Behind the Curtain: Casey Burgess

This is a color photograph of a student in a graduation cap and gown. She is seated in the front of the archway of the IU Sample Gates and is surrounded by red and white tulips. Behind the Curtain is a series highlighting IU Archives staff, partners from various departments of the IU Libraries, and students who make all of our work possible. 

Title and Role: Casey is a processor who focuses on ingesting, organizing, and describing the digitized media delivered by MDPI (the Media Digitization and Preservation Initiative). Casey will leave us soon for a position with the Los Angeles Philharmonic Archives! Congratulations to both Casey and the LA Phil – she will be a terrific asset to their program!

Educational background: Casey got her undergraduate degree in Music focusing in vocal performance and music history from Lawrence University in Appleton, WI and just recently graduated from IU with her Master’s in Library Science.

Previous archival experience: Before coming to IU, Casey did a summer internship at the Irish Traditional Music Archive in Dublin, Ireland. In her MLS program here, she did several classes in the Archives and Records Management track, did some archival work with MDPI, and put on an exhibit in collaboration with the Archive of Traditional Music.

What attracted her to work in the IU Archives:  Casey has always been interested in working in an archive since her experience in Ireland. She also realized she knew very little about IU’s history, even though she had been here for two years. Working in the IU Archives was the perfect opportunity to get practical experience doing archival work in an academic institution while also learning more about IU along the way.

This is a black and white photograph of a group of 5 individuals who are each holding their Oscar award. Three men wearing suits stand to the right, while 2 women one standing and the other seated on a stool are to the left.
Oscar winners in “School of the Sky”, May 15, 1948. IU Archives image no. P0052037

Favorite item or collection in the IU Archives: She worked on the Indiana School of the Sky Collection as part of her role with MDPI. Casey really loved listening to these recordings of radio shows from the 1940’s which were intended to teach young students in Indiana about all sorts of things related to science, art, history, literature, and more. She thought it was fascinating to hear what they taught then and  how similar or dissimilar education is today.

Project she’s currently working on: Casey is working on ingesting recordings done by Herman B Wells in the 1970s related to his autobiography “Being Lucky”. At this point she has completed 69 recordings, but still has a few more to go. Watch for an upcoming blog post for more details on this project!

Favorite experience in the IU Archives: Her favorite experience in the Archives has been working on the MDPI recordings. She’s seen almost every part of the process for MDPI, but thinks that access is still the most exciting part. Being able to organize these recordings, which often contain golden nuggets of information, and know that this will help someone down the road is really exciting for her. Plus, she gets to listen to them!

Black and white photograph of a seated football player.
Preston Eagleson, 1895. IU Archives image no. P0022468

Something she’s  learned about IU by working in the Archives:  She’s learned so much by working in the Archives that it’s really hard to choose just one thing. While working on a post for Instagram back in February, Casey learned about Preston Emmanuel Eagleson, who was the first Black person on an athletics team at IU in 1892. More importantly, he was the second Black person to receive an undergraduate degree in Philosophy and then the first to receive a graduate degree from IU. Several generations of his family returned to IU as well. To her, these stories about individuals are the most fascinating and shed a lot of light about the communities at IU.

Sincerely Yours: The “removal question”

Black and white scan from the IU Arbutus yearbook. Image shows a man with dark hair and mustache wearing a suit and tie.
Daniel W. Biddle, Independent Literary Society group page, 1894 Arbutus

In this Sincerely Yours post, we will explore Indiana University and Bloomington through the eyes of Daniel W. Biddle, a student at IU between fall, 1893 and spring, 1985. Biddle was born on October 24, 1870 in Benton County, Indiana, and lived in the state his whole life. While in Bloomington, Biddle wrote frequently to his parents, as well as his friend Janie Bartee, whom he eventually married. These letters, recently donated to the University Archives by Biddle’s granddaughter, are a rich source on daily student life as well the “removal” controversy that rocked the university during his attendance.

In many of his early letters, Biddle describes his settling into campus. Biddle writes about his room on North Walnut Street that cost $1.50 per week “with everything furnished but wood and light”, and where he received his board, a half-mile away, for $2.25 per week. Two cords of beech and sugar tree wood at the time, according to Biddle, cost $4.00.

A reoccurring theme in all of Dan Biddle’s correspondence is how heavy his workload was.  Some of his courses included Latin, geometry, algebra, philosophy, physics, chemistry, poetry, and rhetoric. Due to this heavy courseload, Biddle’s daily schedule was as follows: wake-up at 5 or 5:30 AM, study until breakfast around 7:30, attend class until 1:00 PM, eat lunch, then study until retiring for bed around 9 or 10 PM, only breaking for supper. It seems as though D.W. Biddle did find time for leisure, however. In several letters, Biddle describes attending a lecture in Indianapolis by Joseph Cook and the annual contest of the Intercollegiate Oratorical Association of Indiana. Biddle also attended freshman “scraps,” which took various forms over the years – capture the flag, burning of books, or flatout brawls – all in good spirits, of course.

The 1890s saw many days off from school for birthdays and holidays, these included George Washington’s birthday and even the death of a trustee or the registrar. Additionally, sick days were a plenty. On more than one occasion, Biddle was too sick to attend classes. Between the “grippe” and general illness, good health was not a constant for Dan Biddle. Even Janie, many miles away, suffered illness- she however made a quick recovery according to letters.

One issue that caused quite a stir on campus in late January of 1895 was the “removal question.” This was the idea of moving the Indiana University campus from Bloomington to Indianapolis. According to Biddle, many of the students supported the relocation, while the citizens of Bloomington opposed it. On January 27, 1895 he wrote Janie about the controversy in detail:

This is a scan of a letter from January 27, 1895 in cursive handwriting.
Letter to Janie Bartee, January 27, 1895. C700 Daniel W. Biddle correspondence

Dear Friend:

Guess I’ll write you some more trash this morning.

Don’t you get tired of me writing so much about college? I don’t like to make you too tired but expect this letter will contain some college news you will, by such, get a better idea of college life which may be of advantage to your when you go to college.

You remember me saying that Friday was the day for dedicating the new building [Kirkwood Hall], and you have also, no doubt, heard something of the removal question. A majority of the students favor removal and the citizens, of course, are opposed to it. Thursday night the students (some of them I mean) had a number of badges gotten out on which was printed “1896 I.U. at Indianapolis.” Friday morning a number of the students appeared on the streets wearing these badges. The result was that some of the citizens got “hot.” This did not however diminish the number of badges worn, and by 10:30 when the extra brought in the Governor and 49 members of the legislature quite a profusion of such badges might be seen in the crowd at the depot. Just as the train stopped and the guests began to get off the following yell was given – “Remove I.U.! Remove I.U.! You’re the men to put her through!!” Everything went along pretty quiet until p.m. when the students, faculty, and guests marched two abreast to the old college chapel. A part of the militia that constituted the guard of honor for the Governor lined up on each side of the entrance and removed all “removal” badges on nearly all as the students passed. There was some resistance offered in some cases, but no one was seriously hurt. The students have been somewhat aroused by the conduct of the militia, and I fear the thing is not settled yet.

The speeches from the governor and the some of the legislature contained remarks disapproving the removal of I.U. and brought forth loud applause from the citizens, and in some cases hisses from the students.

Senator Gifford made a speech in which he said: “This is not a fit occasion for the discussion of the removal question. I am not here as a politician, but am here to assist in the dedication.” He was loudly applauded by the students. Rather a roast on the Governor, I thought.

The meeting at evening was conducted largely by the students and was a very nice service, being almost entirely free from allusions to the removal.

I enjoyed myself very much in the evening., five of us Sophs got back in the back part of the house and made and gave yells roasting the Freshman, i.e. before services began. There were a few removal badges worn in the evening, and some of the citizens wore a card on which was printed “1896 I.U. at Indianapolis I don’t think.”

Oh! no, I did not wear a removal badge, neither did Eli, but I succeeded in getting one for a souvenir.

My! just see how much I have written on this. Are you tired of it? Perhaps you have read about it in the papers. I will enclose a program….

Ever your friend, Dan

Obviously, in hindsight we know that Indiana University remained in Bloomington. Dan Biddle left IU in 1895 and obtained his teaching license, going on to teach in Benton County, Indiana. He soon married Janie and had two sons with her. He would go on to hold jobs in insurance and banking through the 1930s, in which he would obtain positions such as secretary, vice-president, and director, all in the state of Indiana. He died January 18, 1954 at his home in Remington, Indiana, at the age of 82.

To read the fascinating Daniel W. Biddle correspondence, contact the IU Archives to schedule an appointment.

Roy Sieber and Igala Masquerades

Roy Sieber, November 1972. IU Archives image no. P0078669

Roy Sieber was a historian of African art who taught at Indiana University Bloomington from 1964 through 1983.  He was the first person to receive a degree in African art in the United States, essentially founding the discipline of African Art studies in this country.

As part of his efforts to document the artistic traditions of West Africa, particularly Nigeria and Ghana, Sieber became well known for his photographs of African art and performance. The Roy Sieber papers at the IU archives, contains black and white photo prints and hundreds of slides of African artwork in use during ritual celebrations and on display in museums, as well as annotated bibliographies written by Sieber’s students providing historical context for specific ethnic groups. Sieber’s career spanned several decades, and the black and white prints in the collection were taken in two time frames: Sieber’s first trip to Nigeria in 1958, and his 1971-1972 trips to museums in various countries with large collections of African art.

While the photographs in this collection depict many different ethnic groups in Nigeria and many different types of art and performance, two particularly striking series of photos document Igala masquerade dances. The Igala people live in the Benue River Basin and a number of Igala villages appear in this collection. While masquerade traditions appear throughout Nigeria and in other parts of West Africa, the style of the mask and dance and the oral narratives associated with those traditions vary widely between regions and ethnic groups. Scholars have suggested that Igala masquerades, much like other parts of their culture, reflect a complex history of conflict, trade, and cultural diffusion with other communities and ethnic groups.

The interactions that have shaped these traditions make it difficult to isolate a uniquely Igala masquerade style, and the many different iterations make it challenging to find information about particular villages’ masking traditions. However, it is evident that as with the masquerades of other ethnic groups, most Igala dances are celebrated on two festival days, one during the rainy season and one during the dry season. These festivals honor ancestral figures and celebrate the agricultural cycles. Additionally, many of these masked dances reflect and reinforce the social and political hierarchies and historical narratives of a particular community.

In the first series of photos below, taken in Okpo village, the caption clarifies that the dancer is wearing an “Egu” mask called “Egodoji,” and that the drums being used are “okelegu,” meaning they are beat with two hands. The text also notes that the mask is Janus-faced and made of painted, carved wood, while the rest of the costume is cloth. In this context, “Egu” refers to the type of festival as well as the mask and dancer; the word has been translated various ways, but scholars have translated it as “spirit” or “dance,” and is associated with annual festivals to honor ancestors and the history of a particular ethnic group.

“Egodoji” jumps as part of the masquerade dance for the Egu festival
The “Egodoji” mask with the “Okelegu” drums (‘beat with both hands). Mask is carved wood with paint and cloth.
Rear view of the Janus-faced helmet mask “Egodoji”
“Egodoji” dances as part of the Egu festival masquerade
“Egodoji” dances as part of the Egu masquerade festival

The second series of photos were taken in Inye village, and the three masks seem to depict potential roles within a marriage. The caption states that the largest mask represents the husband, and is called “Ikonyi,” or “big mouth too big,” while the mask representing the older wife is named “Odomodo,” or “too big,” while the mask representing the younger wife is “Ikekemede,” or “quarrelsome woman.” Sieber notes elsewhere that the husband, Ikonyi, is performed in a “threatening manner” and restrained by a rope around his waist. The three masks always appear together, and seem to constitute a humorous engagement with the practice of marriage and the conflicts produced by that relationship.

“Odomodo,” (older wife, ‘too big’) on the left, “Ikekemede” (young wife, ‘quarrelsome woman’) on the right
Odomodo on the left, Ikekemede on the right
“Ikonyi,” the husband or ‘big mouth too big.’ Carved wood with paint and red seeds at the mouth.
Odomodo on the left, Ikekemede on the right
“Ikekemede” (i.e. quarrelsome woman. Ikonkyi’s young wife); carved wood with paint and bark cloth costume

While Sieber does not provide more context about the spirit in which these masks are intended or received, it is apparent that they are important enough to be performed consistently. Masks are often passed down from one owner to another and can last many years. The mask called Egodoji is a Janus-faced helmet mask, a style that appears in both central and west Africa. Helmet masks are associated with depictions of local ancestry and royal lineages. The masks of the husband and wives, on the other hand, are “horizontal masks,” which often have animal attributes and are associated with “potent sorcery and spirits.” Considered together, these two sets of photos suggest that the masquerades may be used to associate marital responsibilities and the identity of ancestors or royal figures with the attributes of spirits, animals, or the natural world.

A Biplane, A Walnut Tree, and an Uncomfortable Laugh at Dunn Meadow

Here at the Indiana University Archives, we usually blog about our more inspirational and heartstring-pulling stories. Today, though, I want to share with you a thrilling tale of daring and disaster. Our director Dina Kellams recently perused IU’s new subscription to NewspaperARCHIVE, a tremendous resource to more than 1,000 historical newspapers in Indiana. She shared a 1911 clipping from The Tribune (from Seymour, Indiana) detailing an airplane crash in Dunn Meadow here at IU.

Plane crash on Dunn Meadow, Arbutus yearbook p.113. IU Archives image no. P0022444

On October 11 that year, the adventurous aviator Horace Kearney attempted an exhibition flight at Dunn Meadow. In front of a crowd of hundreds, Kearney took off and almost immediately crashed into a walnut tree.  I must admit that the paper’s description of the crash put me into a fit of laughter. As someone who grew up in an era of The Simpsons and Johnny Knoxville, I have always been tickled by slapstick comedy and stunts-gone-wrong. Fortunately Kearney survived the crash (I would not have laughed if he hadn’t!), but his story shows the real dangers of aviation as entertainment. It also gives us an opportunity to see what Dunn Meadow looked like in 1911.

When Kearney came to Bloomington for his October 1911 flight, he had been flying for only two years. The St. Louis native started aviation only six years after Wilbur and Orville Wright made their historic Kitty Hawk flight in 1903. Kearney was a flier for the Curtiss Exhibition Co., a company that hired fliers and sent them on tours across the U.S. to exhibit aviation for an excited public. Fliers such as Kearney led a life of glory and possible disaster. Fellow aviator Baxter H. Adams claimed he learned to fly after he heard Curtiss was paying Kearney $600.00 per flight (more than $15,000 today). The rewards, however, came with significant risks. Baxter claimed Kearney broke fourteen bones just training to fly. An Indiana Daily Student preview for Kearney’s Dunn Meadow flight reveals:

“While flying in St. Louis in August, Mr. Kreary [sic] had the misfortune to run out of gasoline directly above a house. As he could not make an immediate descent he lost control of his machine and was hurled to the ground. He received injuries placing him in the hospital for several weeks.”

Like other daredevils such as skateboarders or BMX riders, aviators simply had to expect crashes. Obviously, though, the risk of serious injury or death was more severe for aviators. When I expressed my horror about this, University Archives photographs curator Brad Cook explained to me how biplanes were built to withstand inevitable crashes. They were lightweight enough to allow pilots to “glide” to the ground. Even so, gravity was not kind to Kearney on October 11, 1911. He came to Bloomington for Booster Day, a city celebration featuring entertainment and merchant sales. Kearney was to make two flights: one around IU’s campus and another around downtown Bloomington. The crash happened early in the first flight. The IDS described his unsuccessful takeoff at Dunn Meadow:

“Kearney came sweeping down the field at about forty miles an hour clip in an endeavor to get under headway, when he saw a wire fence a short distance ahead which forced him to go into the air too soon. With his attention riveted upon righting his machine, Kearney shot into the air and straight toward a walnut tree…The machine brushed against the tree and fell. Kearney was hurled to the ground, lighting upon his neck and shoulders.”

The paper continued to describe the public spectacle of the crash. The people of Bloomington rushed the crash site:

“When the machine came crashing to the ground the great crowd that had assembled to witness the flight remained motionless for a moment, and then stampeded toward the fallen man like a herd of wild cattle. Men, women, and children fought to get a sight of Kearney and the damaged machine.”

This is important because it brings me to my first point in this post: why was my initial reaction laughter? This IDS passage shows how that reaction is predicated on a history of people being wildly entertained by crash disasters. And the Class of 1912 Arbutus even made a witty goof of the event:

“October 11: The Dunn meadow aviator took a fall. About 300 students, who had previously expressed their willingness to accompany the aviator, were now glad that they had been overlooked when the invitations were sent out.”

In other words, people have been finding thrills and comedy in disaster for quite a while. So what happened to Kearney? He recovered after convalescing at a Bloomington doctor C.E. Harris’s home, he returned to St. Louis for biplane repairs (the plane itself was a total loss, but the engine and some parts were unharmed in the crash) and continued as an entertaining aviator. Tragically, but perhaps unsurprisingly, Kearney died about a year later (December 1912) in a hydroaeroplane accident near Los Angeles. Kearney and a journalist, Chester Lawrence, were found at sea shortly after they took off in a Curtiss Hydroaeroplane (affectionately named “Snookums” by Kearney) near Redondo Beach. Kearney’s death is evidence of both the extreme dangers of early aviation and the determined adventurousness of early aviators. To put his final flight in context, Amelia Earhart’s first flight across the Atlantic Ocean was not until 1928—a full sixteen years after Kearney’s final flight into the Pacific Ocean. Earhart’s final flight was not until 1937. Indiana University witnessed an extraordinarily early aviation event when Kearney flew his Curtiss biplane into that walnut tree in 1911.

I hate to leave this post on such a morbid note, so let’s take one last look at Kearney’s amusing Bloomington flight. We can also use this event to give us some historical detail about Indiana University. Specifically, Kearney’s flight shows us what Dunn Meadow was like in 1911. I thought it was odd that Dunn Meadow could provide enough runway space for an airplane. It turns out that before the 1920’s, Dunn Meadow was much larger—it extended all the way to 10th Street. Dunn Meadow also served as a golf course at this time. Take a look below:

Dunn Meadow Golf Course, ca. 1917. IU Archives image no. P0025683
Dunn Meadow Golf Course (HPER building to right), ca. 1917. IU Archives image no. P0022957
Dunn Meadow Golf course, ca. 1900. IU Archives image no. P0049306

A Day in the Life: Pauline Day’s University Years Through Her Scrapbook

A picture is worth a thousand words. I would argue that a scrapbook is therefore worth tens of thousands of words. Scrapbooks are ways for people to collect photos, objects, and other items they deem important in order to reminisce on them later. Of course, as years go by, the value of the scrapbook changes. For modern researchers, scrapbooks become windows into a world that does not exist anymore, or at least one that is very different.

Pauline Day pictured with two unknown men
Pauline Day (foreground), circa 1915.

Pauline Day’s scrapbook is no different. She lived in Indiana her entire life, starting when she was born in Dunkirk, Indiana in 1894. She and her parents lived in Winchester for most of her life. She came to Indiana University in the fall of 1912 to get her degree in English, though she also took several courses in education. Looking in the Arbutus yearbook of 1916, one might wonder what Pauline did in her spare time, considering she was not part of any student group or sorority chapter. For all intents and purposes, it seemed like she wasn’t very involved in anything. Her scrapbook tells a different story.

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