My “shocking” museum story happened about 30 years ago….

At the end of a guided, costumed role-player, Mystic Seaport “Lantern Light” tour, taking guests through Christmas in 19^th century New England, we began our trip “from” the 19^th century “back” to the 20^th century. A young boy asked his mother to take a photograph of him and me.  As we posed for her with her Polaroid camera, he looked up at me and said, “Don’t be afraid…” I looked at him – he continued – “My mother is going to take our photograph and there’ll be a flash of light…don’t be afraid….” I said, “No, it’s okay….”, thinking he knew I was, like him, of the 20^th century – but, no, he truly believed I was of the 1880s… When I tried to explain again, I was stunned to understand that he did believe I was from the 1880s and he was there to assure me that the photograph was going to “be okay”… His mother and I exchanged glances - neither of us wanted to break this moment with her son….And so I told him that I only once before had my photograph taken (I was, after all, a modern young woman from the 1880s!). We faced the camera, the flash went off, and then the whir of the Polaroid as the self-developing print popped out…He invited me to watch the development – continually assuring me it was “okay”. And so it was - the young boy, his mother, and me – we watched the image emerge…when it was fully developed, I thanked them for taking the tour, wished them a “Happy Christmas”, and especially thanked them for taking our photograph. 

I have never forgotten that young boy and his pure sense of wonder and enchantment. He certainly jolted me out of my every day, give-another-tour. How profound our effect as museum professionals is on all of our visitors – young and old – whether we know it or not – what an awesome, shocking responsibility we as museum practitioners have every day!

In 2009 I visited Plimoth Plantation to conduct research for my undergraduate thesis. Entering the Wampanoag Village I stopped to listen to a conversation between an interpreter and a group of junior high school students. A student peppered the interpreter with questions as he stoked the embers cradled in the notch of a dugout canoe. The student proceeded to ask the interpreter if he made dug-out canoes all the time and if he lived in the Wampanoag Village, to which the interpreter calmly replied that this was his job and that he lived in Mashpee. Next the student asked the interpreter if he was a real Native American, and indeed the interpreter was a member of the Wampanoag tribe. The next question the student asked quite literally left me wide-eyed and mouth agape. “So, Native Americans still exist,” she asked. The interpreter replied with a simple, “Yes.” I could tell how awkward and frustrating it was for the interpreter to answer the question. Yet, it was not solely the question itself that shocked me. What shocked me the most was being able to witness the kind of dialog that many museums strive for; the kind that affects change. What shocked me the most was being able to see one interpreter have an impact on the lives of those ten junior high school students.

I have two shocking stories. One is the visitor who was so irate when she learned we were now charging $1 for admission that she rammed a dollar bill down the blouse of the staff member. The second is the parent here on a rainy, rainy day who stood in the lobby and wrung out her daughter's water soaked sweatshirt right onto the floor.