Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Tales of Gotham, Historical Archaeology, Ethnohistory and Microhistory of New York City
Tales of Gotham, Historical Archaeology, Ethnohistory and Microhistory of New York City
Tales of Gotham,
Historical Archaeology,
Ethnohistory
and Microhistory
of New York City
Editors
Meta F. Janowitz Diane Dallal
URS Corporation, Burlington, NJ, USA AKRF, Inc.
New York, NY, USA
School of Visual Arts, New York, NY, USA
In this volume a group of scholars who have devoted much of their careers to the
archaeology of New York City and its greater environs turn their attention to detailed
examinations of individual lives and “archaeological biographies” of a wide array
of persons who once lived in what is now New York. The authors did not invent
these New York stories—they are not fictional or imaginary but grounded in scrupu-
lous, detailed examinations and interpretations of documentary and archaeological
evidence.
Archaeologists become entangled with past lives initially through the sites they
excavate—selected for excavation not by the archaeologist in pursuit of his or her
own research agenda but because of pending destruction through development—
and the artifacts they bring back to their labs to analyze and interpret. They become
inadvertent biographers of overlooked and little-known people as they delve into
documentary and pictorial sources to try to piece together and make vivid the char-
acters who once occupied a given site, and who may have purchased, owned, used,
and discarded items of everyday life (see, e.g., Beaudry 2008).
Those who consider archaeology to be a “human science” tend to think that
archaeologists should make the results of their work accessible to non-archaeolo-
gists. This can be accomplished in a variety of ways, but one of the most effective
means of communicating the results of our work is through writing compelling
narratives that go beyond reporting on the technical details of an excavation and of
the finds it produces. Historical archaeology is an open-ended, interdisciplinary
pursuit that operates outside of the bounds of any single theoretical program and
that incorporates bold forays into the worlds of documentary analysis and material
culture studies. The purposeful combination of multiple approaches and theoretical
perspectives represents a way of experimenting and even playing with archaeologi-
cal data, much as musicians in creating what falls loosely under the rubric of “world
music” practice a kind of “reckless eclecticism” that results in new and engaging
vii
viii Foreword
closely to, if not truth, and then evidence as I interpreted it (Beaudry 1998).
Producing that fictional narrative was one of the most difficult writing tasks I have
undertaken because I felt I had to cleave closely to the evidence and “get everything
right,” as it were, so that the narrative would be credible and seamless. I could not
allow myself all the may-have-beens, might bes, perhapses, and on the other hands
with which I normally qualify the interpretations offered in technical reports. In
truth, I felt more constrained by the fictional armature than I am by the far less com-
pelling genre of report writing. As Charles Cheek notes in reflecting on his con-
structed “story” about Wiert Valentine, “I have had to take liberties with interpretations
that made sense to me, but may have been interpreted differently by another author.”
Archaeological storytellers are often so concerned that their narratives are plausible
that they forget that our colleagues could just as easily find fault with our conclu-
sions based on straightforward (unimaginative?) archaeological reportage.
Not all archaeological storytellers elect to construct fictional narratives; Mary
and Adrian Praetzellis, in 1989, proposed an approach they referred to as “archaeo-
logical biography” as a means of providing vivid portraits of women through the
combined contextual interpretation of painstakingly accumulated archaeological
and documentary evidence. Rebecca Yamin, whose archaeological tales of the Five
Points neighborhood of New York City were singled out for praise by urban histo-
rian Alan Mayne (2008), makes the point that “Alternative narratives do not write
themselves, even from very good data” (Yamin 2001:154). If we as historical
archaeologists hope to examine our data with fresh eyes and open minds and not
take for granted the stories constructed about our sites or the people who lived at
them that appear in the imaginative writings of nineteenth-century reformers and
muckrakers or of industrial apologists who wrote to justify exploitation of working
people like miners or textile workers, or of Colonial Revivalists who sought to
glorify early European immigrants to America, we must “employ equal amounts of
imagination” (2001:154). Yamin notes that “the interpretative approach to archaeo-
logical analysis begins the process, but it may not go far enough to create an alterna-
tive narrative, a narrative strong enough to communicate agency in a way that does
not seem trivial, or incidental” (Ibid.). Yamin takes inspiration from Carmel Schrire’s
work (1996) on a seventeenth-century Dutch outpost in South Africa; Schrire calls
for an “act of imagination” to connect the data to real life. As Yamin puts it, narra-
tive in this sense becomes a method of interpretation (2001:163).
The approach is characterized by close readings of data drawn from multiple
lines of evidence in combination with informed imagination that situates people
within their time. The resulting narratives are grounded in recent historical scholar-
ship and though they might seem to be particularistic, in Yamin’s case they contribute
to an ongoing dialogue about the Five Points neighborhood and more broadly about
how and why it became “the archetypal slum”—and hence Yamin’s narratives of
Five Points originate with a microscopic examination of individuals and how they
negotiated meanings in their everyday lives, but in the aggregate the “vignettes”
that she produces speak more broadly to issues of how scholars have constructed
meanings around stereotypes of Five Points and other so-called slums, and hence in
the end the most personal narrative lends itself to a reconsideration of morphological
x Foreword
issues, that is, to critical examination of typological constructions about the past and
the present (Magnusson 2003), in this case, around the invention of places called
slums, about why we may have needed to invent slums, and about how the morpho-
logical class of places labeled slums has been used as a filter or screen to block out
our vision of the individuals who lived in such places.
Similarly, Lu Ann De Cunzo in her work in Delaware (2004) constructs a series
of alternative narratives about Delaware farms, farmers, farm families, and farm
laborers across economic, social, and racial lines. Her detailed historical ethnogra-
phies challenge the notion that there is a unitary phenomenon we can call “the cul-
ture of agriculture”; rather, De Cunzo reveals that in Delaware, as, presumably,
elsewhere in America, there were multiple “cultures” of agriculture. Historical
archaeologists can bring to light the many contexts in which people negotiated their
lives in the diverse communities of farmers, and it is our job to explode the myth of
the American farm as a unitary morphological type.
Because it begins with a focus on the small scale and the everyday, microhistory
is often highly biographical in its approach. Microhistorians investigate the inti-
mate details of the lives of their subjects, to the extent that at times they seem to
have become enamored of the people who are the actors in their historical dramas
and even to identify with them (Lepore 2001). Darnton (2004:61) refers to the basic
method microhistorians employ, which he refers to as incident analysis. He notes
that most microhistories start with an event and employ something of a detective’s
cleverness and insight to expose the underlying meanings of supposedly single
events that are actually part of a chain of events situated in a particular historical
context that are experienced and recounted by individuals who have differing back-
grounds, motivations, and standpoints.
The forensic metaphor is apt for archaeologists; examining an archaeological
site and analyzing what it produces often resembles crime scene investigation,
because our work often begins with the “scene of the crime” as it were and we have
a battery of methods that allow us to understand how our sites were formed and
perhaps how things got to be in the ground in just the way we find them, and of
course we have the privilege of access to more secrets about people’s lives than
historians will find in all the world’s archives. The problem is to take the obvious
and the not-so-obvious and situate both in the contexts of the lives of the people
whom we are studying and then try to understand what a particular congeries of
artifacts and other evidence is telling us about what it all meant to those people. This
forces us to construct narratives that do more than just tack back and forth between
sources but that weave together the various strands of evidence into strong cables of
inference (Wylie 1999).
Microhistory, or microhistorical archaeology, begins with a focus on the small
scale and the everyday and, as seen in the chapters in this book, tends to be highly
biographical in its approach. Here, “archaeological biographies” provide vivid por-
traits of women such as Sara Roeloffse (Janowitz), Maria van Cortlandt van Rensselaer
and Alida Schuyler van Rensselaer Livingston (Rothschild), and Ann Elizabeth Staats
Schuyler (Geismar). Here the archaeologists’ work with objects and sites leads them
to the archives in attempts to elucidate the material lives of the people who lived at
Foreword xi
their sites but who did not play a starring role in history as written by historians—but
the archaeologists’ work recovers their biographies and, through examining the
particularities of a single life, bring us closer to an understanding of the “worlds”
these people inhabited; these material histories are one of the chief mechanisms for
bringing the lives of women to the forefront, lives that often prove to have been
perhaps representative but far from ordinary (cf. Krohn and Miller 2009). We also
meet cartman Wiert Valentine (Cheek), Mayor Stephen Allen (Harris); the inti-
mately known but nevertheless still largely anonymous H.W. (Howson); the artisa-
nal Van Voorhis family (Wall); and groups formed from common purpose and
commensality (Morgan, Pipes) or through communal interment after a life of hard
work and disenfranchisement (LaRoche). All of these stories have been brought to
light through the combined contextual interpretation of painstakingly accumulated
archaeological and documentary evidence.
A microhistorical, biographical approach affords historical archaeologists an
aesthetic apprehension of their subjects’ lives because it allows them to address the
experience of the perceiving individual, the collective construction of meaning, and
how objects structure experience. An aesthetic or emotional archaeology attends to
the production, circulation, consumption, representativeness, and symbolic charac-
ter of objects and to how recovering the context of an object can change our under-
standing of the historical moment. Such studies recognize the methodological
interdependency of data-, text-, and object-based analyses, acknowledging intertex-
tuality—the relationship among the various lines of evidence that inform us about
the distant past, the contemporary past, and the present (Beaudry 1995:4).
The tales from Gotham that follow are redolent in atmospherics, presenting the
sights, smells, noises, gardens, animals, buildings, and rubbish that characterized
New York over time; many of the essays emphasize how former residents of New
York experienced life in the city. Cantwell provides insight into New York’s first
people, the Munsee, and how their “world”—the landscape and all creatures living
in it—began to experience rapid change after first contact with the Dutch. That the
Dutch envisioned a very different “place” for dwelling than did the Munsee is made
clear by Schaefer in his discussion of how the Dutch construed the natural world in
terms of plants in service to people and how plants and medical preparations from
them in turn regulated the health and well-being and fashioned the bodies of humans.
Experience and movement are recurring themes linking the stories together; food,
health, and the body also feature prominently. These in turn are linked to themes
around identity, nationalism, and immigration as aspects of both colonial and post-
colonial experiences in early America. These archaeological biographies lead us
outward towards a wider examination of the social and cultural processes that
shaped New York and that are reshaping it today.
These stories of New York and New Yorkers are evocative; their power derives
from their focus on the personal and on persons in the contexts of the times and
places they inhabited. Traditional archaeological narratives do not bring us into
such close contact with past lives. The quantitative analysis of archaeological data,
no matter how telling the numbers might be, lacks the power found in these alterna-
tive narratives, because the data simply do not speak for themselves. Data may
xii Foreword
speak to archaeologists but they will not convince anyone else, because they have
no plot and tell no stories; microhistory is written “from a qualitative rather than a
quantitative perspective” (Ginsburg 1993:12). Here, the occasional “act of
imagination”—born largely out of the intimate familiarity these scholars have with
their subjects—connects the data to real life. Arriving at the most plausible of all the
possible interpretations is the ultimate aim of archaeological biography. Victor Buchli
(2000:11) has argued that it is in the superfluities and pluralities of experience, prac-
tice, and interpretation that contemporary historical archaeology finds strength. The
diverse essays in this volume are not just plausible but engaging and compelling, rich
in intimate and colorful portraits of the people and places of New York.
Mary C. Beaudry
Department of Anthropology,
Boston University, Boston, MA, USA
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Contents
xv
xvi Contents
Afterword........................................................................................................ 349
Lu Ann De Cunzo
xix
xx Contributors