockey—provided oneenjoys the mentoring and intervention of asympathetic owner or trainer.

To move up the ladder, one has to fall inwith “the right people.” Many workers re-main at the level of groom or rider, waitingfor an opportunity to move up. As one wom-an groom said,

I got a training permit over a year agobut it’s so tough for women. So tough.I’ve talked to a couple of people andthey say, Yes, yes, I’d love to have youtrain a couple, but they never say when.Come on, give me a break.

Those born or married into the world ofthe racetrack often find a niche. One wom-an began making racing silks—the jacketsworn by jockeys—after she married a jock-ey. One of their children is now a jockey inEurope, the other is a sales representativefor a large horse auction house.

Chance and RitualJust as with other sporting activities,

horseracing involves elements of chance,but as sociologist Carole Case points out,activities in the backstretch to prepare thehorses are ritualized to minimize the risk.Techniques that appear efficacious will be

repeated in an attempt to duplicate the fa-vorable outcome. One trainer routinelyshares his best Scotch with a certain horse,believing that it makes the horse run faster.Other trainers use magnetic blankets, deeptissue massage, or specially mixed salves forsore legs and feet. Trainers are not allowedto practice veterinary medicine, and any in-fractions of the strict rules governing ac-cepted treatments can lead to censure or lossof one’s training license. However, salvesand liniments are often concocted from se-cret recipes.

I had a filly that had bad feet and [myfather would] tell me some kind ofstuff to use. It was a combination of amedicated mud, a poultice with bran,Epsom salt, and a black drawing salvewhich is a combination of all of thatstuff. You use that as a drawing to getthe heat out. That was pretty good.

The old-timers, they made their ownmedications. Now they buy everything.I don’t think that’s so good. Like whenmy father trained, he’d use like cucum-bers, stuff like that for cracked heels.Now they’ve got all those salves andstuff. I mean, it does the trick but ittakes so long to do it. With the cucum-bers and whatever stuff he’d use, in twoor three days it was gone.

Just as with other routine activities, thereis a proper way to groom a horse, to wrapits legs, to walk it. Walking is always done

clockwise in the shedrow, at a certain pacewith the horse at a certain distance fromthe walker. The ground around the stablesis raked into smooth concentric circles atthe conclusion of each day’s grooming, butnot just for neatness: uneven ground couldcause a horse to stumble or twist a joint.Carole Case points to the efficacy of theserituals as a way to mitigate the uncertaintyof life at the track. A groom cites an exam-ple of how suddenly a reversal of fortunecan strike:

You can see it’s not the easiest. All thathorse wants to do is bite at that guy.And anything can set them off. Theyjust feel good and want to play. All ofthat stuff.

[They can take off on you] easily.Yeah, so easy. We had a filly not too longago. She was getting a bath and she’djust come over from England so they’renot used to having the shank over theirnose. That’s how we had it across hernose. And something spooked her. Shewent straight up and flipped and brokeher shoulders. She broke both withers.But she’s O.K. now. She had a lot tocome off and she came back and she’swon in races. Thank God.

The element of chance that is experi-enced in the backstretch of the racetrackcan negate weeks of training. A pebble iskicked up, a horseshoe is thrown, a saddleslips. Any of these seemingly minor events

Ted Baxter, a veterinarian’s assistant, practices horse dentistry at the 2001 Fiesta ofRacetrack Traditions. Photo: Dorothy Ours, courtesy of the National Museum of Racingand Hall of Fame


Saratoga Racetrack is known for its extensive decorative plantings, whose colorsindicate the owners of the stables they surround. Photo: Ellen McHale

in large part by the excellence of the horse.The “jock” plays only a small part in theoutcome. Dave Erb, a former jockey andtrainer, said,

There’s no limit to what you can do ifyou’re lucky and get a good horse.There’s an old saying “Riders don’tmake horses but horses make riders.”You only have to get on one or twogood horses and then you’re in demand.I’ve seen a lot of riders, real good rid-ers who could compete with anyone,just never got that break. Just never gota good horse to ride.

may cause a chain reaction in which a horseis injured and those who work with the hors-es are reminded that their occupation ishighly dangerous. One exercise rider wasthrown from his horse during a morninggallop; his broken ribs left him unemploy-able for the remainder of the year. A groomis stepped on by a horse, his foot breaks,and he is temporarily out of work. Unem-ployment can be devastating in this worldof contractual employment.

Despite all the rituals and efforts to mit-igate risk, the race, I was told, is determined

In addition, it is commonly believed inthe backstretch that ultimately, the train-er’s care has little effect on the horse:

You know, there’s one old-time trainersays, Any dumb son of a gun can traina horse but the guy that can keep thehorse at the races, that’s the good horse-man. Which I believe is about the truth.If you just use common ordinary sense,you can get a horse fit and ready to run.

Identity MarkersIn his edited volume, Usable Pasts, Tad

Tuleja draws attention to the variety ofstylistic resources people use to manipu-late their identities: any cultural trait candenote group membership. In the back-stretch, one’s identity is often a construct-ed identity. Personal and family identitiestake second place to one’s job position,employer, or ethnic group. Nicknamesabound, and surnames are virtually non-existent among grooms, hot walkers, andgallopers. To locate someone in the back-side, one must know who that personworks for and what number barn he orshe is in. Some positions change duringthe day. One’s location might be describedas, “He rubs for Sciacca in the morningand then he gallops for Lukas. You canfind him in the receiving barn. That’swhere he hangs out.” There are no ad-dresses.

Those who work in the low-skilled posi-tions of hot walker and groom are whollyat the mercy of the trainer—and the hors-es in their care. If a horse is not perform-ing well at one racetrack, it can be shippedwithout a moment’s notice, and the groomand the hot walker ride with the horse inthe trailer to the new racetrack or perhapsback to the home barn in Kentucky or Flor-ida. Because of the migratory nature of thiswork, allegiances are tenuous and identi-ties are constructed.

Nicknames reflect one’s constructedidentity. They may connote physical char-acteristics—“Red” for a red-headedgroom, or “Chicaleen” for a walker whois short and baby-faced. “Cowboy” comesfrom Michoacan, Mexico, known for itshorses and cattle. “Cookie” and “Bon

Juan Orozco, a ranchera player, relaxes with fellow track workers in the evening hours.Photo: Ellen McHale


Bom” have other, perhaps more personalorigins.

One marker used at the racetrack is thespecialized vocabulary that denotes mem-bership in the life of the backside. Wisdomand lore are imparted through proverbialexpressions. “Riders don’t make horses buthorses make riders” acknowledges the horseas the determinant of a jockey’s fate: jock-eys need to win races before they can behired to ride winning mounts. Another prov-erb that speaks to the uncertainty of life atthe racetrack is, “Chickens today, featherstomorrow”: one’s fortunes can change with-in moments.

As with other occupational groups, a spe-cialized argot serves as a marker for groupmembership. A groom “rubs” a horse. Ahorse that wins his first race “breaks hismaiden,” as does a jockey who wins her firstrace. When a horse “spits the bit out,” hehas been running well and then all of a sud-den falters. An exercise rider “gallops” hors-es. The horse who isn’t being worked hardbut is being ridden for daily exercise and tokeep in shape is said to “cruise.” This spe-cialized language is important in maintain-ing a boundary between those who inhabitthe horse world and those who are merelyspectators on the frontside.

Material CultureJules Prown, in his work on material cul-

ture, defines material culture as “the studythrough artifacts of the beliefs—values, ideas,attitudes, and assumptions—of a particularcommunity or society at a given time” (Prown1982: 1). Material culture in the backstretchserves as another indicator of identity. Rac-ing silks, the jackets and caps worn by thejockeys during a race, are identity markers.Each owner registers his colors and silk de-sign with the Racing Association, and fromthen on they identify his horses, jockeys, andbarns. Trainers use color-coordinated feedtubs, and initialed and color-coordinated sta-ble gates. A Jewish trainer incorporates theStar of David into his stable designs, and anIrish trainer colors all his stall decorationsand accoutrements in the orange, green, andwhite of the Irish flag.

Even the plantings around the barn arecolor-coordinated to match the owner’s silks.The planting of flowers is one of the firstactivities in the week before the meet begins.As trainers arrive with their horses and work-ers to set up the barn, flowers are planted incolor schemes that mark territory for the sixweeks of the meet.

Outriders, employed by the New YorkRacing Association to serve as assistants andtroubleshooters within the race course fenc-es, own their own horses and also use col-ors on their tack as well as in mane and taildecorations. When seen from afar, the rid-er may be unidentifiable but the horse’s dec-orations will be seen, indicating identity.

Those who work in the backstretch ex-perience risk within their daily work andhave little sense of control over circum-stances. Consistency is described as “Whathave you done in the last few minutes?” andthe concept of luck peppers everydayspeech: “It’s one business where you can gofrom nothing to having great wealth—if theluck is with you.” Within this bounded worldritual persists, on the chance that it mightaffect outcomes and contain the chaos thatlies just underneath a thin veneer of order.In this intentional community, identities in

Accessories such as these crocheted pommel pads were often made by Saratoga-areawomen and peddled at the racetrack. Photo: Ellen McHale

the backstretch are forged through one’s re-lationship with the horse. In a world wherethe horse is king, it is truly “Chickens to-day, feathers tomorrow.”

ReferencesAbrahams, Roger. 1982. Play and games. Motif:

International Newsletter of Research in Folklore andLiterature. June (no. 3).

Case, Carole. 1991. Down the backstretch: Racing andthe American dream. Philadelphia: Temple Uni-versity Press.

Harrah-Conforth, Jeanne. 1992. The landscape ofpossibility: An ethnography of the Kentucky Derby.Ph.D. dissertation, Indiana University.

Hotaling, Edward. 1995. They’re off: Horse racing atSaratoga. Syracuse University Press.

Jones, Michael Owen. 1997. How can we applyevent analysis to ‘material behavior,’ and whyshould we?” Western Folklore Summer/Fall:199–214.

Thomas, Jennie B. 1995, Pick-up trucks, horses,women, and foreplay: The fluidity of folklore.Western Folklore July: 213–28.

Tuleja, Tad. 1997. Usable Pasts: Traditions and GroupExpression in North America. Logan, Utah: UtahState University Press.

Ellen McHale is exec-utive director of theNew York FolkloreSociety. Her researchwas supported in partby a grant from theNew York State Coun-cil on the Arts and bythe National Museumof Racing and Hall of Fame

�


very hardworking New York folk-lore scholar has surely tangled with

TheMaking

of an

ExhibitionBY AMY GODINE

can American Boston scholar KatherineButler Jones. When social activist MarthaSwan first encountered Banks’s novel andJones’s moving account of her effort tolocate her family’s roots in the Adiron-dack wilderness, she was astonished. Shewas working for an environmental agen-cy at the time, living in the tiny Adiron-dack hamlet of Westport on Lake Cham-plain, only a few years out of a career as agrassroots organizer in New York Cityand the South. She loved the Adirondacks,but she had never thought to link the wil-derness with a lost saga of political re-form and racial justice. This aspect of Ad-irondack history—enlivened not only bythe family farm of the nation’s most re-nowned abolitionist but by a vanishedantebellum black farm colony—was aheritage, she felt, aching to be honored.Working out of her spartan apartment,Martha Swan founded a community edu-cation project called John Brown Lives! andthen set about dreaming up projects wor-thy of that galvanizing name.

The first task was collaborative. With aNew York City–based human rightsgroup, the New Abolitionists, John BrownLives! resurrected a long-defunct, near-forgotten, hundred-year-old Adirondack

tradition, John Brown Day at the JohnBrown Farm in North Elba, near present-day Lake Placid. Through the first halfof the twentieth century, black and whitefamilies gathered at this state historic siteon the anniversary of John Brown’s birthfor a day of commemorative speechesabout the man who in 1859 tried to cap-ture a federal arsenal in Harper’s Ferry,West Virginia, and to incite a multiracialrevolt against slavery. John Brown Daylanguished in the 1960s, when black andwhite activists began to pursue discrete,not always sympathetic political agendas,but by the 1990s some forward-thinkingsouls, including Martha, decided it washigh time for a revival. Several hundredpeople showed up for John Brown Dayin 1999, and attendance held firm in theyears that followed.

The second project was more amor-phous. More ambitious, too. Swan wasfamiliar with the cultural institutions ofthe region—the Adirondack Museum, theAdirondack Center Museum, varioustown museums, art centers, shoestringhistorical societies. Why had none ofthese venerable outfits ever taken up thesaga of John Brown and the story of Tim-buctoo, the black settlement that drew

Ematerial so dramatic, so rich with possi-bility, it seems to beg for a really great ex-hibition—but how to pull it off ? How toput on a memorable show without pro-fessional curatorial experience, with nostanding in the hothouse world of muse-ums, with no legitimizing degree?

This is the story of a successful travel-ing exhibition, Dreaming of Timbuctoo, thatwent from a gleam in a social activist’seye to a three-year tour of New York Stateand a four-column notice in the New YorkTimes with nary a hardcore credentialedmuseum maven involved. I was part ofthis exhibition, and to my mind the storyof its conception and production is asinteresting as it is instructive. Are therelessons here that Voices readers can putto use? I’m no folklorist but so what —when it comes to getting a toehold in therarefied world of exhibition production,we’re all interlopers.

It started with a novel, a magazine arti-cle, and one keen reader. The novel wasRussell Banks’s enthralling saga of the ab-olitionist John Brown, Cloudsplitter, and themagazine piece from Orion was titled,“They Called It Timbucto,” by the Afri-


Brown to the Adirondacks in the firstplace? What if she tried to work this richmaterial into an exhibition—would any-body bite?

The story was extraordinary. In 1846the voters of New York State yet againdenied free black New York males theright to vote unless they could meet a pro-hibitive $250 property requirement, whicheffectively barred them from the fran-chise. Gerrit Smith, a land speculator,passionate abolitionist and good friend tomany black reformers, knew well the dev-astating impact of the antisuffrage voteon the black political elite. Giving blackNew Yorkers land enough to parlay intoa vote was his answer to the 1846 refer-endum—a way of saying, OK, if land iswhat you need to vote, well, here it is. Let’sget started.

And so commenced the quiet, steadyparceling out of one-fifth of a more thanhalf-million-acre land fortune—a hun-dred and twenty thousand acres in forty-to sixty-acre lots—to three thousand Af-rican American residents of New YorkState. Most of the grantees, as they werecalled, were city dwellers, but in the endblack men from almost every county inthe state were represented in Smith’s 122-page inventory of grantees. Smith’s onlyrequirements were that the grantees beblack, poor, landless, sober, and betweenthe ages of twenty-one and sixty. A heart-felt agrarian, Smith hoped fervently thathis “scheme of justice and benevolence,”as he called it, would enable New YorkAfrican Americans to make a break fromcity slums, rum shops, immigrant mobs,and job discrimination for a safer, morespiritually sustaining and self-sufficient lifeon small farms of their own. If it helpedthem get a leg up on the vote, so muchthe better. I should add that Gerrit Smithwas very happy to lose this land, some ofwhich he’d tried and failed to unload be-fore. Smith’s taxes were ruinous, his fi-nancial distress immense—and givingaway unsalable land was as sensible an actas any.Panel from Dreaming of Timbuctoo exhibit: Gerrit Smith. Courtesy of Madison County

Historical Society. Oneida, New York


To identify his three thousand grant-ees, Smith asked ten or so prominentblack reformers to pitch his giveaway fromtheir pulpits and at suffrage conventions,in newspapers, and at neighborhood ral-lies. For a few years they went to bat forSmith, signing on grantees as fast as theycould find them, not for pay (there wasnone) and not for glory, but for theirshared conviction that getting black fam-ilies out of racist cities and onto the landwas the best way to get ahead and claim aportion of the American dream.

Long story short: the settlement effortfailed. Some families moved north. A feweven stuck around and tried to make a goof Adirondack life. But fifty families outof three thousand grantees isn’t much ofa showing. Regional historians routinelyblamed the settlement’s failure on thegrantees (they were clueless, lazy, unedu-cable; they couldn’t hack the rigors of theAdirondack winters; their land was lousy;they were city folk at heart), or on Smith’sown craziness in thinking this could everwork. But mostly, regional historiansdidn’t deal with the settlement at all. Theirinterest was John Brown.

Martha Swan approached me becauseI had previously written about lost pock-ets of Adirondack social history and hadcurated local exhibitions on ethnic en-claves in the region. So I knew about Tim-buctoo. Or thought I did. Taking my cuefrom local history sources, I had assumedit was pretty much a nonstory, anothercautionary fable about an Adirondackspeculator’s ambition gone risibly awry.And then there was the John Brown an-gle, which seemed to me had been doneto death. But Martha suspected there wasmore, and she was right. I’d never thoughtabout the critical role of Gerrit Smith’sten black apostles, for example—surelythe most intellectually prominent, politi-cally sophisticated group of land agentsever to attempt to settle homesteaders innorthern New York. I’d never consideredthe suffrage angle: land for votes. I’d neverseen the story framed in a wider politicalcontext. The idea that this Adirondack

Panel from Dreaming of Timbuctoo exhibit: Arguing the Point. A. F. Tait. Drawn onstone by Louis Maurer. Courtesy of The Adirondack Museum, Blue Mountain Lake,New York


land giveaway project was hitched up tocivil rights drew me in.

In this, I was not alone. Everybody whoeventually volunteered to help out withthe project—with the research, the map-ping, the design—was compelled by thisangle, a view of the Adirondack regionfrom a freshly politicized vantage, a per-spective that yoked Adirondack history tothe national scene. That’s what kept meand a score of others engaged in doing alot of work for much less than we knewour skills and labor to be worth, or inmany cases, for nothing. That, and ofcourse, the charismatic example of Mar-tha’s own steady zeal and her convictionthat the issues of racial justice that droveGerrit Smith and the black abolitionists150 years ago were no less pressing to-day. Through Martha’s eyes, the story as-sumed an urgency, a feeling of necessity,that overwhelmed its antiquarian appeal.And Martha, remember, was an organiz-er from way back. She knew how to makepeople feel good.

And we needed people, lots of them.We needed volunteer researchers to helpus out all over—to comb census recordsin Madison County, to share findings ongrantees from Queens, to check out can-didates for the antislavery Liberty Partyin Clinton County in 1845. This was a jig-saw with a thousand scattered pieces,some of them mired in the state archivesor squirreled away in the Gerrit SmithCollection at Syracuse University or bur-ied in The Black Abolitionist Papers. Whatwas the demographic profile of the grant-ees? Why did thousands of grantees whosigned their deeds never come north?What was happening in Brooklyn, or forthat matter, up in the Adirondacks, thatmay have dissuaded them? Were they in-ept farmers? (No, not at all—but theywere undercapitalized and inadequatelyoutfitted from the first.) Did John Brownreally serve as the “kind of father to them”he’d promised he’d be in a letter to GerritSmith? (Not by half: he mostly left hiswife and children to manage his Adiron-dack farm while he pursued other agen-

Panel from Dreaming of Timbuctoo exhibit: Black convention goers, around 1840.Engraving courtesy of William Loren Katz


das in England, Kansas, Ohio, and Harp-er’s Ferry.) Did the settlers really huddlein an African-like encampment with atattered flag flapping from a tilted pole?(Sheer literary fancy: in fact, many of thesettlers never stayed on their appointedlots, preferring to squat on better landnearby.) Did white racist storekeepers dothem in? (Some did. Other white neigh-bors worked closely with their new neigh-bors to found a singing school, a library,a church.)

Among the volunteer researchers wholabored on this project were a labor law-yer from Albany who was a long-timeGerrit Smith admirer, a Parks and Recre-ation worker with a passion for Adiron-dack social history, a site manager for theJohn Brown Farm, a graduate studentwith a keen eye for the minutiae of thecensus, a self-taught scholar of the ver-nacular architecture of Saranac Lake, anAfrican American historic sites photog-rapher, a retired Radcliffe College librari-an, and numberless local and lay histori-ans who contributed information about

grantees from counties as remote as Erieand Ontario. We journeyed, sometimes asa group, more often solo, to the state li-brary, county archives, Syracuse, Peter-boro, the New York Historical Society inManhattan. We made tracks. And inevi-tably, of course, as the findings piled up,as the circle of our story widened to in-clude not just the brief abortive tale ofTimbuctoo but the savage political con-text that engendered it, our vision of theexhibition grew accordingly.

I did not expect to face this crossroads.Martha and I were figuring on a small-scale, bare-bones exhibition with foam-board labels backed with Velcro, smallishimages, something that would suit thebasement in the barn at the John BrownFarm—a rather dank, low, unprepossess-ing room without windows. But the storygot bigger and deeper—and better. Itdeserved more. It snagged the interest ofexhibition designer Stephen Horne ofKevan Moss Designs, who agreed to workon it for less than his usual fee, not forany love of losing money but because he

was himself an Adirondacker with an in-terest in Gerrit Smith and the dream ofTimbuctoo spoke to his own heart. WithStephen on board and a few crucial grantsrolling in, was it time to rethink the wholeconcept? What if we delayed the open-ing, expanded the narrative and visuals,and shot for a venue as professional andambitious as our own expectations?

Which in the Adirondacks could onlymean the Adirondack Museum at BlueMountain Lake.

The benefits of an Adirondack Muse-um opening were immense. A regional in-stitution would lend our shoestring pro-duction a cachet and credibility that couldcatapult it into a dozen venues that mightnot otherwise consider it. Not to speakof the exposure! Ninety thousand peo-ple visit the fourteen-building museumannually. But would the Adirondack Mu-seum give John Brown Lives! the time ofday? The museum has its own stable ofgifted curators and an exhibition sched-ule planned years in advance. Why wouldthey go for a show they’d neither curated

From Dreaming of Timbuctoo exhibit: Black Farmers at North Elba, New York. Photographer unknown. Courtesy of The AdirondackMuseum, Blue Mountain Lake, New York


nor originated, a script over which they’dhave no say, a story with much more po-litical content, more text, and fewer arti-facts than their audience might expect?

On the other hand, we weren’t exactly,as they say, from nothing. Jackie Day, thenthe director, knew and admired Martha’swork with John Brown Lives! Stephen’s ex-hibition skills were well regarded. And I’dbeen in and out of the museum on vari-ous consulting, lecture, or researchprojects for years. More importantly, thisexhibition had something the museumneeded: most people assume that theAdirondacks is white folks’ country, withno part in the largely urban black experi-ence. This exhibition explored the regionin a new way: as an idealized landscapeof equal rights and black self-sufficiency,a place with meaning and value for blackAmericans no less than white. In hostingDreaming of Timbuctoo, the AdirondackMuseum gained an opportunity to expandits audience and, perhaps, its agenda. Af-rican Americans might come to recognizea connection to the region and its cultur-

al institutions as they hadn’t felt since theearly decades of John Brown Day. And ifthis was as big a deal for the museum asthe museum’s approbation was for us, wefigured they would jump.

We figured right. Dreaming of Timbuctoowould be launched at the Adirondack Mu-seum with the full support of its staff andall the fanfare of one of its own home-made productions.

Then came the bad news. For every sen-tence in the exhibition narrative, I need-ed to come up with a compelling image.Stephen warned me gently that this wasan exhibition, not a book. So start look-ing. And this was when the going got se-riously tough. The story, really, was all text,a brilliant paper trail of letters, handbills,lists and ledgers, reams of vivid quotesfrom radical abolitionists, lush agrarianrhetoric in the black press, resolutions atblack conventions, letters from John andMary Brown, progress reports in Freder-ick Douglass’ Paper (yes, Douglass too wasa Gerrit Smith grantee), survey maps, longlists of grantees—but no color, no art,

no stuff. Of the perhaps two hundredgrantees who actually visited northernNew York after getting deeds for landfrom Gerrit Smith, we had but three fac-es—three sad-faced old men some de-cades past their homesteading prime—and one solitary photograph of a groupof unsmiling black men and women inwide-brimmed hats posing in a field inNorth Elba, occasion unidentified, par-ticipants unnamed. As for other materialevidence: nothing. No traces in the woodsof makeshift cabins. No portraits (whoamong them could afford a portrait?). Butthat’s how it goes when your subject is avanished underclass that lacked the meansto immortalize itself on canvas or to buildenduring structures.

That left me scrambling for generics—never a first option, but we really had noother choice. Happily, the AdirondackMuseum had in its own collection splen-did paintings, photographs, and etchingsthat could help me illustrate a raft ofpoints: images of the Adirondack fron-tier in the mid-1850s, early homesteads,

From Dreaming of Timbuctoo exhibit: John Brown Farmstead. Courtesy of West Virginia State Archives, Boyd B. Stutler Collection


backcountry roads, farmers talking poli-tics, John Brown’s farm in a hundred dif-ferent moody lights. New York City mu-seums and archival repositories suppliedgripping illustrations of the problems—unemployment, racist mobs, bigotry, slavecatchers, routine violations of civilrights—that gave rise to the idea for ablack Adirondack farm colony in the firstplace. Local historical societies and librar-ies provided us with images of the story’sprominent abolitionists, black and white.The Library of Congress, American An-tiquarian Society, the Schomburg, theWest Virginia State Archives—we bor-rowed from them all and were even ableto display John Brown’s surveyor’s tran-sit, the same one he likely used to helpthe black settlers determine the bound-aries of their land.

I’m satisfied with the images I found,but the real visual coup was the overalldesign. Stephen had to find a way to putsome flesh, or an illusion of flesh, on thisbare-bones display of talking walls. Hisstrategy was inspired. Instead of settlingfor stand-alone hinged panels, he workedwith an Adirondack craftsman to devisea set of freestanding rough wood frames,easy to break down, secured with wood-en pegs. The text panels—not paper orfoam board but sailcloth-heavy two-sid-ed grommet-studded banners—werelaced in place between the frames withshort lengths of rope. All the bannerswere digitally imprinted with a burlap pat-tern that lent the cloth the warm look ofhome-spun. The textured backdrop neatlycontrasted with the digitally superim-posed illustrations and text.

Among the research team’s achieve-ments was determining the exact locationof each of the three thousand grants ofland, even if this land was never visitedor settled. The long, tedious work saw usthrough several late-night large pizzas. Butwe had to do it—we really wanted to geta feel for the physical range, the scope ofGerrit Smith’s giveaway. What it came toon the map was a patchy rectangle of wil-derness than ran roughly forty miles north

Panel from Dreaming of Timbuctoo exhibit: African American farmer with team of oxenin upstate New York. Courtesy of DeWitt Historical Society of Tompkins County,Ithaca, New York


Members: Order your copies of New York Folklore Society books at amembers-only discount. To join the New York Folklore Society, see inside back cover.

ADD THESE ESSENTIAL RESOURCES AND FASCINATING BOOKSTO YOUR LIBRARY!

Working with Folk Materials inNew York State: A Manual forFolklorists and ArchivistsEdited by John W. SuterWith contributions by leading New York Statearchivists and folklorists, this manual introducesfolklore to the archivist and archives tofolklorists. It is required reading for thoseworking with collections of folklore materialsin any part of the country.168 pages, loose-leaf notebook$25 $35 nonmembers $_________

Folklore in Archives:A Guide to Describing Folkloreand Folklife MaterialsBy James Corsaro and Karen Taussig-LuxWritten primarily for archivists and others whocare for collections of folk cultural documenta-tion, this manual describes the theory andpractice of folklore and provides essentialinformation on how to accession, arrange, anddescribe folklore materials.128 pages, loose-leaf notebook$25 $35 nonmembers $_________

Self-Management for Folk Artists:A Guide for Traditional Artists andPerformers in New York StateBy Patricia Atkinson WellsThis handbook is a must for traditional artists inNew York State interested in managing andmarketing their own businesses. Topics includepromotion, booking, contracts, keeping records,taxes, and copyright.148 pages, loose-leaf notebook$30 $40 nonmembers $_________

Island Sounds in theGlobal City: CaribbeanPopular Music and Identityin New YorkEdited by Ray Allen and Lois WilckenA collection of articles focusing on therelationship of Caribbean popular music andcultural identity in New York City, this booksexamines a broad spectrum of New York –based musical styles from Puerto Rico, the WestIndies, Haiti, Dominican Republic, andTrinidad.185 pages, paperback$15 $17.95 nonmembers$__________

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Amy Godine([email protected])lives in SaratogaSprings. She isavailable as a lecturerthrough the NewYork Council for theHumanities speakersprogram. Photo:Emma Dodge Hanson

to south, maybe fifteen miles across.That’s a lot of woods. Then StephenHorne took our colored-in survey mapand matched it to a topographic map ofnorthern New York. He overlaid the topowith an outline of the disbursements andturned that map into a banner. This wayyou could see exactly where in New YorkState the parcels were—how far fromPlattsburgh, Utica, Malone; which lotswere on mountaintops, which under twen-ty feet of lake water. For me, this was thecapstone of the exhibition, the image thatdrove home the immensity of GerritSmith’s gesture as no amount of textcould hope to do. People stood before it,mesmerized. So much land, such wild land!No wonder they didn’t come!

Since the exhibition opened at BlueMountain Lake, Dreaming of Timbuctoo hastraveled to Paul Smith’s College, SUNY-Plattsburgh, Utica College, the BrooklynPublic Library Main Branch, the Tang

Museum at Skidmore College, the Peter-boro Historical Society, and the Adiron-dack History Museum in Elizabethtown.Stephen’s structure is holding firm, and Ican still read the panels without gettingbored. From the New York Times to thePlattsburgh Republican, press and radio cov-erage has been extraordinarily generous.It’s a story makes people sit up and takeheed.

As for the exhibition’s movers and shak-ers, we’re all on to other things. John BrownLives! sponsors summer lecture and per-formance series geared toward issues ofsocial and political justice, and such isMartha’s reputation that small-town Ad-irondack audiences have thrilled to lec-tures from Eric Foner, James Loewen, andWilliam Loren Katz. Stephen Horne andKevan Moss continue to design award-worthy exhibitions. I’m doing the usualmiscellany of freelance writing aboutAdirondack social history and working on

a book on the lost dream of Timbuctoo.I’ve often thought about the feverish workthat went into the exhibit and why itseemed so compelling. I think it had todo with some spirit of necessity, a con-viction shared by everyone who helpedput it together that here was a story notmerely interesting or résumé-enhancingor marvelously unexpected, but needed. Agood feeling. It should be there for ev-erything we do.

Books subtotal $__________Shipping and handlingAdd $4 for the first book,$1 for each additional item. $_________Total $_________

Enclose check payable to New York FolkloreSociety and mail to New York Folklore Society, P.O.Box 763, 133 Jay St., Schenectady, NY 12301.

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Folk Arts Programming inNew York State: A Handbookand Resource GuideBy Karen LuxWritten for anyone considering starting a folkarts program at their institution. Shows thepotential of a broad range of different typesof fold arts presentations and providesinformation on how to carry them out.108 pages, paperback$10 $_________


to inquire exactly how close it will focus. Ifyou need to get closer than a few inchesfrom your subject, you can buy an exten-sion tube to attach to the macro lens. Thetube cuts the amount of light comingthrough the lens, requiring you to shoot ateven slower shutter speeds. Sometimes, bygetting so close, you end up blocking thelight with your lens to get the angle you want.Again, a tripod is the solution: it allows youto step away from the camera so as not tocast a shadow on the object.

Many ordinary digital cameras have abuilt-in macro function. I’ve had great re-sults using this focusing option, but I makesure that I have enough depth of field byusing the aperture selection setting. Anoth-er advantage of digital cameras is that theyautomatically balance the light so that with-out extra filtration, you can get much betterresults than on film indoors with fluores-cent or tungsten light sources.

If you are using film, try to shoot arti-facts in daylight either outside or with win-dow light and reflectors. Without correc-tion, tungsten lights turn daylight film or-ange, and fluorescent lights turn it green.Luckily we can now correct color balancein Photoshop. Direct flash on your camerais not a good way to light artifacts at anytime, but especially not when shooting closeup.

Photographing crafts and artifacts is astaple of folklore photography. A goodmacro lens is expensive, but the results areworth it.

Getting Close BY MARTHA COOPER

Martha Cooper isthe director ofphotography at CityLore. Her imageshave appeared inmuseum exhibitions,books, and maga-zines. If you have aquestion that you’dlike her to address,send it to the editorof Voices.

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Whenever I go on a folklore shoot, I makesure to bring along a close-up lens—a mac-ro. Even when the job description doesn’tinclude shooting artifacts, I almost alwaysfind a use for this indispensable piece ofequipment.

The most common macro has a 55mmfocal length and a ratio of one-to-one,meaning it’s neither telephoto nor wide-an-gle—it will record things pretty much theway your eyes see them. Many people liketo use it as their “normal” lens instead ofthe 50mm nonmacro, which is standard is-sue with most cameras. The macro lets youfill the frame with a small object. The down-side is that it’s heavier and more expensivethan the 50mm. You can also buy cheapclose-up lenses that attach to your existinglenses, but these are not as sharp or clear asa quality macro. Some zoom lenses have abuilt-in macro function. If yours does, besure to read the manual and find out howto use it.

My favorite macro is a 105mm with a 2.8aperture. This is a medium telephoto lens,so I don’t have to get uncomfortably closeto the subject. If you are shooting anythingthat moves—like hands weaving a basket—you will need some working space. In addi-tion to being a useful lens for shooting de-tails of embroidery or activities like fly-ty-ing, a telephoto macro is also an excellentportrait lens.

When shooting small objects with a mac-ro, you’ll probably need to shoot with yourcamera on a manual setting. Think careful-ly about which speed and aperture to usefor best results. Automatic or “P” (pro-grammed) settings will not give you enoughdepth of field for most artifacts. Macros cutdown the light coming through the lens, somake sure your camera meters light throughthe lens, and if not, compensate for a lossof light by opening up the aperture.

Remember that the closer to an objectyou are, the more depth of field you willneed. The wider your lens opening or aper-

ture, the less of your subject will be in fo-cus. The width of the aperture correspondsto the amount of light passing through thelens. With your lens set on f/2.8, you mayhave plenty of light to make a good expo-sure, but you will have shallow depth offield—only part of your image will be infocus.

If you are shooting something flat, suchas a painting, or copying a photograph, shal-low depth of field is not a problem. Shal-low depth can even be useful to blur a back-ground in order to emphasize the fore-ground. However, when you are shootingpottery or a decoy or some other three-di-mensional object, close down your lens toat least f/8, or preferably f/11 or f/16, sothat the entire object is in focus.

Some cameras have a depth-of-field pre-view button that lets you see exactly whatwill be in focus. If your camera has this fea-ture, experiment with it. Try focusing aboutone third of the distance behind the frontplane of the object. If you are shooting slidefilm with an ASA of 100–200, you will needa lot of light to shoot at f/11, even whenoutdoors. If you try to compensate for lackof light by shooting at a slow shutter speed,such as 1/20th of a second, you won’t beable to hold the camera steady. Solve thisproblem with a tripod.

Although unwieldy, a tripod is a necessi-ty when shooting artifacts. It allows you toshoot at a slow shutter speed so that youcan hold the lens open longer at a smallaperture and let in more light for moredepth of field. In addition, a tripod lets youframe the shot much more precisely than ifyou are holding the camera. Trying to fo-cus a hand-held camera on a small objectcan be enormously frustrating, as any bodymovement will throw a closely framed ob-ject out of focus. Along with a tripod, youwill need a cable release so as not to jar thecamera by pressing the shutter.

Some macro lenses focus more closelythan others. If you’re buying one, be sure


minute and eighteen seconds for all thebeer they produced that year to clear thebrink of Niagara Falls, had it replaced theusual water. These breweries owned mostof the taverns in town and offered sumptu-ous free lunches to their customers.

The hearty buffets were an inexpensiveway to eat. Tables were loaded with ham,pickled herring, sardines, pickled pigs’ feet,and beef on weck—all accompanied by hotmustard, raw onions, and horseradish. Butthe tavern keepers knew what they weredoing. The food was so salty that custom-ers built up a thirst that could only be slakedby repeated trips to the bar. Nowadays, ofcourse, there is literally no such thing as afree lunch, but fortunately beef on weck isstill readily available, and it still goes verywell with a tall, cold beer.

Buffalo’s Other Claim to Fame BY LYNN CASE EKFELT

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A food column on Buffalo? Hmm, mustbe about chicken wings. To anyone outsidewestern New York, that would be a reason-able assumption. But those of us born with-in hailing distance of the Peace Bridge knowthat long before Teresa at the Anchor Barcame up with her inspired solution for un-desirable chicken parts, Buffalo had a sig-nature food. My fellow expatriates, homefor a visit, have been known to hug the rel-atives, pat the dog, dump the suitcases, andhead directly out for…a beef on weck?

And not any beef on weck will do—ithas to be that special one. Buffalonians hotlydebate the merits of one emporium overanother. There’s even a webpage rating thebest beef on weck in the city. If you don’tbelieve me, check out www.digitalcity.com/buffalo/entertainment/article.adp?aid=3493.

Luckily, there is enough beef on weckaround town to suit everyone’s taste. Mycousin, a weck connoisseur exiled to Ohio,took my husband and me to his old collegehaunt when we were all home for Christ-mas, commenting that he liked the sand-wiches there because they came with “realhorseradish, not little packets of a creamyhorseradish-like substance.”

I grew up calling these sandwiches “beefon wick.” Linda Stradley on her History ofSandwiches webpage describes this spellingas “an alternative usually used by older peo-ple from Buffalo and eastern suburbanites.”Once I’d taken German, it was easy enoughto see the error we “eastern suburbanites”had been making. Weck is short for kummel-weck, a combination of the German wordskümmel (caraway seed) and weck (roll).

And in fact, it is this roll that makes thesandwich unique. Made only in the Buffa-lo-Rochester area, the kummelweck—oftenalternatively spelled kimmelweck—is basicallya Kaiser roll topped with lots of pretzel saltand caraway seeds. Inside, very thinly slicedroast beef is piled high, and the whole thingis served with a dish of “au jus” (I suppose

it is too much to expect a German sand-wich to make sense of French prepositions),for dipping. Alternatively, the cook some-times dips the top of the roll into the jusjust before serving it. In either case, the beefon weck sandwich must be accompanied bya pot of freshly grated, sinus-clearing horse-radish.

Although the exact history of the sand-wich can’t be documented, it is believed thatWilliam Wahr, a German baker, brought thekummelweck to Buffalo from the Black For-est. German immigrants had already madethe city a center of brewing. Becky Mercuriin Sandwiches That You Will Like (Pittsburgh:WQED Multimedia, 2002, p. 40) reportsthat in 1908, even though consolidation hadreduced the number of breweries from thir-ty-five to twenty-five, it would have taken a

Kummelweck Rolls1/4 cup caraway seeds1/4 cup coarse salt2 envelopes active dry yeast5 cups (approximately) flour2 teaspoons salt

Combine the caraway seeds and the coarse salt in a small bowl and set aside.In a large mixing bowl, combine the yeast, 2 cups of flour, the salt, oil, milk, and

water. Mix well at medium speed for 2 minutes, scraping the bowl occasionally. Add theeggs and beat the mixture another minute, adding as much flour as the mixer will take.By hand, stir in enough remaining flour to make a soft dough.

Turn the dough onto a floured board and knead, adding flour if necessary, until it issmooth and elastic. Place it in a large greased bowl, turning it to grease the top. Coverand let the dough rise until it has doubled in bulk, about 45 minutes. Punch the doughdown and knead it for two minutes on a floured board.

To shape the rolls, cut the dough into 24 pieces. Tuck the edges of each piece underand shape it into a flat, round roll. With a sharp kitchen knife, cut four evenly spaced,shallow arcs into the top of each roll from the center to the edges, pressing at the centerwith your thumb to make an indentation. The pinwheel pattern should resemble that ona Kaiser roll. Sprinkle the tops of the rolls with the caraway-salt mixture, then transferthem to baking sheets and cover them. Let them rise until they have doubled in bulk.

To bake, place a heat-proof pan of water on the floor of the oven and preheat theoven to 350 degrees. When the oven is hot, put in the rolls and bake them for about 30minutes, until they are brown.

Source: www.geocities.com/library/buffwingsalad

2 1/2 tablespoons sugar1/3 cup oil2/3 cup milk3/4 cup warm water2 eggs


ZillahZillaham the oldest daughter (Thea) of anoldest daughter (Christine) of an old-

BY THEA KLUGE

ry mostly through her, it was not very dif-ferent from what I remembered: Zillahwas walking to the grocery store, proba-bly without much money. When ap-proached, she refused to give up her purseand was beaten and left in an alley, whereshe almost died. As she was regainingconsciousness, she thought she saw herfather, Ai, and he told her that her timehad not yet come. Eventually someoneheard her moaning and saved her.

Another Zillah story that my motherrecalls is how as a retiree, Zillah took ajob in a card shop. Places upstate wereless likely to close in a snowstorm becausethe people were used to bad winter weath-er. But one year there was a huge blizzardthat caused even General Electric to closedown. Nevertheless, the elderly Zillahwalked all the way to work. To my moth-er, this story exemplifies her grandmoth-er’s work ethic and strength.

In Zillah, my mother found serenity anda safe haven from her cranky father andtwo brothers. But toward her own chil-dren, Zillah is said to have had a temper.Maybe these stories wouldn’t be heroic tothem. I call my Great Aunt Nancy for herrecollection. She does not remember theblizzard story but says “the weather nev-er held her up,” adding, “unfortunately.”But she remembers the mugging veryclearly because it was she whom Zillahnamed at the hospital as an emergencycontact, and she who went to collect hermother. Her story is more detailed thanmy mother’s.

Zillah was living in senior citizens’ hous-ing in a “changing neighborhood.” Sheleft to walk downtown after watching herfavorite soap opera. She was “strutting,”carrying her purse and a totebag that read“A Touch of Class,” and as usual was“looking neat” and wearing some make-up. She came to a row of two- and three-family houses, which were going to bedemolished to make way for a new firestation, when two people came up behind

Iest daughter (Louise) of an oldest daugh-ter (Zillah) of an oldest daughter (Ber-tha). My family says I resemble Zillah themost. This story is about her, and it takesplace in Schenectady.

My mother grew up in Schenectady. Tothis day, I can spot people from upstateNew York by their immunity to the cold.Many of her family members were em-ployees of General Electric. In fact,Schenectady was often called “The Elec-tric City.” My mother worked there, brief-ly. Her father and uncle worked there, andher mother worked there. Even her grand-mother, Zillah, worked there.

My great-grandmother died when I waseight years old, so I knew her mostlythrough stories. One story, told to me bymy mother, stands out. As an elderlywoman, Zillah was mugged on her wayhome. When she refused to give up herbag, which could not possibly have con-tained more than a few dollars and change,the muggers beat her to death—or so theythought. They left her in an alley, where avision of her late father appeared to her,saying, “It’s not your time yet.” Zillah sur-vived and made a full recovery.

I remember thinking that the moral ofthe story was about her stubbornness—she would rather have been killed thangive up her purse—and her strength. Zil-lah’s story fascinated me.

Tonight, I ask my mother to recountthe story again. Since I had heard the sto-

My mother doesn’t know whether themuggers got Zillah’s purse in the end, butshe says it doesn’t matter. I ask her if thestory means the same things to her as itdoes to me. She says the main thing itshows about her grandmother is herstrength of character: she walked every-where, raised six children pretty muchalone, and grew up one of ten siblings. Iask whether she thinks this story says any-thing negative about Zillah—I am think-ing about how she stubbornly refused tolet go of her purse—and she says no; sheadmired her grandmother and never hadanything but positive thoughts about her.Zillah let my mother sleep over and taughther to bake, among other things.

Different people indifferent generations

remember and retell theirfamily stories indifferent ways.


it says about Zillah, Nancy says, is that“she had someone to take care of her—she came and lived with me.” I realize lat-er that she has not mentioned anythingabout Zillah’s father comforting her in thealley. I ask what else this story says aboutZillah and she adds, “This didn’t keep herdown”—her mother continued to walkeverywhere. I told her that I had alwaysheard that Zillah wouldn’t let go of herbags, and that’s why she was beaten. Nan-cy figures that it was just Zillah’s first re-action to having her bags pulled frombehind—considerably less heroic than theversion in which an old lady defies vio-lent muggers.

While I am talking with Aunt Nancy,my mother calls her cousin Connie, Nan-cy’s daughter. Connie remembers moreabout the visit by Zillah’s father’s ghost,saying that he comforted her and stayedwith her until she was found.

Different people in different genera-tions remember and retell their family sto-ries in different ways. Some find lessons,some find strength, some define them-selves, and some attach spiritualism andfaith. Each person stretched the detailsof the story about Zillah to create themessage that she got from the story.

My mother’s cousins call it “the inten-sifier gene”; my mother calls it -issimo.They believe that at least one child in eachnuclear portion of our large, extendedfamily is born with this gene, which am-plifies his or her personality. No question,Zillah had that gene.

Thea Klugewas born andraised innorthernWestchesterCounty, NewYork. Shemoved to NewYork City in2000 to attendthe Cooper Union for the Advancement ofScience and Art, where she is now a third-year art and design major. She is spendingthe current semester in Basel, Switzerland,studying graphic design and typography atthe Hochschule für Gestaltung und KunstBasel HGK. Photo: Ives family, Klugefamily

her and grabbed her purse and totebag.If they had come up in front of her anddemanded the bags, Nancy is sure thather mother would have just handed themover. The muggers then broke Zillah’sarm and wrist, gave her a concussion, andthrew her between two row houses, leav-ing her for dead. She woke up enough tocry out, and people living nearby thought

it was a cat before realizing that it was awoman calling, “Help, help!” in a weakvoice. Zillah had an “in case of emergen-cy” card that named her son. Since hewasn’t home, the hospital workers had towait until she woke up and named Nan-cy.

I ask Aunt Nancy what this story saysabout Zillah. The most important thing

Zillah at age 19 or 20, with her first daughter. Photo: Ives family, Kluge family


Dancing and dance music have a long tradition in upstate New York’s rural communities. Althoughsome details—instrumentation, tunes, style of calling, and dancers’ attire, not to mention transpor-tation to the dance—have changed, the joy and energy of today’s dancers in western and centralNew York would be familiar to their counterparts from the nineteenth century. Old newspapers,diaries, dance cards, and other primary source documents, combined with the recollections ofaging tradition bearers, give us a look at not only the music and dance but also the social andbusiness dealings of the era.

Old-TimeDance Music Western New York

Old-TimeDance Music Western New York

BY JAMES KIMBALL

Nunda News, April 5, 1879“The Fat Men’s Ball,” which is to begiven at Canaseraga, N.Y., on the 17th,under the auspices of the heavy menof the Erie Rail Road, with conductorsChapman and Hatch of Attica, as gen-eral managers, will be an interestingevent, and is all the talk among the rail-road men. . . 200 lbs. is the lowest limit,and it is confidently expected that Un-cle Ben Wales, of the C.C.&C.R.R., whoweighs 413 lbs., will be present with his“best girl” who tips the scales at 372lbs. . .

Ontario Repository, February 27, 1816Wife Advertised

Whereas my wife, Mrs. BrigetMcDallogh, is again walked away withherself, and left me with five small chil-dren and her poor blind mother, andleft nobody else to take care of houseand home, and I hear she has taken upwith Tim Guigan, the lame fiddler, thesame that was put in the stocks lastEaster, for stealing Barney Doody’sgame-cock: This is to give notice, thatI will not pay for bite or sup on heraccount to man or mortal, and that shehad better never show the marks of herten toes near my house again.

PATRICK McDALLOGHP.S.—Tim had better keep out of mysight.

One couldn’t believe everything printedin the old small-town papers—any morethan one can today—but they were a con-

in

tinual source of entertainment, and a repos-itory of local and not so local lore. Today,alongside diaries, tune and call books, anddance cards, they are a good source of in-formation on dancing and dance music inNew York’s rural communities in the nine-teenth and early twentieth centuries, frompioneer log cabin parties to today’s dancesin community halls and school gyms. Fromearlier periods we can document manyevents and their music. More recent versionsof the tradition, of course, we can experi-ence ourselves; we can dance with traditionbearers and eat supper with the musicians.But the participants are aging. Some of thebest and most colorful callers have passedaway or stopped calling because of illness.The rural population itself has shrunk asthe suburbs move out into the country. ForClarence Maher, who farmed in Riga (at thesouthwest corner of Monroe County), themajor turning point was World War II:

When the war broke out…everythingwent haywire for a while. Then peoplewent to work, the women went to work,and country life quit then, more or less.Good ol’-fashioned country life endedthere…as far as I’m concerned. Beforethen, everybody was mostly farmers—

well, the farmers quit and went into thecity; and the city started movin’ out thisway, and that’s what happened.”

Maher was a fine old fiddler, up to hisninety-sixth year. He remembered trapping“mushrats” when he was young, to pay forlessons with Fred Bissell, the old bachelorwho had led the Bergen Quadrille Orches-tra back in the 1880s. Fred had taught himto play “Opera Reel,” “Money Musk,”“Crooked-S,” the “Irish Trot,” “Do-Si-Ball-inet”—all popular dances in the 1880s and,in Maher’s neighborhood, up to the 1930s.

Today most younger callers have turnedto more modern styles and venues, includ-ing modern squares and contras and linedances. In my roles as historian and ethno-musicologist I appreciate and recognize theinevitable changes that come to any art; thefolklorist and presenter in me would like toencourage the older repertoire and styles aslong as there are those who will enjoy them.

“Old-time” in this paper refers to the mu-sic and dance of old-timers, especially thosewho grew up going to local rural “roundand square” dances. Each generation ofdancers in western New York, however, hasblended its tradition with influences from


changing popular culture. In the earliernineteenth century a tradition of localizedcontradances gave way to the newer qua-drilles or squares. These in turn began tomake room for trendy couple dances(round dances) of the day. From the 1840sto the 1940s we see one after the other thearrival of the waltz, polka, schottische,two-step, fox trot, jitterbug, and beyond—any of which might still be part of anevening’s round and square dance.

Among the first round and square danc-es I attended when I started lookingaround western New York in the early1980s were those held at the Oakfield Fire-hall, music by Ramblin’ Lou, part old-tim-er and part WWVA-styled country musi-cian from the 1950s. Lou ran a countryradio program out of Lancaster, NewYork, and the dances were broadcast live,advertisements and all. The caller, Accor-dion Zeke, was a master of the older sing-ing call style, which had come to domi-

nate New York square dancing since the ad-vent of PA systems in the 1930s. Lou’s bandincluded his wife on lead electric guitar andthree or four of their teen-aged to young-twenties kids. The one boy played a full rockdrum set. The sets of three square figureswere perfectly traditional and always endedwith a “jig figure,” or “hoedown,” which fea-tured one of the daughters playing tunes like“Ragtime Annie” or “Devil’s Dream” on fid-dle. The round dances were a mix of slowcountry favorites and energetic rock music.A favorite of every dance was the drum soloon “Wipe Out,” which accompanied free-style rock dancing. Older folks came espe-cially for Ramblin’ Lou and Accordion Zeke;younger folks followed the younger membersof the band and responded most to the coun-try and rock music. The firehall ran a bar,which attracted yet another group.

In contrast, we also had Ken Roloff ’s band,which played regular dances at the East Pem-broke grange hall, not far from Oakfield. The

band here averaged about sixty-five in age,and the dancers were mostly in their fortiesup to seventies or more—the generationthat had square danced so actively in schoolgyms and grange halls in the 1940s and1950s. (Many a basketball game was fol-lowed by a square dance in the small schoolsacross western New York in those days.)The square sets were about the same asRamblin’ Lou’s; the round dances here, how-ever, consisted of waltzes, schottisches, areinlander, sometimes a Rye Waltz, jitter-bugs, and older country standards.

I was interested in the dress at these danc-es. There was one couple in their eighties:the man wore a dark suit and tie and hiswife a dress, the same as they would haveworn to any special social event for theirgeneration. Middle-aged couples dressedcomfortably, as their generation usually didfor similar events: women wore slacks, themen did not wear jackets or ties. Everyonehad comfortable flat shoes. The few teens

The Fat Men’s Ball, late nineteenth century. Courtesy of James Kimball


present wore tee-shirts, jeans, and sneak-ers. There were no “square dance” outfitsor cowboy hats to be seen. There was alsono teaching done at any of these dances,and all I asked, of any age, said they hadlearned as part of growing up or from fam-ily and friends. The dances themselves weregenerally uncomplicated and repetitive;

many of the same calls could be heard fromdance to dance. It struck me that this wasin fact a very genuine folk dance traditionand that everyone on the floor was what wewould now term a tradition bearer.

To an outsider, today’s bands might seemless than ideally old-time. Electric guitars,accordions, saxophones or drum sets, how-

ever, have long been part of the rural in-strumentation, as important to the chang-ing venues as the microphone for the caller.Fiddlers are still appreciated; but not everyband has one. To the dancers, the instru-mentation is not critical as long as the mu-sic can inspire the movements on the floorand good energy among the crowd.

The square dancing I had grown up within northern Ohio was taught by school gymteachers or recreation leaders and usuallydone to records. Often just one or two cou-ples did a figure while the others watched.Years later I realized that some of therecords had been made by Floyd Woodhull,one of the most influential traditional call-ers and band leaders from New York State.Woodhull kept very busy from the 1930sinto the 1950s, collecting and playing danc-es in central and western New York. Hisrecorded square dances on RCA Victor wereto influence most of the rural callers in thearea today.

While still in Ohio I took piano lessons,sang in the church choir, and learned toplay some on my dad’s ukulele and mymother’s violin. In time I went to CornellUniversity, whose music department wasbest known for its historical musicology,combining the study of earlier musicalforms and techniques with performance inhistorically appropriate styles on period in-struments. At the same time, the early1960s, I got caught up in the folk revivalfads then sweeping campuses across thenorth: international folk dancing, hoote-nanny-style sing-alongs and coffee houseperformances, guitar and five-string ban-jo, Sing Out magazine, Pete Seeger, and thepublished collections of John and AlanLomax.

Quite apart from these activities at Cor-nell were regular square dances that attract-ed a mixed crowd, including some ag stu-dents I didn’t see at the other folk musicactivities. The principal caller was RogerKnox, who had brought a strong apprecia-tion of square dancing in both recreationand club settings from the West Coast. Inthe East, Knox involved himself with NewEngland traditional dance scholar Ralph

Poster for a dance. Courtesy of James Kimball


Page. In addition to the Cornell dances,Knox started dances in nearby Dryden,which drew rural folks who had danced tothe Woodhulls and others of the small coun-try bands and callers. I once asked him ifthe Dryden dancers had distinctively localways of responding to square dance calls.He said he had long ago taught them awayfrom their old ways.

After an overseas stint in the Army, Ientered the ethnomusicology program atWesleyan University in Connecticut. Thisprogram emphasized the study of worldmusic but always in context of other ele-ments of society—related dance, religion,language, history, social strata, gender roles,modernization, even politics. Wesleyan alsoencouraged gaining some performanceskill in the music being studied.

For all its very wide view of world mu-

sics and cultures, however, nobody at Wes-leyan seemed to be particularly aware of anydistinctive, local Connecticut rural music orsquare dance—at least no one among thefaculty or student body. As I later learnedat Geneseo, one might more likely learnabout these traditions from secretarial andmaintenance staff and by reading local Pen-nysaver or Shopper papers.

A big fiddle contest at Hartford attract-ed both revival and, in the senior division,traditional players. One of the winners, Iseem to remember, was Jay Ungar. I tookthird in some category. The best to me,however, were the few older traditional play-ers, who seemed less worried than the restof us and above the details of rather citi-fied rules that governed the judging.

Through my continued involvement ininternational folk dancing—at nearby Yale

University in this case—I became aware ofa growing interest in New England con-tradancing. Two or three times I drove toNew Haven to back up Dudley Laufman,who came to town to lead appreciative new-comers through traditional figures from oldNew England. Laufman’s activities and thecontra revival were another influence of theRalph Page legacy.

Folk dancing also took me to Poland in1974 to play and dance with a group ofAmericans at a festival in Rzeszow. Onething led to another and I got hooked onold-time dance music traditions in westernPoland. This in turn led to a call from AlanLomax to put together a Polish program forthe bicentennial Folklife Festival at theSmithsonian Institution. Working underLomax and Ralph Rinzler gave me a muchgreater sense of “living” as opposed to ar-

Unidentified fiddlers, c. 1880s, western New York orPennsylvania. This old tintype, acquired from an antiquesdealer in Jamestown, New York, matches the frequent late-nineteenth-century descriptions of first and second fiddleduos, as well as the involvement of young players inneighborhood dances. Photo: Courtesy of James Kimball

Horace “Hod” Case, fiddler and caller, c. 1925. Photo:Courtesy of Patricia Orr


ranged or revived “folk.” The Polish gov-ernment wanted to send a professionalsong-and-dance show. We wanted rural per-formers who still performed this music inan older style and in their regular lives. Ittook the Smithsonian some time and somepolitical arm twisting but they got their way:we got traditional performers.

When I came to Geneseo in 1976, itseemed a natural step to transfer my inter-ests to old-time music in western New York.But what was it? I started reading old news-papers from the region and visiting fleamarkets, antiques shops, and old-book deal-ers. I combed the weekly Pennysaver for auc-tion and yard sale ads and found small no-tices of local round and square dances.Before long my home was filling up withmusical instruments, sheet music, publishedand manuscript tune collections, instructionbooks, dance cards, early recordings, andnotebooks of interviews and material tak-en from old papers.

The following turned up in a collectionof diaries I bought at the Avon flea mar-ket. Grove V. Purchase, of Borodino, wastwenty years old when he wrote these en-tries:

Feb. 12, 1907....We moved Grand-mother’s stove and some chairs anddishes down here to use at the party....Iwent to Borodino and got 6 gal of oilat Rick’s on account.

Feb. 13....We took the bench out ofthe ballroom. Pa mended some har-nesses Ma & I cleaned out the ball-room. We went to Borodino to an en-tertainment and dance and got homeat one a.m.

Feb. 14. We set up two stoves in theballroom and Ma mopped it. Pa and Isawed up a log. We borrowed a bag ofcoal of Lee Durbin. Pa telephoned toRalph at Skaneateles to get 75 papernapkins.

Feb. 15. I went to mill and left 6 bgs.oats and 3 bgs. barley. We got the barnsin shape to hitch horses in and made allthe final preparations for the dance. J.J.Flanagan and Louis Nye came about4:30. They played from about 9 till 4:30.There were about 80 couples peoplehere and they all seem to have a goodtime. Leon Briggs and Lloyd Harpercame to Marietta and came down in theRose Hill load. Glenn Harvey and Ray-mond Church brought loads. I got quitewell acquainted with Miss Lena Hall

from Rose Hill. She is quite a cute littlegirl and a dandy dancer.

Feb. 16. Didn’t get to bed at all butdid the chores as soon as all the danc-ers had left. Pa slept while I was doingthem. The musicians left for home soonafter light...

Grove’s father’s, John Purchase, noted thefollowing in his diary:

Feb. 15. A beautiful day. Grove and Iput up 9 bags oats and barley. he tookit to the mill and left it. We got ourbarns ready for the evening party. JackFlanigan & Lewie Nye, the music, cameabout 4 p.m. There was two loads camefrom Rose-Hill. they all danced till near-ly morn before they broke up. PaidMusic $3.10 apiece. Every one enjoyedthemselves tip top.

We have another good example fromOrleans County, the diary of Miss JuliaHoag, age 20, of Kendall.

Oct. 5, [1877,] Friday. Cold and pleas-ant. Cloudy to-night.…I finished mydress to-day. I think it looks very pret-ty now, better than it ever lookedbefore.…Mary and I dressed up for the[apple] pareing bee before dark. I woremy red dress. It sets perfectly. We wentover after supper. We were almost thefirst ones there. Eli Hagadorne wasthere, he came over and got our pare-ing machine. Emma Wilson was thereand she and I enjoyed ourselves splen-didly. Everybody was there from allaround. I didn’t know as there was somany young folks about. We pared andsliced apples till quite late and then hadrefreshments and a dance. I didn’t sup-pose there was to be a dance. Therewas one violin and the melodeon madenice music. I never danced before butI did to-night. Ella Winegard said Idone well. I danced 5 or 6 times, oncewith Eli and twice with Mr. Hudson,once with Robinson and Winfield. Sin-da Buggles was there and a good manyI didn’t know. Alice was there with Jed-dy. Mary and I came home about halfpast two. We had a splendid time. Iwaltzed once. The room seemed to spinaround for a while, but I got over that.

Oct. 6, Saturday.…Mary and I didn’tfeel much like anybody to-day…

Small-town newspapers often gave re-ports of similar events:

Dansville Advertiser, February 1, 1877On Friday evening last, a party of 24young ladies and gentlemen seatedthemselves in a huge sleigh box on apair of bobs and started for Mt. Mor-ris in merriest mood. Arriving at Mt.

Morris at 8:30, they stopped at the Ea-gle Hotel, and half an hour afterwardswere enjoying one of [Mr.] Scoville’sbest suppers.…and at 10, commencedkeeping time with dancing feet to thegood music of Sedgwick’s fiddle, as-sisted by McArthur and Chilson of Mt.Morris. They were assisted in this de-lightful amusement by another sleigh-ing party from Geneseo. The dancerswere not ready to start for home until4 a.m. Saturday and looked somewhatweary when they rode into Dansvilleat 7 a.m.

A year later they did it again, and a fol-lowup article notes the following:

Dansville Express, February 14, 1878That sleighing party which went fromDansville to Mt. Morris one night lastweek had an elegant time at the Scov-ille house…one of the party, he whowears the big black moustache, it is said,kissed a Mt. Morris girl so suddenly thatshe went out of the room for a mo-ment to blush.

I asked Clarence Maher about sleigh ridesto dances when he was young, this beingthe normal way to get around in the winter,when most of the parties were held. He said,“It was damn cold.”

Mark Hamilton, fiddler, caller, and old-time singer from Wolf Run in AlleganyCounty had more pleasant memories of thewinter rides when he was a child in the1920s. He also remembered that familiesusually took any children with them.

My father never drove a car. Alwaysdrove horses. We had a lot of fungoin’, and we’d go to sleep on the wayback. I can remember my mother usedto get us out when it was just so niceand warm. I don’t see why we couldn’tstay right there till morning. She’dmake us get out of that nice warmstraw…and go and get into an old coldbed. Buffalo robe and straw kept usnice and warm. They used to havesome great times around here. ’Forethey had automobiles, somebody’dhook a team of horses on a pair ofbobsleds an’ then start runnin’ in thevalley; an’ they’d just pick her right upuntil they’d have a load…Somebodyelse’d start on the other end and they’dhave three, four sleigh loads. Oh,they’d sing an’ have a big time, goin’and comin’.”

Did Clarence Maher have young childrenat his house parties?


Oh sure! Hell, we’d park ’em—we’d put’em all to bed. One night we’s at a dancedown here to Miller Menzie’s an’ we hastwenty kids upstairs in different beds,an’ we was dancin’ all night.

Sometimes the old papers or diaries tellus just what instruments were played. Anotice from 1878, for example, lists themusicians with their instruments:

Nunda News, February 23, 1878The Nunda Quadrille Orchestra is

furnishing good music for parties nowand includes the following musicians:L.F. Willey, 1st violin and director;James Carroll, 2d violin and prompter;H. Willard, cornet; O. Willett, banjo;[and] George Daggett, bass.

Note here the second violin as prompter.Sometimes we have to identify the instru-ments from other sources:

Holly Standard, February 2, 1899Morton: A lot of the young friends

of Lyell Storer made him a surprise

Thursday evening. All were engaged indancing, with Martin Webster as lead-er of the orchestra. Jim Bort camedown from Fair Haven to tell themwhich way to “which.”

Local family tradition tells us that MartinWebster was generally accompanied by hisbrother Huron on melodeon. Huron’s oldPrince melodeon still works and currentlyresides with his great-great-granddaughter,musician and folklorist Karen Canning.

A particularly newsy and long look at lo-cal dance musician history can be found inthe diaries of Hod Case of Bristol. Casestarted keeping diaries when he was elevenyears old and kept them up for seventy-threeyears, until he died in 1940. All but five yearsis preserved and in the historical collectionof the Town of Richmond in Honeoye.Excerpts from Case’s diaries follow, preced-ed by a thumbnail autobiographical descrip-tion (from the back of his 1890–92 jour-nal):

Horace H. [Case] born in Bristol July7th, 1855, devoted considerable timeto instrumental music but his principaloccupation is farming and hop grow-ing. He married Oct. 7th, 1876 JuliaReardon…daughter of Dennis andCatherine (Gordon) Reardon, nativesof Ireland. Horace Case is a memberof the Peoples’ Party and has been Jus-tice of the Peace four years. He is amember of Eagle Lodge no. 619 F. &A.M., and the Farmers’ Alliance ofBristol.

Jan 17 1868 Had an old folks partyhere. Dave Thomas played.

Mar 25 1869 I traded my little fiddleto Frank Mitchell for a sled.

Jan 18 1870 [age fourteen and a half]Went to school, all the scholars to CalebSimmons in eve. Herb Case and Iplayed for them to dance…my first at-tempt at calling for dancing…I playedand called one sett.

Feb 24 1870 Herb Case here…andwanted me to go to John Johnson’sbeyond Slab City and play with him toa dance…Rode with him and his wife.Herb and I played I rec’d $2.50. Firstmoney for fiddling.

Feb 11 1871 …I to Carter’s and tookmusic lesson.

The Checker Boys, early 1940s, a Wyoming County round and square dance band. From left: Keith Morgan, Lynn Rowley, ElmerBrewer, Woody Kelly, Ken Lowe. Photo: Courtesy of James Kimball.


Oct 2 1871 …Carter and I played toparty at Tine Phillips at night. he gaveme $1.00.

Nov 3 1871 John, George, Sammyand I to Honeoye Lake cooning andduck hunting.…I played to Thos.Hunns…[went] to a dance, played withCarter and Sam Lepeyn. I rec’d $1.00.

Feb 8 1872 …I bought Sidney a vio-lin today gave $2.50.

Feb 12 …Father…brought home aviolin from Finley’s [in Canandaigua]for me to try, price $25. I don’t like it.

Sep 11 …We threshed. had 230 bushof oats, 100 of barley, 75 of wheat. gotdone at 4:00…put oat straw in barn Ifooted it to Lorenzo Bissels and playedalone for hop dance. rec’d 6.25. cameas far as John Smith’s hop house andstayed til morning.

Case documents about seventeen hundreddances over the next fifty-five years. By the1910s his music has gone out of fashion,though he does attract some attention as a manwho can still play and call old-time dances:

Ontario County Times, December 9, 1910Bristol. The dance by the stockhold-

ers of the Bristol Center ImprovementCo., held last Friday night, was the jollyaffair it always is, where old and youngjoin in dancing the opera reel, moneymusk, Irish trot and even Old DanTucker to the tune of Hod and SidCase’s fiddles as in the good old days.The fun kept up until nearly daylight,the dancers stopping only long enoughto eat one of the best of suppers.

The listing of old-time dances tells us atleast some of the tunes Case played, butthe tune books he received by mail and thetunes he copied out are gone. Music men-tioned in the diaries includes waltzes, schot-tisches, novelty songs, and quadrille sets(square dances). In one case, he mentionspracticing sets of quadrille tunes receivedfrom Cub Berdan, who composed and pub-lished sets of quadrille tunes in the 1870sand 1880s in Michigan.

“Opera Reel” was a favorite of both Caseand Maher, who remembered it from thefirst dance he ever played, around 1912, untilthe end of neighborhood house dances be-fore World War II.

Other than the named contradances (in-cluding “Opera Reel”) and a circle danceor two, old descriptions and dance cardsdon’t usually identify what tunes wereplayed. Much of the evening was taken upwith quadrilles, each divided into three ormore figures. The last and liveliest of thesefigures, commonly referred to as the jig fig-ure, involved the most swinging, often witha chance to swing all the other ladies or gentsin the set. The tune might be a popular old“hoedown” or reel (or a newer tune in thatstyle) or a lively popular song—“Rickett’sHornpipes,” “Turkey in the Straw,” “Sol-

dier’s Joy,” “Pistol Packin’ Mama,” or “Ala-bama Jubilee.” The first two figures (orchanges) were frequently taken from thecollections of quadrille sets published inBoston, New York, or Chicago. Such setswere commonly included in violin instruc-tion books from the 1840s through the1880s. Especially important to music-read-ing New York dance musicians were setsof quadrilles, available in part books, putout by E. T. Root of Chicago and by CubBerdan. The first two or three tunes usuallyhad no individual titles, and most were in6/8. The standard eight-bar phrases weregenerally not repeated, and key changeswere common.

I asked Mark Hamilton, of Black Creek,if he knew any tunes that changed keys. Hethought of several but had no titles forthem. And he played them without re-peats—a characteristic of Hamilton’s play-ing in general. In the following months andyears, he recalled more two key tunes. As Imet old-time dance musicians, I found thatthey all knew at least a couple of these tunes,generally untitled or called “Uncle Luke’stune” or the like. These tunes had fallenfrom their active repertoires; they were notused in modern dances or concert contests(but the mere question prompted thesemusicians to come up with pieces theyhadn’t played for many years), and organizedfiddlers’ clubs and contests had long sincetaken no interest in them. The heart of olderNew York dance fiddling hadn’t made it intomodern public venues.

The Hod Case diaries tell us what instru-ments were used and in what combinations.About a hundred dances—some six per-cent—are for solo violin. More than fivehundred, or thirty percent, are for two vio-lins. The next most common ensemble istwo violins and five-string banjo (the com-bination that Maher remembered from hisfirst dance). After violin and banjo we findclarinet, cornet, reed organ, bass (double-bass or cello), piano, trombone, piccolo, andharp. In all there are sixty-eight combina-tions involving one to five musicians. Gui-tar is mentioned only four times—twice atdances, once played in the home by a young

Mark Hamilton, fiddler and caller, c. 1945. Photo: Courtesy of Mark and KatieHamilton


Mark Hamilton, or others from the com-munity to lead the calling. But old-timers,most from rural backgrounds, are verypleased when they find the dances as theyhave known them all their lives. It is thesave-the-tradition approach that some infolklore circles have sometimes been crit-icized for. Given the alternatives, I ratherlike it.

Edward G. Peterson, Geneseo fiddler andcaller. From The Livingston Republican,Geneseo, January 24, 1926. Photo:Courtesy of the Livingston Countyhistorian

lady, and once (in 1932) when Case’s great-nephew shows up carrying a guitar andwearing a cowboy hat. It was in the 1920sand 1930s generally that guitar, piano ac-cordion, and sometimes tenor banjo, sax-ophone, or drum set started to become sig-nificant in western New York square dancebands; second fiddle, reed organs, and five-string banjos vanished. The newer instru-ments let the band play the foxtrot andjitterbug round dance repertoire, as we seein this mix of musical styles and fashionat a local house party:

Livonia Gazette, February 5, 1926This little burg is agog and agape

over two surprise parties held in thevicinity the past week. As was notedin last week’s Gazette, Annebelle Reedwas given a party on the evening ofFebruary 2d. Miss Dora Somervillewas the victim the following Fridaynight, the occasion being her 21stbirthday.…As is usual…there werecards and tables for those who caredto play pedro. Riley Ward was presentwith his old violin and was the centerof attraction. After all had arrived atthe party the music began whenWayne Woodruff struck up with“Hail! Hail! the Gang’s All Here.” Bothclassical and old-time music wereplayed until supper was served. Sup-per over, the young people enjoyeddancing. Wayne playing the music forthe Charleston, bunny hug and fox trottypes, and Clark Reed and Riley play-ing the old-fashioned pieces. LeonBarrett called off the old-time danc-es, and in the language of the street,“he was a scream.” It all reminded thewriter of the old days when ClarkReed and Herb and Joe Bennett fur-nished the music for the dancesaround the “Hollow.” Herb usuallyplayed second fiddle and called off.He would some times do this in a sing-song way or, as I remember it, some-thing like this: “Alamen left, balanceto the corner; four hands round; downthe center, meet your sweet, swing thatgirl right off her feet.” As Samanthahas it, “although I do say it as hadn’tought to,” I must admit that in thisage of bobbed hair and fig-leaf modeof dressing, when the young men didswing their sweets at the Reed party,gay and gaudy garters were a bit morein evidence than in the old days whenladies wore long trails to their dress-es.

Note the reference to a sing-song way ofcalling. Characteristic of western New Yorkcalling, it can be attributed, at least in part,

to the fact that the caller usually wasan instrument-playing musician. It issimply easier to sing the call alongwith the tune than to just shout itout while playing. We know thatmany rural dancers came to pre-fer the singing calls over theolder shouted or promptingstyle. Old-timers aroundGeneseo still remember EdPeterson, the AfricanAmerican fiddler andCivil War veteran whosang most of his callsas he played localdances into the1930s. Mark Hamil-ton learned his firstsinging calls fromhis father. Clar-ence Maher re-membered “oldMike Sheehan” whohad to sing his calls because he stut-tered. When Floyd Woodhull (Elmira) andMonty Williams (Hornell) started singing intomicrophones in the 1930s, this became thenorm.

Plenty of people still enjoy local-stylesquare dancing. There are, however, fewermusicians who want to play that music. Itdoesn’t attract crowds the way driving fid-dle tunes do, or Nashville-style countryround or line dance tunes. There are evenfewer callers still able to give a full eveningof the traditional local squares (singing orotherwise) that were once so popular. Mod-ern callers tend to want to teach somethingdifferent than what the local folks grew upwith. Those interested in sustaining a localart have to be satisfied with repetition, un-complex tunes and steps, and with learn-ing from older participants. My own prac-tice in putting on local college, church, club,or festival dances has been increasingly todo it their way. The students who attend,and who may play in the band, tend to haveno or little previous experience in squaredancing. They’ll do, and have generally en-joyed, what we give them—especially as wehave been able to bring in Kenny Lowe,

James Kimball([email protected]) teaches atSUNY-Geneseo. Aversion of this articlewas originally presentedas the Phillips BarryLecture, sponsored bythe Music and SongSection, at the American Folklore Societymeeting in Rochester, in October 2002.


Shad Fishing on the HudsonShad Fishing on the HudsonO

N A

IR

Fishing on the Hudson River in New York

for shad has a long history as one of the

oldest traditional industries on the coast

of North America. For hundreds of years,

both Native Americans and European col-

onists have netted American shad. Shad

fishing has spawned a variety of traditional

arts and occupational skills. For the New

York Folklore Society’s Voices of New

York Traditions, Ginger Miles spoke recent-

ly with a veteran shad fisherman.

Jensen Kill is the marina where Nack keepshis boat, just south of the Rip Van WinkleBridge. As we head out on the river, the Amtraktrain passes.

Nack: I got out of the service in ’53,and there was a fisherman whose name wasJohn Bicus. I kind of like to fish a lot so Iwent to work for him. Back then werowed—there weren’t many outboard mo-tors—and we would row way up the river,throw our nets out, drift down, pick ’em

the fish come up and they stick their headsin it, and they get stuck behind their gills.So I mended all winter, and I patched upthe bigger holes, and my buddies and I wentout. We borrowed an old fourteen-foot row-boat and we made enough money to buy anylon net.

So the next winter, I worked down in thecellar and I put that nylon net together allwinter. Then you had to make your buoys.Those old nets had eight-inch rings on thebottom for weights, and I got some rod andmy uncle helped me web ’em together. Wemade our rings, we made our buoys, and weput the whole net together, and the next yearI made enough money to buy a fourteen-foot aluminum boat.

Well, we fished that for three or four years,then we had enough money to buy anothernet, and then we finally got enough moneyto buy a bigger boat, and we worked ourway up. We now have three eighteen-footboats.

The shad come up in the spring as soonas the weather temperature gets to the rightdegree. They lay their eggs and go back.They get here about the fifteenth of April.And they come up here out of the oceanto spawn because they can’t lay their eggsin saltwater. A few years ago, we taggedfour thousand shad up by the Rip VanWinkle Bridge, with the Canadian govern-ment. It’s amazing. The next year we re-captured them, right at the same spotwhere we tagged ’em. Those shad wentfrom the Hudson River up to the Bay ofFundy, over to the Bay of St. Lawrence,down to North Carolina, and all the wayback up—and they came right back to theirhome river.

This interview was conducted by GingerMiles. For more information about TheVoices of New York Traditions radiodocumentary series, see “New YorkFolklore Society News,” page 2 in thisissue of Voices.

Everett Nack owns a bait shop. He’s a garden-er, a winemaker, and environmentalist. For a fish-erman on any river, as Nack sees it, it’s impossiblenot to be an environmentalist. He recalls a conver-sation he had with the governor of New York.

Nack: I said, You know that if a frogjumps in your swimming pool, the next dayhe’s dead. I said that’s exactly what’s hap-pening in the river. So what they did, theyimplemented the regulations back in 1990.Last year, the little fishes started hatchingby the millions all over. It’s a lot better thanit was when the chlorine was in the river.Come on, we’ll go for a ride.

up, and then row back. And you’re alwaysrowing against the tide. And two of usrowed. After a week you think your wristsare going to come apart.

So I worked for him for two years, andmy pay was the buck shad that he didn’twant. You know, I’d bring ’em home andmy mother would can some and freeze someand I’d sell a few to the neighbors. And fi-nally I thought, “This is ridiculous,” so Iswapped my uncle eight muskrat skins foran old linen gill net that he was going tothrow away. You know, they’re like five hun-dred feet long and twenty feet deep. And

Everett Nack and his son launch their fishing boat on the Hudson River. Photo: Ellen McHale


Folktales cannot be plucked out of gen-eral circulation by a simple copyright. How-ever, copyrights do wreak havoc on the folk-lore process. Folklore is often an iterativeprocess: stories morph as they are told andretold and as they filter through differentcultures. The process comes to a grindinghalt if every time someone tweaks a story,the tweaks are copyrighted and declared off-limits to everybody else for a hundred yearsor so. Disney took the Snow White storyand did the definitive version of it. Shouldthey own this version, maybe the only ver-sion that matters, for ninety-five years? Whyshould my storytellers go through connip-tions over the telling of a particular versionof an African story that is at least eight hun-dred years old? Should anyone own any ver-sion of these stories?

Disney would say (and actually has said,ad nauseum) that the ninety-five years of ex-clusivity provides the financial incentive tomake Snow White and Pinocchio in the firstplace. Although there is some truth to this,the failure to recognize the folk tradition inthe current scheme of things constitutes alack of balance. Should there be a folkloreexception in the copyright law? Perhaps ashorter copyright period for works derivedfrom public domain material, or maybesome type of folklore “fair use” exception?Unfortunately, such changes would requirean act of Congress, and as recent eventshave shown, on copyright matters Congresslistens to Disney. Hi-ho! Hi-ho!

Unfair Use of Folklore BY PAUL RAPP

LA

WY

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’S SIDEB

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Paul Rapp([email protected])is an attorney withthe Albany lawfirm of Cohen Dax& Koenig. He alsoteaches art andentertainment lawat Albany LawSchool. Write tohim or the editorof Voices if youhave a general-interest question or topic you’d liketo see discussed in a future issue.Photo: Buck Malen

What happens when somebody copyrightsa version of an old folktale? Is the folktaletaken out of circulation for everybody elsefor the duration of the copyright (which,thanks to our Congress and Supreme Court,is now basically forever)? Disney, whichmade films of numerous folk and old tales(Cinderella, Snow White, Pinocchio), hasbeen accused of doing precisely that, sincethe company holds copyrights granted inthe mid-twentieth century that are now go-ing to last until well after 2020.

But Disney hasn’t stolen Snow White.When someone creates a new version of afolktale or anything that is in the publicdomain, the new version does carry a copy-right, but this copyright does not cover thenew version in its entirety. The only thingsprotected by the copyright are the new partsof the folktale—the embellishments, theadditions. Everything that existed before thenew version was made remains in the pub-lic domain, for all to use.

So Disney has a claim to the visual as-pects of the characters, the songs, and per-haps the exact wording and sequences ofcertain events in its animations. But anyonecan still tell the Snow White story; anyonecan make another animated film of Pinoc-chio, so long as the new work doesn’t takeany of the protected parts of the Disneyfilm. Don’t have dwarfs singing “Hi-ho! Hi-ho!” unless you want to be paid a visit byDisney’s attorneys.

A few years ago a pair of professionalstorytellers came to me because they want-ed to retell what they knew to be an ancientWest African story. However, the only ver-sion they could find was in a children’s bookthat carried the author’s copyright notice.They weren’t sure what parts of the storywere traditional and what parts might havebeen added by the author of the book. Theyplanned to make their own adaptation ofthe story, but they knew that embellishing acopyrighted work is as much infringementas copying the work verbatim. And they’dtried to contact the author, without success.

What should they do?My job is not only to tell my clients what

the law is, but also to help them accomplishwhat they seek to do. I often find myselfsaying, “Maybe it’s infringement, but goahead and use it anyway.”

And that’s what I told the storytellers. Ididn’t think that there was much likelihoodof their getting into any trouble for adaptingthe copyrighted version of the African folk-tale. First, the author (or the publisher) of thatversion would have to find out about the sto-rytellers’ use. Then the author would have todetermine that the storytellers were using theprotected portions of her version (if indeedthere were any), which means she would notjust have to hear about the storytellers, but haveto hear them, in person or on the radio or on arecording. Next, the author would have to beupset enough about the storytellers’ use towant to do something about it.

Perhaps the author wasn’t claiming anyownership rights for the version of the sto-ry in her book. The author’s copyright no-tice might have been relevant to other sto-ries in the book, or to the arrangement ofthe stories, the introductions, and the illus-trations. The author might be more con-cerned about someone taking the entirebook than about professional storytellers’using her version of just one story. Or shemight be a fervent folklorist herself, disin-clined to go after fellow folklorists for car-rying on the tradition.

For her to call her lawyers and pay fortheir time, she would have to consider howmuch damage the storytellers were causing.Something between slim and none? Evenin the worst case, the storytellers would re-ceive a stiff and formal letter concerningexclusive rights, statutory damages, ceasing,desisting, blah, blah, and blah. Such a letterwould mean it was time to stop using theAfrican story. Only if the storytellers weremaking a fortune on this story (selling movierights to Spielberg, perhaps, or licensing aline of action figures) would there likely bea serious legal issue.


hough born in Boston, Benjamin A.Botkin was sometimes more com-

Cities within the City:B.A. Botkin’s New York

BY MICHAEL L. MURRAY

“Al Smith made the sidewalks of New York popular,” said a Sawkill poultry farmer tome, “but we sent them in from here.” He was referring to the Ulster County [NewYork] bluestone, quarried by Irish workers toward the middle of the last century, andworn by the feet of immigrants who came here expecting instead to find streets pavedwith gold.

—B.A. Botkin, New York City Folklore (1956: xv)

interest, including his appreciation for LewisMumford and his understanding of the roleof the metropolis in regional culture, deep-ly influenced Botkin’s own studies of thefolklore of his adopted urban place, NewYork City (Botkin 1935). Many years beforeacademic folklorists began to consider thefolk culture of urban spaces (Dorson et al.1970), Botkin looked to the unique charac-ter of life in New York City and saw theways in which the urban experience bothprovided a place of union between the in-digenous and the metropolitan and inspiredthe emergence of new traditions that ex-pressed the reality of modern life. With hisregionalist’s attention to the relationshipbetween art and place, Botkin turned manytimes in his scholarship to the nature of lifein New York City. He considered all aspectsof urban and suburban life in his attemptto uncover the personality of New York andto characterize the folklore of what, for him,became the quintessential urban place.

As Jerrold Hirsch notes, Botkin never at-tached to New York City the same “sym-bolic importance” he afforded his tenure atHarvard. Nevertheless, the city had a deepimpact on his understanding of folklore andmodernity in the urban world (Hirsch 1996:315). New York was the city where the in-

tellectual richness of modern life became areality. It was home to new works of litera-ture composed and published within the city,as well as Old World tales brought directlyfrom Old World nations.

Botkin, far before others in the discipline,understood that modernity was not a threatto traditional culture, but rather an impor-tant influence on existing and emerging folkexpressions. As Bruce Jackson wrote, he “re-fused to distinguish between what peoplewrote, what happened in a movie, and whatwas said on a street corner. For him, the stuffand process of folklore were truly protean”(Jackson 1986: 29). Botkin’s theory of folk-lore was ideally suited to the protean natureof New York City’s streets. He often wroteabout the character of urban life in his NewYork Folklore Quarterly column, “Downstate,Upstate,” explaining in 1953 the differencebetween the state’s folklorists as typified bythe diverse and ever-growing qualities ofurban culture. “The real difference betweenDownstate and Upstate folklore and folklor-ists,” he wrote, “is the difference between the‘sounds of our times’ and those of othertimes...” (Botkin and Tyrrell 1953: 232). Thefolklore of urban and suburban New YorkCity was something emerging in time, real-ized in the daily lives of a cosmopolitan folk;rural folklore echoed traditions that emergedfrom a historical landscape.

In this contrast, the metropolis becomes aunique place that requires attention to theforces of change defining its folklore. Thespecific character of life in the metropolisshapes and colors the lives of its inhabitants

fortable with his New York identity thanwith his New England roots. As an under-graduate at Harvard, he confronted andovercame his childhood struggles againstanti-Semitism and Brahmin attitudes, andhe remained proud of this experiencethroughout his life (Hirsch 1996). Yet NewYork City represented his cosmopolitan ide-al, and it would become both a rich inspira-tion for his scholarship and his home. Bot-kin first came to New York in 1920 to earna master’s degree in English literature atColumbia University, and he returned to thecity in 1923 to spend two more years teach-ing “Americanization” and English to im-migrants. In 1938, he traveled to New Yorkas the national folklore editor for the Fed-eral Writers’ Project. And later, when hedecided to pursue a career as a freelancewriter, Botkin returned again to the city(Botkin 1946). Settling in Croton-on-Hud-son, a northern suburb, he routinely trav-eled into the city, writing about it, collect-ing its lore, and considering its role in thefolk culture of the Middle Atlantic region.

As a scholar, Botkin allied himself withregionalism and its efforts to explore thelocal character of American culture. This

T


in all the forms and places of that expres-sion. Carrying this concept into practice,Botkin saw the exploration of New YorkCity’s folk culture as a natural extension ofhis research into America’s regional culture.He would break up the metropolitan re-gions—the various neighborhoods and quar-ters of the boroughs and the metropolitanarea—and consider how the culture in eachwas shaped by occupational, neighborhood,and ethnic affiliations.

In the introduction to New York City Folk-lore (1956), his collection of folklore andfolk-say from the city, Botkin illustrates thisprocess by mapping New York City as a“circle or wheel whose center or hub isManhattan and whose radii or spokes arethe boroughs of the Bronx, Brooklyn,Queens, and Richmond radiating into themetropolitan hinterland” (1956: xvi). In hisvisualization, he translates the city’s geo-graphic reality into a figurative image. The

rigid right angles of the urban grid are trans-formed into the circles and spokes that makeup the wheel. Botkin saw the neighborhoodsas cities within the city and was fascinatedby the ways in which New York’s streets,buildings, and people were known and nav-igated in terms of a sense of urban space.

On the sidewalks of New York, Botkinrecognized a relationship between cultureand space that was later echoed by Michelde Certeau, who wrote that New York City’sreality exists somewhere on the streets “be-low the thresholds at which visibility begins”(de Certeau 1984: 93). Walking, for de Cer-teau, is the fundamental form by which theNew Yorker experiences the city. In thebustle of everyday life, city dwellers maketheir way through a metaphorical place,which sits transparently on the literal andreadable city. The reality of this experien-tial city is realized through practice rather thangeography or geometry. The walkers in the

city are at work building a myth of the city,charting its spaces based on routines ofnavigating and dwelling within its landscape(de Certeau 1984: 93, 102). Botkin under-stood and valued this experiential connec-tion to urban space and urban life, and hestressed to his WPA fieldworkers in NewYork City that they would learn of the “re-lation between art and life, between workand culture” almost naturally “on the side-walks of New York skipping rope andbouncing ball” (1939: 7). Botkin developeda strategy of urban ethnography, which tookinto account the city’s unique personality,created by the lives and lore of its peopleand the shape, smells, and sounds of itsphysical form. Eventually, he worked thistheory of urban culture into his own writ-ing on New York in his efforts to definethe city’s personality through its lore.

When Botkin came to New York City totrain his WPA fieldworkers, he examined the

A Russian dancer in lower Manhattan celebrates the American Bicentennial in 1976. Photo: Katrina Thomas


city through his regionalist’s lens. Thinkingof the neighborhoods as regions within themetropolis, he suggested a modified region-al approach to their study. He instructed hisfieldworkers to travel to the places whereNew Yorkers lived and worked and playedto uncover the relations between place, art,and life. He wrote, “We learned early in thegame that you cannot collect folklore bysimply walking the streets of the city. Folk-lore is not on the surface” (Botkin 1958:193). Rather, folklore dwells within thespokes of New York City’s wheel. It is la-tent in the neighborhoods, the cities withina city, which produce unique expressions inand of unique urban habitats. If the “keyto living lore” is, as Botkin wrote in his NewYork Folklore Quarterly essay of the samename, “the relating of the foreground, lore,to its background in life,” then the placeshis informants lived would naturally be anexcellent point of departure (1958: 191).

A WPA fieldworker quoted by Botkin char-acterized the relationship between art and lifein the city as a business of “bread and song.”The phrase emerged from an interview witha Yugoslavian tailor who tried to sing a songfor the fieldworker but was frustrated andunable to concentrate. The tailor tells thefieldworker, “We ought to live, too. Some-thing happen if this keep up.…If I couldonly put my head to it for a few hours, I couldmake a few songs.” The fieldworker repliesfirst by placing herself within the tailor’s NewYork: “Oh, don’t be worried. I understand.You see, I don’t come from Park Avenue ei-ther.” Persistent in recording a song, sheeventually embraces her own statement ofsolidarity and confesses,

My, how you lied! You certainly didn’tsing when you had no bread! Youcouldn’t remember your own name,never mind about where you lived fouryears ago. And your voice was so weakthe relief investigator told you to takea couple of sips of water to moistenyour throat!...Great thing this bread andsong business! Messy world, messyworld! We’re all in the same boat—Yu-goslav, Mayflower descendant, all mixedup on this bread and song thing... (quot-ed in Botkin 1939: 7).

For Botkin, research into urban experience

required fieldworkers to establish this degreeof empathy with the folk of the city and payattention to the nature of life in the depressedstreets of the WPA era. As much as she wasoccupied by “this bread and song thing,” sheconnected with the tailor as a fellow laborerstruggling in a city where Park Avenue rep-resents a foreign land, and the city’s socialcacophony blurs lines of ethnicity and isobscured by sentiments of neighborhoodand labor.

Botkin later noted that for the WPA

projects, the neighborhood approach didnot succeed in practice. He and the field-workers found the city’s map sometimes toodifficult to decipher, its many neighbor-hoods and streets too complex an entréeinto the culture, even though he acknowl-edged the importance of place in studyingthe city. This, however, was a practical mat-ter, which did not alter Botkin’s convictionthat folklore should broaden its focus toinclude the contemporary, the industrial, andthe urban worlds (Mangione 1983: 269–70).

The San Gennaro Day feast on Mott Street in Manhattan’s Little Italy is New York’slargest and longest “street party,” usually lasting about ten days. The greased pole climbis no longer performed because of liability issues; this image was taken in 1978. Photo:Katrina Thomas


His attention to the living lore and folk-sayof New York City, in the summer of 1938and later, suggested a new way of concep-tualizing folklore in the urban experienceand a new way of studying it. In his intro-duction to the 1954 collection, Sidewalks ofAmerica, Botkin wrote, “For years Ameri-can Folklorists from the cities have beengoing into the Kentucky mountains and oth-er remote places to gather folk songs andstories, while all the time folklore was allaround them on the sidewalks of America”(1954: vii). When Botkin’s main soundingboards, the New York Folklore Quarterly andthe New York Folklore Society, were formedin 1945, many of the founding memberswere teachers and professors who lived inNew York City and had been introduced tothe WPA’s new way of viewing urban cul-ture.

Other folklorists publishing on the cityin New York Folklore Quarterly also focusedon this characterization of the urban aspossessing a personality. From Bayrd Still’s1958 New York Folklore Quarterly essay, “ThePersonality of New York City,” we learn thatpart of the folklore in and of the city is areflection of its distinctive personality. Thispersonality is based on the city’s corporealfeatures—the towering profile of the NewYork City skyline, the odors of car exhaustand roasted chestnuts filling Times Squarein the winter. Another element is the stampon the landscape made by its inhabitants,their daily lives, and their personal histories.As Keith Basso writes of a sense of place,it is a product of becoming aware of one’sattachment to “features of the physicalworld” (Basso 1996: 55). Still explained,“few will deny that cities, like people, havedistinguishing features—personalities if youwill—which make one urban communitydifferent from another” (1958: 83). Life inthe city and the city itself are intertwined inthe popular imagination such that the iden-tities of its citizens come to publicly repre-sent the metropolis, as do its corporeal fea-tures and sensual characteristics. Still oncenoted in an interview, “the city has a ‘uniqueand heady essence,’ blended…of ‘the dry,astringent odor of ozone and gasoline’ and

‘the scent of open spaces caught up in thetowering metropolis’” (1958: 84). In writ-ing about the personality of New York City,Still acknowledged the city as a unique placethat required a different sort of investiga-tion.

His reading suggests that although thecountryside, too, has landscapes, smells, andsounds that could suggest a personality, thatpersonality is stable in the memories of itsinhabitants. The city, on the other hand, isdifferent: memories of it are never stable,buildings emerge overnight, and citizensfrom entirely different lands arrive by boat-load every morning. The result is a NewYork City that for Still and Botkin was de-fined by its constant change (1958: 90). Artcritic Lucy Lippard would later observe thissame sense of a dynamic urban space, not-ing how the city’s nervous state of excessexponentially increases the “social cacoph-ony” within it (1997: 200). The city is saidto have a dizzying effect on its inhabitants,who are constantly presented with new andunrecognizable forms.

Raymond Williams, referring to industri-alized England, suggested that the urbancitizen in such a context could do one oftwo things: “we can retreat, for security, intoa deep subjectivity, or we can look aroundus for social pictures, social signs, socialmessages, to which, characteristically, we tryto relate as individuals but so as to discov-er, in some form, community” (1973: 295).Central to Botkin’s study of New York Cityfolklore was recognition that these two strat-egies for life in the urban environment pro-duced a different form of folklore, whichrequired a different frame for investigationby folklorists. Interest in urban culturesparked a conversation on the differencesbetween the rural folklife of upstate NewYork and the cosmopolitan and ethnic folk-life of downstate.

According to Botkin, any separation be-tween the two comes from the antiquariannature of the rural experience versus thelived and emergent character of the urbanexperience. The city has a unique personal-ity, created by the lives and lore of its peo-ple and the shape, smell, and sounds of its

physical presence, and this personality be-comes defined by the constant shifts in theseelements. The urban place’s lore is thus char-acterized by creative force and emergencefrom a rapidly changing experience.

In his notes at the end of the 1953 down-state issue of New York Folklore Quarterly,Botkin compares the character of urbanfolklore studies with their rural counterpart:

But the real difference between Down-state and Upstate folklore and folklor-ists, as I see it, is the difference betweenthe “sounds of our times” and thoseof other times, between complicatedand confused ways of life and “waysof life followed by those who live sim-ple, unnoticed lives”…An interest inthe “sounds of our times” implies nota break with the past but a quest forcontinuity and for what might be calleda “usable present.” And that is not tonegate what we can learn from the old-timers, such as helping us to know ourplace in the long stream of cultural tra-dition (1953: 232).

The nature of life in the city, with its com-plicated interactions of many different cul-tures and its constantly shifting possibilitiesof experience, produced for Botkin a typeof lore that is conspicuously a “sound ofour times.” In this characterization, thedownstate folklorists approached folkloreas the fantasies, games, and stories thatemerge from the unique character of citylife.

One of New York Folklore Quarterly’s mostcompelling analyses of the urban experiencecomes from Botkin’s essay in the 1965 NewYork City issue. In this piece he introducesFanya Del Bourgo’s essay, “Love in the City,”a transcription from an interview conduct-ed by Botkin. During the interview, Botkinwas exploring the upstate-downstate dichot-omy; he asked, “How did love in the citydiffer from love in the country?” Althoughshe had no experience of the country, DelBourgo, a dance instructor in Croton-on-Hudson, laid out an autobiographical ac-count that linked her coming of age to thecity’s many places. “She told how and whereyoung people got together,” Botkin wrotein his introduction, “in the East Side, inBrooklyn, in Coney Island, on a Bear Moun-tain boat, in a Catskill summer camp, in


Greenwich Village in the Jazz era. And whattheir romantic customs and diversions, at-tractions and interests, freedoms and re-strictions were at various stages of grow-ing up, from the time she first learned aboutsex on the East Side docks to her ‘intellec-tual life’ in the Village where ‘It was all verypoetic’” (Botkin 1965: 165). Although heintended to discuss with her the differenc-es between rural and urban experience,Botkin noted that she couched her currentsuburban identity in her urban experiencesand that much of that urban life historymust be couched in her immigrant child-hood.

Here Botkin makes an effort—rarelymade before in essays concerning NewYork City—to place a storyteller within thecontext of her social and cultural history(1965: 321–32). In this analysis, the city isat once—as Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett(1983) would later call it—the locus andthe focus; it is the place where Del Bourgolives, making her story a New York Cityexperience, but it is also a history of life in

New York City as it affects the formationof a personal identity. In this essay Botkinechoes a statement he made about the na-ture of the city in his collection Sidewalks ofAmerica. “The hero of this book—the city—has many faces and many voices,” he wrote(1954: vii). In nominating the city to herostatus, Botkin suggests that the folklore ofthe city is shaped by the relationship betweenits citizens and their environment. The cityhas many faces and many voices, each con-structing narratives—whether about a se-cluded spot for an assignation on RiversideDrive or a spiel to would-be customers inTimes Square. The city is indeed the heroof Botkin’s book, as it is the force respond-ed to in the folklore of New Yorkers.

Works CitedBasso, Keith. 1996. Wisdom Sits in Places: Notes

on a Western Apache Landscape. In Senses of Place,eds. Steven Feld and Keith Basso. pp. 53–89.Santa Fe: School of American Research Press.

Botkin, B.A., and William G. Tyrrell. 1953. Up-state, Downstate: Folklore News and Notes.New York Folklore Quarterly 9(3): 231–38.

Michael L. Murrayis a doctoralcandidate in thegraduate programin Folklore andFolklife, Universityof Pennsylvania,Philadelphia. Photo:Peggy Yocom

Photographing New York’s NeighborhoodsWhen Congress passed new immigration laws in 1965, admitting many nationalities

that had been excluded, freelance photographer Katrina Thomas, whose photographsaccompany this article, sensing that the United States was not truly a “melting pot,”decided to document the traditions that immigrant groups were celebrating in theirnew country.

Her photographs capture the full range of New York City’s rich diversity, fromChinese New Year and nationality days and parades in the five boroughs to Italian,Greek Orthodox, Russian, and Ukrainian feast days. Less well known are celebrationsof Buddha’s birthday, the Eid (Muslim), Diwali (Hindu), and Baisahki (Sikh).

Secular festivals Thomas has photographed include the parade of Caribbeancultures on Brooklyn’s Eastern Parkway in September, in which West Indians wearingelaborate costumes proceed on roller skates to the accompaniment of steel bands;Irish hurling in Gaelic Park in Manhattan; and Puerto Rican teams playing softballand baseball in Central Park.

Her project coincided with a surge of interest in ethnic identity. No longer ashamedof speaking imperfect English, newcomers were demonstrating pride in their culture.By 1976, the melting pot had given way to a “cultural mosaic.” On the Fourth ofJuly of the Bicentennial, New York City, like many cities across the country, celebratedits ethnic heritage by building platforms and stages for performers and folk dancegroups. Public festivals were soon being held in parks and plazas around the year.

Katrina Thomas has contributed her collection of images to City Lore, 72 EastFirst Street, New York City 10003, 212 529-1955.

Botkin, B.A. 1935. We Talk about Regionalism:North, East, South, and West. The Frontier : AMagazine of the Northwest. 13(May): 286–96.

_____. 1939. WPA and Folklore Research:“Bread and Song.” Southern Folklore Quarterly3(1): 7–14.

_____. 1946. Living Lore of the New York CityWriters’ Project. New York Folklore Quarterly.2(3): 252–63.

_____. 1954. Sidewalks of America: Folklore, Leg-ends, Sagas, Traditions, Customs, Songs, Stories, andSayings of City Folk. Indianapolis: Bobbs-Mer-rill Co.

_____. 1956. New York City Folklore: Legends, TallTales, Anecdotes, Stories, Sagas, Heroes and Char-acters, Customs, Traditions and Sayings. New York:Random House.

_____. 1958. We Called It “Living Lore.” NewYork Folklore Quarterly 14(3): 189–201.

_____. 1965. Postscript to “Love in the City.”New York Folklore Quarterly 21(3): 231–33.

de Certeau, Michel. 1984. The Practice of Every-day Life. Translated by Steven Rendall. Berke-ley: University of California Press (original:Arts de Faire).

del Bourgo, Fanya. 1965. Love in the City. NewYork Folklore Quarterly 21(3): 165–78.

Dorson, Richard M., Linda Degh, and LeonardW. Moss. 1970. Is There a Folk in the City?Journal of American Folklore 83: 185–228.

Hirsch, Jerrold. 1996. My Harvard Accent and“Indifference”: Notes Toward a Biography ofB.A. Botkin. Journal of American Folklore109(433): 308–19.

Jackson, Bruce. 1986. Ben Botkin. New York Folk-lore. 12(3–4): 23–32.

Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, Barbara. 1983. The Fu-ture of Folklore Studies in America: the Ur-ban Frontier. Folklore Forum 16(2): 175–233.

Lippard, Lucy R. 1997. The Lure of the Local: Sensesof Place in a Multicentered Society. New York:New Press.

Mangione, Jerre. 1983. The Dream and the Deal:The Federal Writer’s Project, 1935‘“1943. Phila-delphia: University of Pennsylvania Press.

Still, Bayrd. 1958. The Personality of New YorkCity. New York Folklore Quarterly 14(2): 83–92.

Williams, Raymond. 1973. The Country and theCity. Oxford: Oxford University Press.


ho would have ever imagined howgetting up at six-thirty, eating

Ruby MarcotteRemembers

Where I lived, on the top of WestMountain, out of Corinth, there was a littlecommunity consisting of my parents’ homeon one side, my grandmother’s house rightacross the road through the field, and downover the bank was my Uncle Henry La Pierand Aunt Jimmy. I made a well-used pathbetween these three homesteads. We alsohad some great neighbors who held boxparties—square dances in their kitchens—and kept a pretty close eye on what I wasdoing, just in case they thought it necessaryto call Mom and let her know what I wasup to.

We were very self-sufficient when I was achild. My father was a farmer at heart eventhough he had a full-time job at theInternational Paper company. We raised andbutchered pigs. I still hate that sound of asquealing pig. Have you ever wondered how

heavy a pail full of pig slop is for a little girltrying to dump it in the pig trough? But thatwas certainly no excuse for not doing it. Thepigs gotta eat, right?

We had a cow, too, from which I learneda very valuable lesson. I never liked to wearshoes. The worst thing about having to gosomewhere was having to dress my feet. MyDad had told me not to go into the cowbarn without my shoes on. I must have“forgot” that one day. Dad came runningwhen he heard me scream for help. I wasmilking and the cow stepped right on mybare foot. Well, as Dad knew, cows won’tpick up their feet, and he had to scrape thecow’s hoof off the top of my foot, hideand all. I think I wore my shoes in the cowbarn from then on.

We always had chickens and lots of eggs.When the day came to kill the chickens, itwas a family affair that everyone worked at.Most things around my house everybodyworked at together. Grandma always said,“Many hands make light work.” My familysaw to it that I learned the whole job, notjust one part of it. If it became necessary, Iwould still be able to cut the head off achicken, scald it in buckets of hot water,singe the pin feathers off, clean it, and cutit up. We could do about twenty-five hensin a day. But please don’t close thesupermarkets.

Ruby Marcotte teaches her granddaughter Jennifer about quilting by showing her thedetails in a quilt made by Ruby’s grandmother. Photo: Laura Chessin

dinner at eleven-thirty in the morning andsupper at four-thirty, and having “lunch”before bed would shape my entire life!

As I was growing up, I was taught thatwork never hurt anybody—thus the reasonfor getting up early every morning. Whenmy father worked, everybody worked. Mydad, Rube La Pier, used to say, “You can’tget nothin’ done laying in bed all day.” I triedthat approach with my own children but itjust didn’t seem to have the same meaning.

I attended a small school, where early onI was thought a little “different.” I was theonly girl who wore flannel-lined pants underher skirt, and the other kids didn’t know thatit was my chore, before school, to go to thehen house and gather the eggs. Those henswould lay even when it was freezing coldoutside.

My grandmother was Mrs. Viola WhiteLa Pier. We were, as she would say, “tight asbark to a tree.” I loved every minute of everyday that I was with her. Grandma would cutwool triangles and I would string them intolong strings. Later on she taught me how toput them all together in a quilt.

She taught me that berrying is seriousbusiness. You put the berry pail on yourbelt—that way, you have two hands free topick with. Now make sure the dew has driedbefore going out. Grandma wore pants onthis occasion—right up over the dress,apron and all. The running berries were justas important as the high-bushed ones topick: that’s why God made you so close tothe ground. Grandma was under five feettall; I beat her by two inches.

W


I used to spend a lot of time with AuntJimmy and Uncle Henry, who owned theirown sawmill. Grandma and I spent a lot oftime in the lumber camp. I remember whenshe was “helping” into camp and a stickcame right up and hit her in the forehead,requiring several stitches. She was overseventy. My uncle never could figure outhow she got such a clean gash from a gnarlystick when it resembled the bit of an axe somuch. Alongside my aunt I could use apeavey, take tailings from the saw, and oncein a while have the fun of riding out intothe lumberyard on the trolley. My AuntJimmy had a cleft palate, and sometimes Ijust had to listen a little harder. She taughtme the meaning of humor. I could alwayscount on her to have wrapped, someplacein my presents, tubes that jumped out at me.I always got the same crystal glass thatleaked. I played along: no sense in hurtingher feelings and spoiling her fun.

I think all of us La Pier women have hadour turn on the mowing machine and thehay rake. Dad always said I was good atmaking the load. I think it was just becausehe started me so little that I couldn’t reachthe top of the wagon with my pitchfork.We are still using the same mowing machineand hay rake today. The only difference iswe now use Dad’s ’47 Willys instead ofhorses. I think gas is cheaper than feeding ahorse, and it’s a whole lot less work.

While Dad was teaching me life skills (younever know when you might need to changean engine in a ’47 Willys), my Mom wasshowing me about independence. Momworked hard on the farm, doing chores, andshe also worked at the school cafeteria fortwenty-five years. I watched her go frombeing a bread-and-butter girl to cafeteriamanager. She liked her job and it showed.She raised her family, took care of the house,but also managed to be independent. Sheloved to travel and didn’t think twice aboutchaperoning a group of high schoolers toEngland, flying to Germany to see a newgranddaughter, or traveling snowy roads toattend the cafeteria meeting fifty miles away.

At retirement age, much to my father’sdismay—“Women don’t do woodworking,”

he said—she took a course and went on tomake a beautiful dry sink, a china cabinet,and jelly cupboard, and hundreds of otherwooden items. It was inspiring to see herventure out into what was considered aman’s world. During World War II both mymother and my grandmother worked in thepaper mill. The men had gone off to warso the mill needed women. Suddenly itwasn’t important that it was “man’s work.”

I am proud that photographs ofGrandma appear on the AdirondackWomen poster and booklet. You can see apicture of my mom, Frances, riding themowing machine and makin’ a load of hayon a horse-drawn wagon. The picture ofmy Aunt Jimmy is her shoveling off the icebefore my Dad and Uncle Hank cut it fordelivery to the nearby lumber camps.

I have been truly blessed by the womenin my family, and I have tried to pass alongsome of their teachings to my daughter

V I S I T O U R W E B S I T E :

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Roette. She has a good head on hershoulders and is raising a family of girls andisn’t afraid to think for herself and take risksas need be. I have already taught my oldestgranddaughter how to quilt on my treadlemachine. And I have four more to pass alongknowledge to. The best that I could everhope for is that they love me as much as Iloved and cherished my grandmother.

A slightly different version of thisreminiscence was published in AdirondackWomen Then and Now, October 24, 1998, byBlack Crow Network.

�

Ruby LaPierMarcotte is historianfor the Town of Dayand assistantdirector of the BlackCrow Network,which supportsregional folk culturein the Mohawk-Champlain corridorand eastern Adirondacks.


that must be held only temporarily andthrow away the originals, thus reclaimingvaluable storage space. But in most instanc-es, the cost involved in scanning and thetechnology needed for managing and re-trieving images make this an idea that is justnot worth it. If storage facilities are tight,off-site storage would probably make moresense.

For creating a completely digital collection. Formost applications, there is no need to digi-tize everything. A careful selection of im-ages can enhance a website and lead inter-ested people to the repository itself.

The Big PictureBefore starting any digitizing project, es-

pecially one that will involve many images,plan carefully how the project will proceed,how it will be funded, who will do the work,and what kind of expertise is necessary toachieve success.

The Northeast Document Center offersa good three-day course, “School for Scan-ning,” that focuses on the essential issuesinvolved in planning and managing a digiti-zation project. For more information, visitthe center’s website (www.nedcc.org) orwrite or telephone the center at 100 Brick-stone Square, Andover, MA 01810-1494,(978) 470-1010. The Northeast DocumentCenter also has a very useful Handbook forDigital Projects: A Management Tool for Preser-vation and Access, available on line throughtheir website, and for purchase in hardcov-er.

I’ve Got a Scanner—Now What?BY NANCY JOHNSON

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Nancy Johnson isa freelancearchivist and amember of theNew York FolkloreSociety Board ofDirectors. She hasworked with thesociety on itsarchives project,as well as with theCenter forTraditional Music and Dance, City Lore,the Calandra Italian American Institute,and the Association for Cultural Equity/Alan Lomax Archives.

It seems like just about everyone has ascanner these days, and those who don’t,want one. Scanners are wonderful tools, pro-ducing digitized images of just about any-thing with relative ease. When there is ascanner in an archives, there is a real temp-tation—even a compulsion—to use it. Butfor what?

When an image is scanned, it is convert-ed into an array of dots, or pixels. Each dotcan be black, white, a shade of gray, or acolor. The resolution of the image is mea-sured by the number of dots used to recre-ate it, which is commonly measured as DPI(dots per inch) or PPI (pixels per inch).Generally speaking, the lower the resolution,the smaller the image file, the lower the DPI,and especially for photographs, the less ac-curately the original is reproduced.

Remember that a page of scanned textfunctions like an image. Unless it is pro-cessed further with an OCR (optical char-acter recognition) program, scanned wordscannot be searched or altered.

When you’re thinking about the uses ofscanning, and particularly when planninglarge digitizing projects, it is important toreally think the project through.

Issues to ConsiderTechnology. Once a digital copy has been

created, it can be accessed only via a com-puter. This involves a certain technical ex-pertise on the part of the user and, mostimportantly, requires that the technology(software and hardware) be kept current.Thus the costs of digitizing continue evenafter the scanning work is done.

Managing the images. Scanning is the easypart; finding and organizing what you havescanned is more difficult. Each scannedimage becomes a separate computer file.Metadata —information about the imag-es—must be created separately and linkedto the image files so that they can be identi-fied, interrelated, and found by those whoneed them.

Expense. Scanners are no longer prohibitive-ly expensive. The biggest expenses are the in-tensive labor involved in the scanning itselfand in creating the metadata for the images.

Quality. Test the scanner to find outwhether it is adequate for your project. Isthe glass large enough to accommodate theitems you want to scan? Can your materialsbe placed directly on the glass, or must theybe scanned from above because they arefragile or bound? Does the scanner provideadequate resolution for your project?

Copyright. Digitizing is a form of copy-ing, and issues of copyright need to be ad-dressed. Especially if images are to be “pub-lished” on the Internet, care must be takento ensure that you have written permissionto use anything not in the public domainand that credits are correct.

Why Scan?For Web access. Making images available on

a website is the most obvious—and one ofthe best—uses for scanned images.

For high-demand images. Most archives havecollections that are in high demand, andthose that are requested most frequently aregood candidates for digitization. A collec-tion of popular photographs could bescanned onto a compact disk and madeavailable to researchers on site, or copiedand mailed to researchers who are not ableto visit a repository in person.

For fragile photo albums and scrapbooks. Thereis no need to scan an album of photographswhen it is just as easy to take the album fromthe shelf and turn the pages. However, ifthese photographs are fragile, scanning thealbum pages could be a great idea. Whenalbums must be dismantled for preserva-tion purposes (because of acidic pages, forexample), the original arrangement of thealbum pages can be preserved digitally.

Why Not to ScanFor permanence. For valuable, permanent

records there is still nothing like paper. Ittakes no training to open a folder and readthe minutes of a meeting or browse througha box of photographs. There is no technol-ogy that must be upgraded. There is noworry about system crashes. Keep the pa-per. There’s nothing like the real thing.

For short-term storage. At first glance, itmight seem like a good idea to scan records


Sean Killeen, founder of the Lead BellySociety and a friend of the New York Folk-lore Society, died on the morning of Feb-ruary 8 in a Nashville hotel; he was to ad-dress the Folk Alliance annual conferencein Nashville later that day. When he was incollege, Sean (pronounced Shane) had seenHuddie “Lead Belly” Ledbetter in concert,and from that beginning his interest in LeadBelly’s music and his life grew to become apassionate commitment.

A long-time resident of Ithaca, Seanbegan publishing the quarterly Lead BellyLetter around 1990, about the time I be-came director of the New York FolkloreSociety. He would drop by the NYFS of-fice from time to time to talk about LeadBelly, the society, or local and internation-al politics. We helped him get the word outabout his newsletter and distributed it atNYFS events. He was continually im-

Ora Kirkland learned to quilt from hermother Julia and her grandmother Harri-ett. Her grandmother worked with big rect-angles and irregular pieces from whateverwas available, often men’s pants or fabricsamples. Door-to-door clothing salesmen ofthe time—Ora was born in Orlando in1918—would give Harriett remnants of dis-continued fabrics, and consequently, herquilts seldom had much color. Ora and hermother, a domestic worker, also got fabricfrom stores and flea markets and would mixit with scraps from the clothes they made.

After earning a bachelor’s degree in so-cial work, Ora moved to New York City,where she worked until her retirement in1981. She moved to Hempstead, Long Is-land, in 1976. During her adult years work-place demands and the needs of her familytook precedence over quilting, but after she

Remembering Sean KilleenBY JOHN SUTER

mersed in research and writing about LeadBelly, corresponding with people all overthe world, and in subsequent years he is-sued previously unreleased recordings ofLead Belly’s music.

Sean lead a rich and committed life. Astint in the Peace Corps in Turkey in the1960s launched his engagement with inter-national relations, which included a decadeas director of Cornell University’s EinaudiCenter for International Studies. He spentmuch of the past six years serving as a vol-unteer election supervisor and monitor forthe United Nations in the Balkans and theformer republics of the Soviet Union. Hewas also active in many community organi-zations and served for seven years on theIthaca Common Council. But whenever wemet, whatever the initial topic, Sean alwaysbrought the conversation around to LeadBelly.

Ora Kirkland: African American Quilter

retired, she took up quilting again. In a breakwith the tradition she had learned from hermother and grandmother, she used a sew-ing machine and created some quilts in

modern styles, among them “The MusAfri-ca Quilt,” which profiles several AfricanAmerican musicians. “The Impeachment,”which reflects her high regard for PresidentClinton and her anger at the 1999 impeach-ment proceedings, and “Akilah’s Quilt” in-corporate traditional patterns.

Ora’s quilts have been exhibited in LongIsland museums, libraries, churches, andquilt competitions. She was active in theLong Island Quilters Society and the LongIsland Embroiderers Guild of America. Shewas also an adviser to the Long Island BlackCrafters Guild.

Ora passed away on March 24, 2003.

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Ora Kirkland in 1993. Photo: NancySolomon

To continue toreceive Voicesand enjoy thefull range of

New York FolkloreSociety programs,become a member!

See inside back cover formore information


AnnouncementsA

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Day of Freedom* July 19, 11 A.M.–3 P.M., Urban Heritage

Park Visitor Center, Corner of Congressand Broadway, Saratoga Springs: SolomonNorthup Day—A Celebration of Freedom.

Presentations, storytelling for children, artexhibits, poetry, and music —classical gui-tar, gospel, and jazz—will mark this year’scelebration of Solomon Northup. Born afree man in Minerva in July 1808, Northupworked on the Champlain Canal as a car-penter. He was also an inventor and violin-ist, and while in Saratoga Springs, he waskidnapped. After being held in a slave penin Washington, he was sold into slavery inLouisiana. Citizens of Saratoga and sur-rounding areas arranged for Northrup’s re-lease and return to Saratoga. In 1853, hepublished his autobiography, Twelve Years aSlave, about his ordeal. Although Northupsought to bring his captors to trial, they werenever prosecuted, and he himself mysteri-ously disappeared. No burial site has beenidentified, and it is not known whether hewas recaptured or killed or died of naturalcauses.

In 2003, the city council approved SolomonNorthup Day to take place on the third Satur-day in July. The annual event in his honor isthe first celebration of an African American

in Saratoga Springs. For information, contactRenee Moore, director of Solomon NorthupDay, [email protected], 518 587-8978.

Heritage in Hartford* July 10 through September 12: The

Connecticut Cultural Heritage Arts Programat the Institute for Community Research inHartford will host the exhibit ¡Que BonitaBandera!: The Puerto Rican Flag in Folk Art.Developed by City Lore, the exhibit showsthe love Puerto Ricans hold for their flag asdepicted in images, objects, and music.

* September 27: The Institute for Com-munity Research and the música jibara groupAmor y Cultura present a Concurso de Tro-vadores and concert at St. Anne’s Church,Park Street, Hartford. Singers from NewEngland, New York, and New Jersey areinvited to compete in the contest to com-pose an extemporaneus décima. Judges will bewell-known trovadores from Puerto Rico. Thecontest will be followed by a concert by thejudges and the winners.

For information, call Lynne Williamsonat 860 278-2044, extension 251.

North Country Events* June 7 through summer: Paintings by

Keeseville artist Emmett Pine will be ondisplay this summer at Traditional Arts inUpstate New York (TAUNY), 2 West MainSt., Canton. Pine has been called a NorthCountry historian with paint and brush.

* Sunday, September 21: TAUNY pre-sents its Eleventh Salute to North CountryLegends at the Best Western in Canton,starting at 2 P.M.

For information, contact Jill Breit,[email protected].

Iroquois Festival* August 30–September 1: Iroquois art-

ists, singers, dancers, and storytellers attractthousands to this annual event, at the Iro-quois Indian Museum at 324 Caverns Rd.,Howes Cave. For information, contactErynne Ansel, museum director, 518 296-

8949, [email protected]; www.iroquoismuseum.org.

Old-Time Oneonta* June 17, 5–7 P.M.: The Upper Catskill

Community Council of the Arts will presentTales of the Sixth Ward: Stories of Familyand Community Life, by Oneonta residentswho grew up in the city’s most distinctiveneighborhood. Folklorist Dale Johnson willfacilitate, and Italian honey cakes will beserved.

* June 28, 1–3 P.M.: The Upper CatskillCommunity Council of the Arts will presentFolk Arts of the Headwaters, a celebrationof the traditional arts in the Upper Susque-hanna region, with music from an old-timefamily band, Ceili dancing, stone carving, flytying, hands-on-quilting demonstration,stringed instrument making, hand-clapgames, and a jump-rope demonstration. Vis-itors can also view a visual arts exhibition onthe Susquehanna in the Kubiak Gallery.

Both events will take place at the WilberMansion, 11 Ford Ave., Oneonta; 607 432-2070.

Emerging TraditionsA series of programs at the Schwein-

furth Memorial Art Center in Auburn ishighlighting traditional artists from refu-gee groups living in central New York. Theprograms are free and are funded by theNew York State Council on the Arts andthe New York Council for the Humani-ties. For directions to the Schweinfurth, call315 255-1553.

* August 17: A performance by theSudanese DiDinga and Dinka male youthwill be presented along with a talk by theirelders on.

* October 19: Folk musicians from Bos-nia and Kosovo will perform, and Vesna Sinwill demonstrate traditional lace-making.This program is part of the 2003 StateHumanities Month, a celebration sponsoredeach October by the New York Council forthe Humanities.

Victoria Northrup Linzy Dunham,Northrup family matriarch, with historicalmarker, which stands at Broadway andCongress Street in Saratoga Springs.Photo: Renee Moore


Submission Guidelines forSubmission Guidelines forSubmission Guidelines forSubmission Guidelines forSubmission Guidelines forVVVVVoicesoicesoicesoicesoices::::: The Journal of New Y The Journal of New Y The Journal of New Y The Journal of New Y The Journal of New York Fork Fork Fork Fork FolklorolklorolklorolklorolkloreeeeeVoices: The Journal of New York Folklore is amembership magazine of the New YorkFolklore Society (www.nyfolklore.org).

The New York Folklore Society is a nonprofit,statewide organization dedicated to furthering cul-tural equity and cross-cultural understandingthrough programs that nurture folk cultural expres-sions within communities where they originate, sharethese traditions across cultural boundaries, and en-hance the understanding and appreciation of folkculture. Through Voices the society communicateswith professional folklorists and members of re-lated fields, traditional artists, and a general publicinterested in folklore.

Voices is dedicated to publishing the content offolklore in the words and images of its creators andpractitioners. The journal publishes research-basedarticles, written in an accessible style, on topics re-lated to traditional art and life. It also features stories,interviews, reminiscences, essays, folk poetry andmusic, photographs, and artwork drawn from peoplein all parts of New York State. Columns on sub-jects such as photography, sound and videorecording, legal and ethical issues, and the natureof traditional art and life appear in each issue.

Editorial PolicyFeature articles. Articles published in Voices rep-

resent original contributions to folklore studies.Although Voices emphasizes the folklore of NewYork State, the editor welcomes articles based onthe folklore of any area of the world. Articles onthe theory, methodology, and geography of folk-lore are also welcome, as are purely descriptivearticles in the ethnography of folklore. In addition,Voices provides a home for “orphan” tales, narra-tives, and songs, whose contributors are urged toprovide contextual information.

Authors are encouraged to include short personalreminiscences, anecdotes, isolated tales, narratives,songs, and other material that relates to and en-hances their main article.

Total length, including citations, should not ex-ceed 4,000 words.

Reviews and review essays. Books, recordings,films, videos, exhibitions, concerts, and the like areselected for review in Voices for their relevance tofolklore studies or the folklore of New York Stateand their potential interest to a wide audience. Per-sons wishing to review recently published materialshould contact the editor. Unsolicited reviews andproposals for reviews will be evaluated by the edi-tor and by outside referees where appropriate.Follow the bibliographic style in a current issue ofVoices.

Reviews should not exceed 750 words.Correspondence and commentary. Short but

substantive reactions to or elaborations upon ma-terial appearing in Voices within the previous yearare welcomed. The editor may invite the author ofthe materials being addressed to respond; bothpieces may be published together. Any subject maybe addressed or rebutted once by any correspon-dent. The principal criteria for publication arewhether, in the opinion of the editor or the edito-rial board, the comment constitutes a substantivecontribution to folklore studies, and whether it willinterest our general readers.

Letters should not exceed 500 words.

StyleThe journal follows The Chicago Manual of Style. Con-sult Webster’s Third International Dictionary forquestions of spelling, meaning, and usage, and avoidgender-specific terminology.

Footnotes. Endnotes and footnotes should beavoided; incorporate such information into the text.Ancillary information may be submitted as a sidebar.

Bibliographic citations. For citations of textfrom outside sources, use the author-date style de-scribed in The Chicago Manual of Style.

Language. All material must be submitted inEnglish. Foreign-language terms (transliterated,where appropriate, into the Roman alphabet) shouldbe italicized and followed by a concise parentheticalEnglish gloss; the author bears responsibility for thecorrect spelling and orth-ographics of non-Englishwords. British spellings should be Americanized.

Publication ProcessThe New York Folklore Society holds copyright toall material published in Voices: The Journal of NewYork Folklore. With the submission of material tothe editor, the author acknowledges that he or shegives Voices sole rights to its publication, and thatpermission to publish it elsewhere must be securedin writing from the editor. Although the editor wel-comes inquiries via electronic mail, please use regularmail to submit manuscripts.

For the initial submission, send three paper cop-ies and a PC-formatted disk (preferably prepared inMicrosoft Word and saved as Rich Text Format).

Copy must be typed double spaced, on one sideof a sheet only, with all pages numbered consecu-tively. To facilitate anonymous review of featurearticles, the author’s name and biography shouldappear only on a separate title page.

Tables, charts, maps, illustrations, photographs, cap-tions, and credits should follow the main text and benumbered consecutively. All illustrations should beclean, sharp, and camera-ready. Photographs shouldbe prints or duplicate slides (not originals). Writtenpermission to publish each image must be obtainedby authors from the copyright holders prior to sub-mission of manuscripts, and the written permissionsmust accompany the manuscript (authors should keepcopies).

Materials are acknowledged upon receipt. Theeditor and two anonymous readers review manu-scripts submitted as articles. The review processtakes several months.

Deadlines permitting, authors read and correctgalley proofs for typographical errors. Authors re-ceive two complimentary copies of the issue inwhich their contribution appears and may purchaseadditional copies at a discount. Authors of featurearticles may purchase offprints; price informationis available upon publication.

Submission DeadlinesSpring–Summer December 31Fall–Winter issue June 30

Manuscripts should be sent by regular mail (not e-mail) to Voices at the following address:

New York Folklore Society Publications133 Jay StreetSchenectady, NY 12301.

Metro-Area MerengueLong Island Traditions is presenting a se-

ries of concerts and workshops on Domini-can perico ripiao (traditional accordion-basedmerengue music) with the support of the NewYork State Council on the Arts and the co-operation of the Brooklyn Arts Council andthe Queens Council on the Arts. Each work-shop will allow for discussion with two mu-sicians, and each concert will feature twogroups, at least one local to the area.

* Friday, May 30, 5 P.M., Queens CentralLibrary, 144 89-11 Merrick Boulevard, Ja-maica, Queens: Workshop with Berto Reyes(accordion player and builder), Pinto Güira(güira player and maker), and Domingo“Flaco” Peña (tambora player).

* Saturday, May 31, 7 P.M., LangstonHughes Center, 100-01 Northern Boule-vard, Corona, Queens: Concert featuringBerto Reyes y su Conjunto Típico and Lid-ia de la Rosa.

* Wednesday, June 4, 7 P.M., FreeportMemorial Library, 144 W. Merrick Road,Freeport, Long Island: Workshop with LuisCordero and Rafaelito Polanco.

* Sunday, June 8, 2 P.M., Freeport Recre-ation Center, 130 E. Merrick Road, Free-port, Long Island: Concert featuring LuisCordero y Sus Amigos del Amargue andRafaelito Polanco.

* Thursday, July 10, 4 P.M., Brooklyn Cen-tral Library, Grand Army Plaza, Brooklyn:Workshop with Lidia de la Rosa (accordi-onist) and Ray “Chino” Diaz (tambora andgüira player).

* Saturday, July 12, noon, Brooklyn Cen-tral Library, Grand Army Plaza, Brooklyn:Concert featuring La Sorpresa Típica andLidia de la Rosa.

All events are free. For updated informa-tion, visit www.longislandtraditions.org orcall 516 767-8803.

Irish TraditionsA recent issue of Treoir Magazine (2003:

1), published by Comhaltas Ceoltoiri Eire-ann for worldwide distribution, contains afive-page article on traditional Irish musicarchives by Ted McGraw, Rochester, whochairs the Comhaltas North American Ar-chive Committee.

Join NYFS and become part of a communitythat will deepen your involvement withfolklore, folklife, the traditional arts, andcontemporary culture. As a member, you’llhave early notice of key events...Fall Conference. People travel from all overto meet in a different part of the state eachyear for the NYFS Fall Conference andAnnual Meeting. Professionals in folklore andrelated f ields join with educators andpractitioners to explore the culture andtradit ions of the area. Lectures anddiscussions are balanced with concerts,dancing, and tours of cultural sites.New York State Folk Arts Forums. Folkarts professionals, colleagues in relateddisciplines, and lay people come together eachyear to address a topic of special interest–whether it be folklore and the Internet,heritage tourism, cultural conservation, orintellectual property law.

Help When You Need ItBecome a member and learn about technicalassistance programs that will get you the helpyou need in your work.Mentoring and Professional DevelopmentProgram for Folklife and the TraditionalArts. Receive technical assistance from amentor of your choosing. You can study witha master traditional artist, learn new strategiesfor marketing, master concert and exhibitionproduction, organize an archive, or improveyour organizational management.Folk Artists Self-Management Project. Ifyou’re a traditional artist, you know theimportance of business, management, andmarketing skills to your success in themarketplace. NYFS can help you withworkshops, mentoring, and publications.Folk Archives Project. What could be morecritical than finding a repository for animportant collection? The NYFS is a leaderin the preservation of our cultural heritage.Attend our workshops and order copies ofNYFS books at a discount.Consulting and referral. The NYFS offersinformal counseling and referral services tothe members in the field. Contact us bytelephone, e-mail, or letter.Publications. Members receive discountson al l NYFS publ icat ions. Vis i twww.nyfolklore.org for current titles.

Join the New York Folklore Society todayand become a subscriber to Voices

A Public VoiceThe NYFS raises awareness of folklore amongthe general public through three importantchannels...Print. Voices: The Journal of New York Folklore,published twice a year, brings you folklore in thewords and images of its creators and practitioners.The journal’s new look distinguishes it from otherpublications in the field. Read Voices for newsyou can use about our field and legal issues,photography, sound and video recording, andarchiving.Radio. Voices of New York Traditions is a series ofradio documentaries that spotlight the folklife ofthe state, aired on public radio. Stay tuned!Internet. Visit www.nyfolklore.org for the latestnews on events in folklore. Updated weekly, theNYFS website is designed to appeal to the publicas well as keep specialists informed.

AdvocacyThe New York Folklore Society is your advocatefor sympathetic and informed attention to folkarts...• We represent you on issues before the statelegislature and the federal government whenpublic policy affects the field. Visit the advocacypages at www.nyfolklore.org to learn what we’redoing and how you can help.• The society partners with statewide, regional,and national organizations, from the New YorkState Arts and Cultural Coalition to the AmericanFolklore Society, and frequently presents itsprojects and issues at meetings of professionalorganizations in the allied fields of archives,history, and libraries.

So Join!Become part of a community that explores andnurtures the traditional cultures of New YorkState and beyond. Membership in the New YorkFolklore Society entitles you to the followingbenefits:• A subscription to Voices: The Journal of NewYork Folklore.• Invitations to conferences, workshops, andmeetings.• Updates on technical assistance programs.• Opportunities to meet others who share yourinterests.• Discounts on NYFS books.Plus the satisfaction of knowing that you supportthe only organization devoted to folklore acrossNew York State.

Yes, I want to join the New YorkFolklore Society.

Name___________________________________________

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$35 Basic member$20 Full-time student$20 Senior (65+)$50 Joint (two or more at the same address)$50 Organizations and institutions

Please add $5 for additional postage for foreign memberships.

New member.Gift membership. Introduce a friend orrelative to the world of folklore!

Make a tax-deductible donation and helpsupport the organization that supports folklore!

My donation over and above my basic member-ship fee will entitle me to the followingadditional benefits:

$60. Supporting member. Book.$100 and up. The Harold W. ThompsonCircle. Book.

2002 2003Membership dues $_________ $_________

Tax-deductible donation $_________ $_________

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The amount of memberships greater than $20 and all donations aretax-deductible to the extent allowed by law.

Make your check payable to New York FolkloreSociety and send it with this form to:New York Folklore SocietyP.O. Box 764 , Schenectady, NY 12301

P.O. Box 764, Schenectady, NY 12301518 346-7008 • www.nyfolklore.org

Nonprofit Org.

US Postage

PAIDSchenectady, NY

Permit No.62

ANNOUNCINGThe Annual Conference of the

New York Folklore Society

October 24-26, 2003Sacket's Harbor, New York

“Common Places, Uncommon Stories:Cultural Landmarking and

Cultural Conservationin Upstate New York Communities”

A joint collaboration with the New York Folklore Society andTraditional Arts of Upstate New York

Official conference hotel is Ontario Place Hotel, Sacket's Harbor

For further information,visit the New York Folklore Society's website

www.nyfolklore.org or call the society at (518) 346-7008

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The Journal of New York Folklore · The New York Folklore Society’s annual meeting will be held...

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