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History

The First Selfie

As of this writing, about 700 billion photographs have been uploaded to the internet. Billions and billions more exist in physical form. Many of these photos fall into the category now referred to as “selfies,” a type of photograph that is typically assumed to be as young as Generation Y. However, the roots of the selfie actually go back almost 200 years.

The son of a Dutch immigrant, Robert Cornelius was born in Philadelphia in 1809. As a child, Cornelius was fascinated by chemistry. This interest was surely fanned by the boy’s father, a silversmith, who taught Robert the business of metal polishing and silver plating.

In 1839, the world was taken by storm when French artist Louis Daguerre invented the daguerreotype, a complex process—involving silver-plated copper, mercury vapor, and liquid chemical treatment—that could produce a photographic likeness. An account of Daguerre’s process was published in Philadelphia on October 15, 1839. The next day, Cornelius was approached by a local watchmaker and inventor named Joseph Saxton, who was at that time, an employee of the Philadelphia Mint. Saxton wanted Cornelius to help him produce a daguerreotype image. Cornelius agreed.

Cornelius created the silver plating for Saxton’s photographic image; and that image, as far as we know, was the first photograph ever taken in the United States. In dark hues of gold and brown, the image was taken from Saxton’s own Philadelphia Mint office window, and it portrays part of the State Arsenal and a section of a neighboring high school. A late-19th century description of the “camera” reveals Saxton’s quick ingenuity: A seidlitz powder (a laxative) box with a few flakes of iodine answered for a coating box, while a cigar box and burning glass were improvised for a camera. One Philadelphia photographer later wrote that the Saxton daguerreotype “created no small excitement among the curious in such matters; and from this date, many of our Philadelphia savants began cultivating the art.”

The experience ignited in Cornelius an abiding interest in photography, and he was determined to improve upon the makeshift daguerreotype he’d helped Saxton throw together. In this effort, he enlisted a physician named Paul Beck Goddard, and later that same month of October, they produced a daguerreotype image of Cornelius himself—the first photographic portrait (picture of a human being) ever taken in the United States. It was probably the first ever in history, although one earlier daguerreotype image had been taken a year before in Paris and happened to include a couple people in the background. But that image wasn’t meant as a portrait.

From the metallic, spotted image, Cornelius, with his head slightly tilted to the left, stares back at us with determined eyes set underneath a prominent forehead, that was partly covered by his thick, disheveled hair. He wears a dark coat with a cravat. His right arm is held upright across his chest, and his right hand is tucked beneath the left side of his coat. The limitations of the technology dictated that for this first-ever selfie, Cornelius had to sit still for up to 15 minutes.

The first photographic portrait made in the United States (and probably the world), by Paul Beck Goddard and Robert Cornelius. The subject is Cornelius himself, allowing him to claim the achievement of first-ever “selfie.”

Cornelius went on to establish several photo studios, manufacturing his own cameras, plates, and mats to produce portraits for the prominent people (among others) of his time. Many of those photographs survive to this day.

One of his innovations was in harnessing additional light via the use of reflectors. Writing several decades later, one observer of Cornelius described his process: For coating the plates, he used dry iodine exclusively; and by several large reflectors, set at different angles, both within doors and without, he was enabled, in strong sunshine, to concentrate upon his sitter light enough to obtain through a side-window facing south, an impression within from one to five minutes.

Cornelius was later able to improve his process to the point where he could produce “fair impressions, even without reflectors, in from 10 to 60 seconds—and this too within doors.” But success invited imitation, and, as one mid-19th century historian informs us: “Together with the improvements made by [Cornelius] and others in the heliographic apparatus [light reflectors] and manipulative methods, and the great advance consequent thereon in the mode of obtaining portraits from life, quite a number of persons directed their attention to the art from the hope of making it a source of profit.”

As the demand for and interest in photography spread, and as more studios opened, Cornelius opted to move on to other things: specifically, the invention of a solar lamp that proved highly popular across the United States and Europe—but that’s another story. Incidentally, few people knew or understood at the time that Cornelius had taken the first photographic portrait in American history. He wasn’t one to trumpet his own accomplishments.

Luckily for us, however, Cornelius mentored others at his studio. One of them was a young man named Marcus Root. A quarter-century after that first selfie was taken, in 1864, Root published “The Camera and the Pencil, or the Heliographic Art,” which included, along with the theory and practice of photography, a history of the field. That book explicitly, and rightly, credited Cornelius with the first photographic portrait.

Twelve years later, “The Camera and the Pencil” was exhibited at the Centennial Exhibition, where the book was noticed by a photographer named Julius Sachse. Sachse went on to interview Cornelius, and later became editor of the “American Journal of Photography.” In this way, Cornelius’ legacy was secure—and just in the nick of time. He died the following year, in1877.
So, the next time you take a selfie, take a moment to remember Cornelius—and be glad you don’t have to sit still for 15 minutes.

Categories
Features

Temples of Transportation

In 1862, arguably one of the darkest and most uncertain years for our republic, President Abraham Lincoln pressed Congress to pass the Pacific Railway Act. As North and South were being ripped apart, Lincoln, a former railroad attorney, sought to use the rails to tie East and West together.

America was still involved in the process of recovering from her terrible civil war, when on May 10, 1869, the Transcontinental Railroad was celebrated as complete. The railroad had been constructed in a mad dash, as the two competing lines, Union Pacific and Central Pacific, raced to complete as much track as possible. The prize, 6,400 acres of land and $16,000 for every mile of track completed, led to a spirited competition. Union Pacific’s Thomas Durant and Central Pacific’s Leland Stanford pushed their crews on. When they met in Utah, they kept on pushing right past each other.

In a photo of a trestle by Andrew J. Russell, the bridge itself is built of fresh cut timbers—quite a contrast from Benjamin Henry Latrobe II’s beautiful railroad viaducts. This photo reveals another graded right-of-way beside the completed track, bearing witness to the competition between the two companies.

The next few decades saw the nation steadily crisscrossed with railways, as communities and permanent infrastructure replaced the rolling “hell on wheels” camps of railroad workers. As the 19th century drew to a close, railroads became the primary connection between great cities, and the various companies sought to show their importance by building grand terminals. Their desire for architectural significance would create grand entrances to the cities they served.

Of course, the great classical forms of the 1893 World’s Fair would inspire many of them. Washington, D.C., as a result of the McMillan plan for the Washington Mall, built a grand station, “monumental in character,” designed by Daniel Burnham and William Pierce Anderson. Burnham had planned the great Chicago Columbian Exposition of 1893, and for the Washington station, he chose a mixture of classical motifs. This station replaced a hodgepodge of railroad connections through Washington, placing tracks in tunnels and freeing the National Mall to become a grand avenue.

 

Burnham would also design the Pennsylvania Union Station for the growing manufacturing center of Pittsburgh, with its distinctive rotunda. It seems that every prominent city sought a great entryway in the form of her railway stations. America’s great classicists would find many commissions as they fulfilled that mission.

Cornelius Vanderbilt’s New York Central Railroad built a monumental terminal in New York City, beginning in 1869. Designed by John B. Snook in the Second Empire Style, it would be expanded and eventually replaced in 1913, with the present Grand Central Station, designed by Charles A. Reed and Allen H. Stem. Reed & Stem were hired to build a station that would compete with another great station being built by McKim, Mead & White in that same city. That great railroad rivalry would lead to New York City having two great entryways.

At the beginning of the 20th century, there was only one great railway into Manhattan—the New York Central. Cornelius Vanderbilt owned Manhattan, or so it seemed. Though the Pennsylvania Railroad was actually bigger than the New York Central, it was not able to come into New York City. Pennsylvania Railroad trains only came to the shore of New Jersey, and passengers would then ride a ferry to the docks of New York.

However, Pennsylvania Railroad President Alexander Cassatt would make a fateful trip to France to visit his sister, Mary, the Impressionist painter. There he would see electric locomotives being used to pull trains through tunnels beneath the ground. A great plan formed in his mind! It was a plan for not just one tunnel, but a series of tunnels that would bring tracks across New York’s Tenderloin District and continue on to Long Island. There, the Pennsylvania would connect with the Long Island Railroad.

But there was more. Crossing the Hell Gate Bridge would enable trains to connect with New England railroads as well. It was a brilliant, daring, and dangerous plan. The Hudson River was a mile wide, and tunneling had to be done in pressurized caissons through the muddy bottom. Engineer William McAdoo began the construction of the first Hudson tunnel in 1902, continuing an earlier tunnel begun and abandoned in the 19th century. This tunnel was completed in 1908, as were tunnels to Long Island under the East River.

Having acquired a significant amount of real estate in Manhattan—needed for right-of-way—the Pennsylvania Railroad commissioned McKim, Mead & White to build the greatest entry into New York imaginable. The result was the magnificent Beaux Arts Pennsylvania Station. Not to be outdone, New York Central hired Reed & Stem to design the competing Grand Central Station.

McKim, Mead & White would also design the James A. Farley Post Office Building as a companion to the terminal. Though this terminal was demolished in 1966, the Farley Building, with its fine Corinthian columns, remains. Its Moynihan Train Hall now provides access to the tracks of what once was Pennsylvania Station.

Cities of all sizes would build fine stations. Richmond, Virginia’s Main Street Station is an example of Italian Renaissance influence. Completed in 1901, it was designed by Wilson, Harris & Richards. It features a fine campanile, and a series of arches topped by a steep hipped roof. In Staunton, Virginia, Thomas Jasper Collins would place a bungalow style roof over a series of arches to create a distinctive train station. Built for the most part by private companies, these fine depot buildings would provide a unique identity for each metropolis they served—entering into the fabric of the republic’s civic architecture.

Categories
Arts & Letters

Preserving the Nation’s Heritage, One House at a Time

If walls could talk, what stories would they tell?

During the Civil War, Union soldiers occupied the region of Helena, Arkansas. They quartered inside a Greek Revival-style home that belonged to a local Confederate soldier. It was a stately mansion built in 1858, with a robust pediment and tall, elegant columns on its facade. Union Gen. William Sherman is said to have stayed in the home while planning his battles.

When the house went up for sale, Laine and Kevin Berry—avid lovers of old houses with history and fine craftsmanship—couldn’t resist.

When the couple first viewed the house, they were stunned. Etched glass panels glimmered in the dining room’s double doors, depicting two Biblical figures, Ruth and Naomi, standing on pedestals and surrounded by ornate leaf patterns.

laine and kevin berry
Laine and Kevin in their home. Laine is a bridal gown designer and operates a local salon, while Kevin owns an advertising and marketing business. (Sam)

Later, the couple went looking through the home’s records and discovered that Laine has ancestry in common with its previous owners. The papers list the name of Laine’s five times great uncle.

In a way, as Laine explains in a video on the couple’s YouTube channel, Our Restoration Nation, it was like she was returning to a family home.

Preserving History

The couple has taken on a number of ambitious projects—houses that have completely rotten foundations or electrical wiring held together by duct tape—that most wouldn’t consider worth salvaging.

They began buying and rehabilitating old houses across the southern United States about 20 years ago. Laine said that she and Kevin, spurred on by a passion for history and fine architecture, “both felt like the best way to preserve some of our nation’s heritage was to tackle these wonderful historic structures.”

For the couple, the homes are a reflection of American culture. “Preserving them helps not only preserve our culture, but it helps educate people—to understand where we’ve come from and what got us to where we are today,” Laine said.

historic house
The interiors incorporate many antique items for a time-worn feel. (David Hatfield)

About a year ago, they started documenting their projects on YouTube, with practical tutorials on topics ranging from how to restore historical picture frames, to the best method for stripping lead paint from wood.

They also film tours of historical houses on the market—many in surprisingly good condition given their age—explaining architectural elements in loving detail.

The couple has amassed a steady following of people who cherish old things and yearn to “see, and touch, and feel a product that their labor has created,” Laine said.

Their Instagram account is filled with the latest updates about their houses, which are dubbed names like Helen, after the region of Helena; Willa, after the Willie family who built the home; and Scottie, after the street where the house is located. Sometimes, a house’s photo is cheekily accompanied by a post written from the house’s perspective.

Growing Trend

Old houses have become an increasingly popular choice among first-time homebuyers.

As the housing market becomes prohibitively expensive and the cost of rent skyrockets in many major cities, the millennial generation is being drawn in by lower prices, while at the same time relishing opportunities to get creative and work with their hands, according to Elizabeth Finkelstein, who co-founded the website CheapOldHouses.com along with her husband.

The site lists historical homes up for sale across the country. Finkelstein created it as a passion project in 2016, hoping to educate people on the value and beauty of old houses.

Real estate agents tend to give little promotion to old houses in disrepair. “What you end up with is a blurry, dusty photo in the dark, taken on someone’s iPhone. But there’s an Art Deco bathroom in there. And then you’re like, wait a minute, no one is going to see this. So I felt the need to show it to people,” Finkelstein said.

Appreciation for the old has struck a chord among the many millennials who make up Cheap Old Houses’ following (more than 1.5 million on Instagram at the time of writing). Finkelstein thinks that “people are getting very, very fed up with, and skeptical of, the superficiality and disposability of so much in our lives right now—fast food, fast restoration, fast fashion—all of it.”

renovation
The fireplace area under construction in the Conway house. (Courtesy of Kevin Berry)

Many of the latest trends are not only wasteful, but devoid of meaning. “You want to feel a sense of purpose in your home. And if anything, this pandemic has just brought that out,” she said. A growing number of people, especially after spending more time at home, are considering alternative lifestyles.

Finkelstein said Cheap Old Houses’ Instagram account gained followers at roughly three times the normal rate during the beginning of the pandemic last year.

Laine Berry expressed a similar sentiment about modern life. “We’re always on our phones. We always are on our computers. And I think there’s a bit of a national longing for things, and times, that were simpler,” she said.

The Berrys hope that more people across the country will see investing in a historical home as a viable option.

They want people to watch their videos and see that the work is not that intimidating. But, at the same time, homebuyers must be willing to take on the research to restore homes respectfully.

“You don’t change the footprint. You allow the history of the house to be the main focus, but you rehabilitate it to be livable by today’s standards fully,” Laine said. That means researching “what is and what is not appropriate for the style and period of your home.”

historic house
The living room features a Victorian hand-painted folding screen that dates to around 1876. (David Hatfield)

Over the years, the Berrys have accumulated an almost encyclopedic knowledge of how different period styles of mantles, staircase spindles, woodwork, and other elements look.

Twenty years ago, they would go to their local library to find resources on microfilm. Today, much of the information is available on the internet.

They’re excited that a new generation will carry the torch.

“That’s the most exciting thing to me, when somebody says, ‘I never thought I could do this. I’ve been so afraid of this. I thought it was out of reach either emotionally or financially. Watching you guys, I realize this is doable for me,’” Laine said.

Categories
History

New York’s Liberty Pole

In the decade leading up to the American Revolutionary War, Boston wasn’t the only scene of intense friction between British soldiers and American colonials. Imperial troops had likewise been stationed in New York.

It’s a truism in history that occupying armies, whatever their original intentions, eventually breed resentment from the locals. While Boston had its Liberty Tree, here the Sons of Liberty had been erecting liberty poles—wooden poles mounted by a cap—since at least 1766, when the first was raised during celebrations of the repeal of the Stamp Act. That original pole, hoisted in “the Fields”—today’s City Hall Park in Manhattan, at the time located just outside the city but, not coincidentally, right in front of a British barracks—stood as a reminder to all of colonial rights.

Liberty poles invoked a well-known classical motif: the spear mounted by the cap of a freed slave, symbolizing the freedom of the Romans from the tyrant Julius Caesar. The same symbol had been used after the Glorious Revolution of 1688 on a commemorative medal struck for William III.

Joseph Allicocke—an influential merchant and one of the instigators of the raising of New York’s original Liberty Pole—described his motivations without mincing words: “to scourge the base Enemies of our Country and our greatest Darling LIBERTY.” Every day, a group of New Yorkers gathered at the Liberty Pole and performed drills, certainly meant to egg on watching British soldiers.

And it worked. As an object of protest and resistance, New York’s first Liberty Pole was torn down by those same British soldiers.

The colonists responded by raising it up again.

The soldiers once more tore it down, enraging many of New York’s inhabitants. Up it went again. Down, then up, then down.

During one demolition, a soldier fired into the disapproving crowd and wounded one of its members. Another Redcoat bayoneted a leading citizen of the colony. Though one of these soldiers was later punished with five hundred lashes for the crime of assaulting a civilian, tension between soldiery and citizenry remained high. Liberty poles kept going up, only to be torn down by ever-less-patient troops.

In response, New Yorkers raised a new sort of pole, its lower portions armored with iron plates, the pole itself driven so deep into the ground that it was nigh impossible to tear down the way previous poles had been. The British general on the scene, Thomas Gage, described the circumstances:

People seem distracted everywhere. It is now as common here to assemble on all occasions of public concern at the Liberty Pole and Coffee House as for the ancient Romans to repair to the Forum. And orators harangue on all sides.

Meanwhile, the New York assembly had been temporarily dissolved for failing to appropriate funds for the local garrison. When the assembly finally gave in to British demands for the appropriation in December 1769, the Sons of Liberty were furious, posting a broadside addressed “To the Betrayed Inhabitants of the City and Colony of New York.”

British soldiers, meanwhile, did what they had always done: they set out to chop down the Liberty Pole, though in this case, they used a charge of black powder to blow it up (when that didn’t work, they managed to chop it down the old-fashioned way). Then, to pour salt in the wound, they sawed the pole into pieces and dumped them in front of the above-mentioned, Sons-of-Liberty-frequented “Coffee House” before publishing their own broadside attacking the Sons of Liberty as “the real enemies of society.”

On Jan. 19, 1770—about a week after the (armored) Liberty Pole’s destruction—the deterioration of relations between soldiers and New Yorkers erupted into out-and-out fighting at the Fields. Three thousand New Yorkers, some armed with clubs or cutlasses, gathered at what was left of the pole (now a mere stump) and began to harass the soldiers.

Those soldiers now came pouring out of the barracks. The order to the troops: “Draw your bayonets and cut your way through them.”

The “battle” that resulted was actually more of a huge street brawl. From the Fields, it spilled into New York City’s streets, including one called Golden Hill (now Eden’s Alley in Manhattan). For two whole days, the city’s government collapsed, armed gangs of locals roaming the streets along with armed gangs of soldiers, all looking for a fight. Several Redcoats were injured (one seriously), and a few New Yorkers, too. The so-called Battle of Golden Hill ended when additional military forces finally managed to escort the roving soldiers back to their barracks.

Had things continued to spiral out of control, the situation might have devolved into a “Boston Massacre”-style event weeks before the actual Boston Massacre.

The regiment was eventually exiled by an appalled Gage to service in Florida. New York magistrates, similarly appalled at their own citizens’ behavior, refused to allow another Liberty Pole to be erected at the Fields.

But a leading Son of Liberty named Isaac Sears purchased the plot of land adjacent to the previous site—and proceeded to build a private liberty pole taller than any structure in New York. Fitted with metal plating, the pole was capped with the word “LIBERTY.”

It would stand until the outbreak of the Revolutionary War five years later.

W. Kesler Jackson, who teaches Western, Islamic, American, Asian, and World histories at the university level, is also known on YouTube as “The Nomadic Professor.” You can follow his work, including entire online history courses featuring his signature on-location videos filmed the world over, at his website (NomadicProfessor.com).