Why Historians Never Give Up

HISTORY IS SOMETHING TO BEHOLD - NOT HAUL AROUND LIKE AN ANCHOR

IT'S NOT UP TO MUSEUMS TO DO IT ALL - WHEN IT COMES TO RECOGNIZING ALL THAT IS HISTORICALLY SIGNIFICANT

     How will historians interpret this new wave of terrorism in Europe? Every hour of every day since the bombing and shootings in Paris, on Friday, news of terrorist arrests, more threats of victimizing attacks, and the reality today, that a Russian passenger aircraft, which crashed several weeks ago, was deliberately brought down the result of an onboard explosion, will be interpreted in thousands of ways by thousands upon thousands of historians, and even by those who think they are qualified to be historians. Most of us don't worry about what the historians write about, in the months and years following these events, and preoccupy themselves instead, with the news of the day, as told by the minute by front line correspondents and their sources. Maybe historians are becoming irrelevant, swallowed by their own respectful delays to research what news reporters on the scene, fail to factor in, during the excitement of actuality. Historians know the importance of letting the dust settle a tad, before contaminating the situation, by delving indiscriminately, and getting caught up in what might be called the fog of war, or in this case, the dark atmosphere of terrorism.
     I believe historians will always be relevant, and the truths they uncover considered valuable, on final assessments of what this period was all about.  But there are times, and I've experienced dozens of occasions, when historians and their work, are purposely diminished by those who sense an opportunity, to bypass what we, of our ilk, consider priority considerations. Call them inconvenient truths, or whatever you like, but there are those folks in all our communities, who would rather erase or step over, what some of us consider protocols and traditions deserving respect. It happens a lot in Muskoka. In my experience, it's because of a shortfall in political will, to make sure, the character realities of our past, despite not having a monument designated in their honor, or a book of restrictions, bylaws and sundry other provisions to protect them, are still deserving of contemporary respect; because they are credits earned by all those community leaders and determined citizens, who wanted to improve their community from the ground up, and achieved their objectives. It is not acceptable then, to have policy developed that circumvents the common sense of those historical realities, that really do define how are values, as town stakeholders, have evolved and branched out over the centuries, from those first few pioneer settlers, in their hand hewn cabins, where Gravenhurst now flourishes.
     Sometimes, we who call ourselves historians, some just to get the team jacket and ball cap, want to throw up our arms and scream into the heavens, about the way we have been ignored, and our opinions considered nothing more than prattling; complaining with a distinctive, aged whine, about things that don't matter a hoot to current affairs. It's predicable, that in the not too distant future, they, the new era of revisionist thinking, may have their way, because there is a shortage of replacement historians in our region; interested in taking-on the thankless job of ensuring our past is conserved; just as we would maintain the planks of the foundation of a heritage building, to keep everything built on top, secure and able to endure the pummeling storm yet to come.
     Consider the historic reality today, for example, in the case of the sudden, unexplained death, of Canadian landscape painter, Tom Thomson, on that ill-fated July 1917, traverse of Algonquin Park's Canoe Lake. For decades, it was accepted fact, that Thomson was the victim of accidental drowning, case closed. Then there were interveners, unwelcome as they were, who refused to surrender to this ruling of the Coroner's inquest, that didn't even have access to the artist's body. It was buried the morning of the inquest, denying any serious intrusive medical overview, or autopsy to determine, by second opinion, if Dr. Howland, the doctor who initially inspected the body after it was pulled from the lake, missed any injury on the body, that might have supported the bandied-about theory, the artist had been murdered instead.
    The point of bringing this up, is that Canadian Art Historian, Blodwen Davies, and writer Judge William Little, and many others who have supported the idea Thomson was murdered, being dumped into the lake by an adversary, were chastised publicly for digging where they weren't invited. Even members of the Group of Seven artists, that Thomson had inspired, didn't want any part of an ongoing investigation. Why? And if you know a little bit about the story, you would appreciate that it wasn't just a murder allegation, but a case where it wasn't even fact, where his body was eventually buried. The Mowat Cemetery grave, was exhumed a few days later, that July, and the body removed to the Village of Leith, Ontario, for re-burial in the Thomson plot. Judge Little, in an unauthorized exhumation in the 1950's, long before his book "The Tom Thomson Mystery," gave credibility to the theory of murder, (in 1970), when he uncovered skeletal remains in this former supposedly empty grave at the Mowat Cemetery. It wasn't empty!
     It was Blodwen Davies who first questioned the coroner's report, that noted Thomson was the victim of misadventure. She felt, as did others in the Canoe Lake community, that someone who knew Thomson well, had gotten away with murder. This was prior to 1930. The police and the government refused to re-open the case. Historians continued to work on the story, over the years since, and it is now pretty much accepted thought, that Thomson was indeed murdered and his body is still buried at the Canoe Lake Cemetery. So we must give support to the ideal of historical sleuthing, to make sure the truth as we knew it, is a truth we have proven beyond doubt; not just as accepted because we're content with status quo.
     Historians are often scorned for uncovering truth, because it destroys the myth that rested on that same spot, moments earlier; before discovery changes our perspective. Is this our fault for pursuing due diligence and either proving or disproving the facts of our past?    
     I was fortunate, as a fledgling historian, to have been critiqued and improved-upon, by two fine, upstanding, dogged historians, being Dave Brown of Hamilton, a major Canadian old book collector, and Hugh Macmillan, one of our country's legendary archivists, who despised the very idea of leaving stones unturned. Any stone. Even stones that looked like they had never been moved, even by our glacial past. They didn't accept half ass research, or gentle prodding when a jackhammer approach was better suited; or failing to perform due diligence, to get what I believed was the evasive, but truthful historical record. They pushed me to be better at whatever heritage project I was working on at the time, and by golly, their advisories and tutoring gave me reason to challenge myself, beyond what I assumed were my full capabilities. I had been wrong about myself, and they proved it! If there is any trait I took from their legacies, as history sleuths, it was to be fiercely independent, and refuse to succumb to those naysayers who wish to get in the way of what you know to be a good cause, and a great unearthing of previously unknown heritage.
     First of all, let's be clear about one thing. Historians don't always agree with one another's take on events of the past, or the circumstances that led up to major occurrences; or interesting developments on the landscape of our communities. In fact, we seldom agree, and it's to be expected. Not so much is it the case of unfurling arguments about the facts of what occurred, because most of us with mileage in this profession, know that new facts on old things can turn up at any time, from a previously unknown source; that of course, can change the whole realm of possibility, as to how a detail of historical development was sparked in the first place. What is contentious most of the time, is the philosophy behind the historical details, and because most of it is open to interpretation, depending on the historian's vantage point, and underlying opinion, we can gnaw on the fine points to infinity and never come up with anything more tangible than, well, an educated guess.
     I was ruminating almost mindlessly, to my old friend, historian and publisher, Gary Long, proprietor of Fox Meadow Publications, that we should spearhead a movement, one day soon, to encourage all the regional historians, self proclaimed and those possessing actual credentials and folios, to to validate their claims, to come together for the express purpose of writing an all-encompassing history of Muskoka. It is needed, as far as I'm concerned, but while I couldn't know how long Gary laughed, or it took him to regain his breath, after getting my email, that day many years ago, the matter never went any further. I'm assuming his feeling was that putting ten or twelve regional historians around a table, in a board room, would be like the preamble to a cage match, because honestly, most of us don't get along that well at the best of times, beyond basic cordial handshaking; unless it's at some museum gala where we have to dress up and look stoic and conservative, unremarkable but seemingly important, under our fine dress duds. When it comes to acknowledging each others contributions to the collection and promotion of local history, we know better than to hold our collective breath for any such compliment. I have always thought it would be neat to have a peer, one day, slap me on the back, and thank me for defending local heritage issues, tooth and nail, for the past forty years. Then I give myself a kick in the arse, and snap back to the reality, that any admission of someone else's accomplishment, would also be the validation, we are of lesser capability; or we would have accomplished the same milestone, but a week sooner.
     I don't know whether it's a case of internal raging jealousy or not, but my colleagues are pretty measured about the whole validation thing, and prefer to step over the accomplishment of others, like it's a fresh dog turd laying on the sidewalk. They might turn-up their noses, when having to deal with it, step high and briskly, and impatiently move the conversation as if there had been nothing of interest in between. I suppose there are historians who work closely together, and respect each others achievements, but I've never met them. When I refer to local historians in this fashion, what I'm really pointing to, is the largely unsung, hard fought binge of researching, and writing, something, assumed to be of great and stirring interest in the heritage-minded community, that more likely, won't cause any more reaction than a one cheek sneak at a wedding reception. We all want to be headliners, but most of us have come face to face with disappointment, when the jubilation anticipated, on completion, never gets beyond the single balloon, and thin slice of cake we hope for, when risking our health, working through the nights, trying to make deadlines for the good of the public trust; adding to the heritage inventory we didn't have, or even know about before the work was completed.
     It's not the case I have a negative opinion about associate historians. I'm just realistic. It is a lonely pursuit at times, and delving into the past sometimes gives every characteristic of us being nothing more sensational than a silhouetted grave robber, working by lantern light after midnight, digging up the past; that more than a few in our communities would like to remain six feet under. It used to be the case, being painfully naive about the high level of competition for a few good stories, out there, buried or just hiding in archives, I needed to have the endorsement of my few mentors, in order to commence a meaty project. A few times, I was thwarted, at least in spirit, by a colleague, letting me now subtly at first, harshly later on, that I was uncovering something, that should be buried again quickly, so as not to see the light of day. No kidding. Instead of sharing my excitement, I would wander away from the meeting, feeling I had just been shoved back in time, another decade, to relive my apprenticeship all over again. It wasn't just one historical type dashing my hopes. There were multiples, and it really started to bother me, especially the part about playing fair, and sharing resources, so that we could all compete on a level field.
      What I found out, by mucking around in their ballywick, was that at least a quarter of these folks, representing much of our region and beyond, would share what they felt they could, of hard resources and good advice. I will always remember them for their kindness. Others, well forget it! As far as co-operation, there was no way of benefitting from any relationship they had in mind; and on numerous occasions, I found trace realities of what I had shared, in discussion, turning up in their work. A few others would try to throw down some obstacles, even in the press, in an attempt to minimize what I was working on, and boy did that piss me off. I was right, and it was simply a case of trying to block a good story, from being given a fair airing in the public domain. It never worked by the way, so the only thing I can complain about, I suppose, is the unpleasant retrospective, that we couldn't work together, to make that giant compendium, to put Muskoka history, in a more illuminating, all inclusive text for the benefit of everyone who wants to know what this place, and these communities, in this beautiful lakeland, are all about. Politics removed. This is an unfortunate reality because it could have, and should have worked. It's a hell of a story, and do you know, in relation to my blogs about recent actions of the Town of Gravenhurst, and the local BIA, playing around with redesignations "cause they feel like it", having such a inclusive compendium would be of enormous assistance, to those of us who have been fighting the revisionists for long and long; ones who prefer a shorter, more romantic version of events, than currently exists on the record. "Records are for losers." This is what I see in their eyes, when I start waxing about the importance of respecting the work of historians.
     If I was leading a charge, on a particular heritage matter in our region, and I was doing so on the assumption the cavalry, of my associates had my back, I'd be simply out of my mind whacko. Is it because I'm more outspoken and radical than my contemporaries? Do I smell bad? I mean I'm always willing to buy coffee and treats for that old gang of mine! How many serious collaborations exist out there, as far as books and projects. I'm not included as a rule, and others well versed in local heritage, are similarly overlooked; those who should be consulted because of their wealth of knowledge. The problem, me thinks, is that politics has entered and begun to thrive, where it should never have penetrated in the first place. By politics, what I mean, is the prevalance of what I believe might even be considered conflict of interest scenarios, in place of what should be free of vested interest, especially if that influence makes the position clear, that the story should be told from a sculpted perspective, that isn't objective for any number of reasons. This is what happened for decades in the past, when cross referencing and research was limited to what the newspaper publishers felt was reasonable due diligence. Not always. I have found lots to question about what was once accepted history, and while not extensive, has ben enough to convince a new crop of history chasers, that the road they wish to travel, has nothing whatsoever to reveal.
     After forty years trying to stay onside with my contemporaries in history hunting and gathering, I worry less these days about consensus, and think happy thoughts, when I find someone has borrowed my ideas, without giving credit or acknowledgement in print, or when giving speeches to groups, hanging off their every word. It's a little discouraging at times, and I'm sure my competitors in this field, would consider this a good thing, that I might one day, give up heritage sleuthing altogether, as a wasted effort. Isn't going to happen. I'm more interested in delving into local history than ever before, and I've doubled my sources from a few years ago, and the hard reference materials, such as historic photographs, keep coming in, from those citizens who have decided I'm not a bad guy afterall.
     Historians are, by and large, muckers in the muck. They are largely unsung, except for occasional bylines, and sometimes get a low key cheer when they launch their latest books. They don't ask for much, and don't receive much! It should discourage them, but my experience, is that the exact opposite holds true. I was kidding with a friend the other day, that if I ever won a major award, for having spent these forty odd years, promoting local heritage, I wouldn't be able to accept it, fearing that it was a master plan to get me to retire from active duty. You see, the trick to getting me to cease and desist, is to honor me. Revere me for a moment! Give me a key to the town or the neighborhood, and I'll give up on this wild ride once and for all. Ignore me, avoid me, shun me, and gosh darn-it, I'll bound back like I've been reborn. It's like when I golfed in my heyday on the Muskoka links. Seeing as I played most of my shots from the rough, the sand trap, the lip of the pond, and the hardwood forests enclosing the courses, I became highly proficient whacking them down the fairway, until I could chip onto the green. Sometimes, it was the only time I was on the course, when it was time to putt-out. I became a hazard golfer, and by golly, I could play with the best of them, and their laughter made me play even better. So as long as I'm playing the rough, as a regional historian, and know that I'm pissing some of them off, because I won't comply, well sir, I'm here for the long haul, agitating, unsettling status quo, and reminding municipalities and their cronies, that I won't back down from a good scrap, when they take liberties with the history our citizenry has rightfully earned from pioneer times. It doesn't make me a popular fellow amongst my peers, who prefer a more tactful approach to council's apparent God given right to screw with historical record, to suit their immediate and even long-term needs.
     I bring this up because of recent issues in our town, regarding the lack of deployment, of historical types, like myself, when mustering in the balliwick of heritage, of which we are more tutored and respectful. And the fact I'm awaiting consultation from another few historians out there, who apparently have blown me off. I'm not mad they have now conveniently found a better source of information and advice; but damn-it, they promised they'd bring coffee and a chelsea bun for our talk.
     You can't please us, can you? We're always looking to the past for answers. And when we can't find what we're looking for, we get cranky and write blogs like this! After I finish this blog, by the way, Suzanne has just coming into the studio to inform me, I have to become an antique dealer this evening, so she and I can sculpt plans for our Christmas season festivities at our shop. I can be an historian for a couple of hours tomorrow, and then again on Thursday, if Suzanne doesn't have some shop business that takes precedence. I guess it comes down to the reality, in my semi-retired state of the union, that I can only be an historian when my wife says so; and time permits. That's important to note. Maybe it's a conspiracy by my adversaries, to restrict my meddling, or grave robbing as they no doubt overview my efforts to dig up the past.
      Actually, Suzanne deserves a lot of credit for her many years of compassion, and understanding, of just how aggravating it can become, trying to sell the idea, that history is worth every penny we invest in it, and whether it is a good revelation or bad, the story of our past is never ordinary, but always extraordinary. It is this above all else, that keeps me coming back for more, whether it is with the assistance of the cavalry or not. It's why I hope to never be the recipient of an award of merit, that I might accept as validation, I have gone as far as I can as a researcher, and am deserving of my days in a greener, quieter, less visible pasture.      Yea, who needs that?