The Material Culture Museum

“Camden was originally an accident, but I shall never be sorry I was left over in Camden. It has brought me blessed returns.”

Whitman, Camden, and plumbing:

Before we can look at houses like Whitman’s house on Mickle Street we have to look at what it was that made Whitman stay in Camden, the short and confusing answer being plumbing.

Whitman’ younger brother George Washington Whitman was a pipe inspector for the city of Camden. He was worked part time while also inspecting pipes in Brooklyn and running a construction business. He was hired at a time when cities were growing much more quickly and would therefore need better infrastructure. The goal was to try and make up and coming cities like Camden sanitary and conducive to living a healthy life. It was a time in which scientist had realized the dangers of disease caused by sewage; This lead to more regulations over  water and sewage as well as demand for more modern infrastructure. This was accomplished by laying down better running water systems as well as creating Water treatment centers.

Before these revelations in hygiene the ways by which people took care of themselves was at best primitive. Before the 1840’s most water was provided by wells, local rivers that were often contaminated with sewage, or haphazardly built pipe systems depending on ones proximity to a city or body of water . Furthermore very few people believed in things like bathing which many viewed as hazardous to ones health or just unnecessary.  It was through these conditions that many illnesses like Cholera, typhus and typhoid fever were able to run rampant across the United States.

Culturally these findings meant that people became more informed about public health. They had easier access to clean water and were able to develop better hygienic skills. This in turn also meant that people were able to live longer because the spread of disease could be more controlled with good hygiene.

With the money that George was able to make from his various jobs he was able to build his own house for him, his family, and his mother. It was this house which Whitman visited in 1873 to visit his mother three days before she died. This left him depressed and after a short stint back in Washington D.C. Whitman returned to Camden to live with his brother. He spent the next eleven years there while paying room and board. It was after those eleven years that his brother George moved to Burlington New jersey and Whitman bought his house on Mickle Street.

Whitman House:

Walt Whitman’s house in Camden like most found in any city is a row house or terrace house. A row house is a house of medium density that shares one if not two walls with the houses next to it while also mirroring the façade of the other houses. Typically these houses tend to have no front yard with little to no backyard. These types of house originated in Europe during the latter half of the 17th century though. At that time and up until recently they were associated with the working class as they were inexpensive and favored over apartment housing. Furthermore these houses were very cost effective to build and easy to design.

The first row houses to be built in the United States were those of Carstairs Row in Philadelphia in and around the time of 1799 to 1820; they were designed by architect and builder Thomas Carstairs for the developer William Sansom. They were built as part of one of the first speculative housing developments in the United State whose goal it was to break up land in to smaller easier plots to both build on and sell. These houses with there uniform design were vastly different from what was typical of that time. Most houses in Philadelphia were made in varying styles and of varying dimensions and quality. As time passed row houses became very popular and spread across various cities of the United States, one of them being Camden. Culturally this meant a change in how people interacted with their neighbors.  It created much more tight nit communities in which everyone knew each other and looked out for one another. These communities were often centered on one similar trait that would be shared by members of the community whether it is their occupation, race, or religion.

Camden like many cities around the country is now mostly made up of row houses.

Walt Whitman’s house on Mickle Street is one row house that seems to deviate from what one usually expects a row house to look like as in seen in the picture below.

A lot of the other houses in Camden as well as row houses around the country tend to be truer to the original definition of row houses  as you can see below.

Whitman’s row house was built around 1848 and given its appearance was probably was probably a part of another set of row houses before they were torn down. Whitman bought it in 1884 for $1,750, he was seventy-two at the time and is the only house he ever himself owned. He paid for it through a personal loan as well through the royalties he received from the sales of Leaves Of Grass. Whitman remained there until his death on March 26, 1892.

References:

“Walt Whitman House” <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walt_Whitman_House> Wikipedia.

“Walt Whitman House” <http://www.ci.camden.nj.us/attractions/waltwhitman.html> City Of Camden.

“History of Plumbing in America” Plumbing and Mechanical, July 1987.

Sill, Geoffry M. “Camden, New Jersey” <http://www.whitmanarchive.org/criticism/current/encyclopedia/entry_13.html> Walt Whitman: An encyclopedia

“Camden was originally an accident, but I shall never be sorry I was left over in Camden. It has brought me blessed returns.” Whitman, Camden, and plumbing: Before we can look at houses like Whitman’s house on Mickle Street we have to look at what it was that made Whitman stay in Camden, the short and confusing answer being plumbing. Whitman’ younger brother George Washington Whitman was a pipe inspector for the city of Camden. He was worked part time while also inspecting pipes in Brooklyn and running a construction business. He was hired at a time when cities were growing much more quickly and would therefore need better infrastructure. The goal was to try and make up and coming cities like Camden sanitary and conducive to living a healthy life. It was a time in which scientist had realized the dangers of disease caused by sewage; This lead to more regulations over  water and sewage as well as demand for more modern infrastructure. This was accomplished by laying down better running water systems as well as creating Water treatment centers. Before these revelations in hygiene the ways by which people took care of themselves was at best primitive. Before the 1840’s most water was provided by wells, local rivers that were often contaminated with sewage, or haphazardly built pipe systems depending on ones proximity to a city or body of water . Furthermore very few people believed in things like bathing which many viewed as hazardous to ones health or just unnecessary.  It was through these conditions that many illnesses like Cholera, typhus and typhoid fever were able to run rampant across the United States. Culturally these findings meant that people became more informed about public health. They had easier access to clean water and were able to develop better hygienic skills. This in turn also meant that people were able to live longer because the spread of disease could be more controlled with good hygiene. With the money that George was able to make from his various jobs he was able to build his own house for him, his family, and his mother. It was this house which Whitman visited in 1873 to visit his mother three days before she died. This left him depressed and after a short stint back in Washington D.C. Whitman returned to Camden to live with his brother. He spent the next eleven years there while paying room and board. It was after those eleven years that his brother George moved to Burlington New jersey and Whitman bought his house on Mickle Street. Whitman House: Walt Whitman’s house in Camden like most found in any city is a row house or terrace house. A row house is a house of medium density that shares one if not two walls with the houses next to it while also mirroring the façade of the other houses. Typically these houses tend to have no front yard with little to no backyard. These types of house originated in Europe during the latter half of the 17th century though. At that time and up until recently they were associated with the working class as they were inexpensive and favored over apartment housing. Furthermore these houses were very cost effective to build and easy to design. The first row houses to be built in the United States were those of Carstairs Row in Philadelphia in and around the time of 1799 to 1820; they were designed by architect and builder Thomas Carstairs for the developer William Sansom. They were built as part of one of the first speculative housing developments in the United State whose goal it was to break up land in to smaller easier plots to both build on and sell. These houses with there uniform design were vastly different from what was typical of that time. Most houses in Philadelphia were made in varying styles and of varying dimensions and quality. As time passed row houses became very popular and spread across various cities of the United States, one of them being Camden. Culturally this meant a change in how people interacted with their neighbors.  It created much more tight nit communities in which everyone knew each other and looked out for one another. These communities were often centered on one similar trait that would be shared by members of the community whether it is their occupation, race, or religion. Camden like many cities around the country is now mostly made up of row houses. Walt Whitman’s house on Mickle Street is one row house that seems to deviate from what one usually expects a row house to look like as in seen in the picture below. A lot of the other houses in Camden as well as row houses around the country tend to be truer to the original definition of row houses  as you can see below. Whitman’s row house was built around 1848 and given its appearance was probably was probably a part of another set of row houses before they were torn down. Whitman bought it in 1884 for $1,750, he was seventy-two at the time and is the only house he ever himself owned. He paid for it through a personal loan as well through the royalties he received from the sales of Leaves Of Grass. Whitman remained there until his death on March 26, 1892. References: “Walt Whitman House” <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walt_Whitman_House> Wikipedia. “Walt Whitman House” <http://www.ci.camden.nj.us/attractions/waltwhitman.html> City Of Camden. “History of Plumbing in America” Plumbing and Mechanical, July 1987. Sill, Geoffry M. “Camden, New Jersey” <http://www.whitmanarchive.org/criticism/current/encyclopedia/entry_13.html> Walt Whitman: An encyclopedia

During his stay in Camden NJ, Walt Whitman lived at the house on 330 Mickle Street. It was when Louisa Whitman, his mother, grew ill. Walt soon visited her, but she tragically died only three days after he came to Camden. After a brief return to D.C. he would move to Camden to live with his brother George.

Long before Walt Whitman came to Camden, the history of Mickle Street began. In the early 1840′s John W. Mickle had enough pull with the railroad companies and the city of Camden itself that he was able to have a street named after him. This street would soon be located next to elevated railroad tracks which were noisy and would shake the houses as they passed. On this road was a lot owned by Edward sharp since the 1820′s. This would be the spot of the future home of Walt Whitman. Walt acquired the building from Rebbecca Jane Hare in the early 1870′s. Ms. Hare had come in to possession of the house after the original owner, Adam Hare passed away in the early 1870′s.

Up until Walt Whitman was in his mid sixties, he had never owned a house. Instead he would move from area to area, but always paying rent, and never purchasing land outright. That all changed in the spring of 1884. Walt Whitman purchased 330 Mickle Street, a that grew to mimic Whitman’s own laissez-faire outlook of unkempt charm.

Already 50 years old, the little shack, purchased for $1,250 in 1884 (worth $28,288.55 in 2009 money according to the Consumer Price Index), was deemed a mistake by George. He had felt that Walt had overpaid for a run down shack missing various utilities and had fallen in to disrepair.

Despite the house’s shortcomings, Walt had grown to love it. He would live here from 1884 until his death in 1892. During which time he wrote November Boughs amongst other works including (another) edition of Leaves of Grass.

After his death, the house passed to his brother Edward (whom, unlike George, didn’t totally hate the house), with the one stipulation that Walt’s housekeeper was allowed to live there (paying rent of course). She would continue to do so until Edward soon died and the house moved under the possession of George. George (whom, just to recap, hated the house) kicked our the housekeeper over a petty squabble but would hold on to his brother’s old house until he passed away as well. Jessie Whitman (George, Ed, and Walt’s niece) would later sell the house to the city of Camden almost thirty years after Walt’s death.

After this, the Walt Whitman Foundation was created to look after the estate. Lead by Walt’s former doctor, the Foundation refurbished the house including the furniture, such as his bed and rocking chair. A little over a quarter century later, the New Jersey itself would purchase it and later have it run by the  National Park Service.

During the 60′s the nearby railroad tracks were demolished and the Walt Whitman Foundation was changed to the Walt Whitman Association. The neighboring buildings were renovated into libraries and the entire group was turned into a museum.

After the train tracks were taken down, the road was widened and graduated from “street” to “boulevard”. The newly named Mickle Blvd. stayed that way until a campaign in the mid 90′s had a portion of the road changed to Martin Luther Kind Boulevard. The road remains named that today, though the section surrounding Walt Whitman’s house is still referred to as Mickle Street (and can still be searched as such on Google Maps, so hey, if its good enough for Google, its good enough for me).

Going to Rutgers Camden and being located so close to Mickle Street, I went to have a visit. It was after I had gotten off of work, but before it was to late to be safe wandering around Camden (I hate to say that, but yeah). Unfortunately I couldn’t get there on time to get in, (and too dark to take decent photos myself) but I had enough time to wander around and get the feel for what it must have been like for Whitman.

Of course things have changed, if you go there, you can still make out where the train tracks must have been, following the road, causing a ruckus in the old house as the trains passed by Whitman.

Crime (like everywhere else in Camden) has gone up as well. In my research I have discovered that this road was once the head quarters for a major drug dealing ring, as well as the site of at least one murder at a corner Chinese food restaurant.

One has to wonder, what Walt Whitman would have to say about all of this. Surely he would denounce the riots and gangs and drugs that have swept over the area in the past few decades. He would lament the death of Camden’s natural beauty in favor of factories and soup cans and Victrolas. But would he have left?

He enjoyed the house in the first place because it was run down and busted up. Would it make that much of a difference if the city followed suit? As society fell apart alongside his home would he have even noticed? Would he have worried? It’s easy for me to see him as just a stubborn old man who would probably be to much of a hassle for gangs to be bothered with.

Perhaps his poetry as well would be reflective of this. Sure it would be bound to be different. He grew to lament the Civil War, gang warfare at his front door would probably be no different. But set in a gotham setting, in the advent of rap music and Walkmans would he embrace parts of the culture he found outside of his doorway, clamoring to get in?

Imagine a mid 90′s Whitman, rapping his poetry, influencing another whole generation (to anyone who feels that this would be unheard of, I direct you towards the music of Tupac, MF Doom, and Aesop Rock, among others whose music is little more than awe inspiring poetry set to a beat).

Ok, MC Walt Whitman just sounds awesome.

House Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:WhitmanHouse-CamdenNJ1.jpg

1981 Whitman Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/21/Whitman_by_Reeder_1891.jpg

References:

http://www.whitmanarchive.org/criticism/current/encyclopedia/entry_33.html

http://tps.cr.nps.gov/nhl/detail.cfm?ResourceId=325&ResourceType=Building

http://www.dvrbs.com/camden-streets/CamdenNJ-Streets-MickleStreet.htm

http://micklestreet.rutgers.edu/index.htm

http://www.state.nj.us/dep/parksandforests/historic/whitman/index.html

During his stay in Camden NJ, Walt Whitman lived at the house on 330 Mickle Street. It was when Louisa Whitman, his mother, grew ill. Walt soon visited her, but she tragically died only three days after he came to Camden. After a brief return to D.C. he would move to Camden to live with his brother George.

Long before Walt Whitman came to Camden, the history of Mickle Street began. In the early 1840’s John W. Mickle had enough pull with the railroad companies and the city of Camden itself that he was able to have a street named after him. This street would soon be located next to elevated railroad tracks which were noisy and would shake the houses as they passed. On this road was a lot owned by Edward sharp since the 1820’s. This would be the spot of the future home of Walt Whitman. Walt acquired the building from Rebbecca Jane Hare in the early 1870’s. Ms. Hare had come in to possession of the house after the original owner, Adam Hare passed away in the early 1870’s.

Up until Walt Whitman was in his mid sixties, he had never owned a house. Instead he would move from area to area, but always paying rent, and never purchasing land outright. That all changed in the spring of 1884. Walt Whitman purchased 330 Mickle Street, a that grew to mimic Whitman’s own laissez-faire outlook of unkempt charm.

Already 50 years old, the little shack, purchased for $1,250 in 1884 (worth $28,288.55 in 2009 money according to the Consumer Price Index), was deemed a mistake by George. He had felt that Walt had overpaid for a run down shack missing various utilities and had fallen in to disrepair.

Despite the house’s shortcomings, Walt had grown to love it. He would live here from 1884 until his death in 1892. During which time he wrote November Boughs amongst other works including (another) edition of Leaves of Grass.

After his death, the house passed to his brother Edward (whom, unlike George, didn’t totally hate the house), with the one stipulation that Walt’s housekeeper was allowed to live there (paying rent of course). She would continue to do so until Edward soon died and the house moved under the possession of George. George (whom, just to recap, hated the house) kicked our the housekeeper over a petty squabble but would hold on to his brother’s old house until he passed away as well. Jessie Whitman (George, Ed, and Walt’s niece) would later sell the house to the city of Camden almost thirty years after Walt’s death.

After this, the Walt Whitman Foundation was created to look after the estate. Lead by Walt’s former doctor, the Foundation refurbished the house including the furniture, such as his bed and rocking chair. A little over a quarter century later, the New Jersey itself would purchase it and later have it run by the  National Park Service.

During the 60’s the nearby railroad tracks were demolished and the Walt Whitman Foundation was changed to the Walt Whitman Association. The neighboring buildings were renovated into libraries and the entire group was turned into a museum.

After the train tracks were taken down, the road was widened and graduated from “street” to “boulevard”. The newly named Mickle Blvd. stayed that way until a campaign in the mid 90’s had a portion of the road changed to Martin Luther Kind Boulevard. The road remains named that today, though the section surrounding Walt Whitman’s house is still referred to as Mickle Street (and can still be searched as such on Google Maps, so hey, if its good enough for Google, its good enough for me).

Going to Rutgers Camden and being located so close to Mickle Street, I went to have a visit. It was after I had gotten off of work, but before it was to late to be safe wandering around Camden (I hate to say that, but yeah). Unfortunately I couldn’t get there on time to get in, (and too dark to take decent photos myself) but I had enough time to wander around and get the feel for what it must have been like for Whitman.

Of course things have changed, if you go there, you can still make out where the train tracks must have been, following the road, causing a ruckus in the old house as the trains passed by Whitman.

Crime (like everywhere else in Camden) has gone up as well. In my research I have discovered that this road was once the head quarters for a major drug dealing ring, as well as the site of at least one murder at a corner Chinese food restaurant.

One has to wonder, what Walt Whitman would have to say about all of this. Surely he would denounce the riots and gangs and drugs that have swept over the area in the past few decades. He would lament the death of Camden’s natural beauty in favor of factories and soup cans and Victrolas. But would he have left?

He enjoyed the house in the first place because it was run down and busted up. Would it make that much of a difference if the city followed suit? As society fell apart alongside his home would he have even noticed? Would he have worried? It’s easy for me to see him as just a stubborn old man who would probably be to much of a hassle for gangs to be bothered with.

Perhaps his poetry as well would be reflective of this. Sure it would be bound to be different. He grew to lament the Civil War, gang warfare at his front door would probably be no different. But set in a gotham setting, in the advent of rap music and Walkmans would he embrace parts of the culture he found outside of his doorway, clamoring to get in?

Imagine a mid 90’s Whitman, rapping his poetry, influencing another whole generation (to anyone who feels that this would be unheard of, I direct you towards the music of Tupac, MF Doom, and Aesop Rock, among others whose music is little more than awe inspiring poetry set to a beat).

Ok, MC Walt Whitman just sounds awesome.

House Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons: 

” title=”http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:WhitmanHouse-CamdenNJ1.jpg

” target=”_blank”>http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:W…

1981 Whitman Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons: 

” title=”http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/21/Whitman_by_Reeder_1891.jpg

” target=”_blank”>http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/co…

References:

http://www.whitmanarchive.org/criticism/current/encyclopedia/entry_33.html

 http://tps.cr.nps.gov/nhl/detail.cfm?Res…

 http://www.dvrbs.com/camden-streets/Camd…

 http://micklestreet.rutgers.edu/index.ht…

 http://www.state.nj.us/dep/parksandfores…

Walt Whitman and the Centennial Exhibition

 America does not repel the past or what it has produced under its forms or amid other politics or the idea of castes or the old religions. . . .

 -Walt Whitman, Preface to Leaves of Grass

 Walt originally wrote Song of the Exposition for the Annual Exhibition of the American Institute in 1871, where he also recited it, however it was later taken up by the Centennial Exhibition of 1876. The spirit of the poem was just as relevant.

 The Centennial Exhibition of 1876 was arguable the largest non-war spectacle to ever grace American soil. Between May and November of that year, nearly ten million visitors converged upon West Fairmount Park in Philadelphia to experience what was officially called the International Exhibit of Arts, Manufactures and Products of the Soil and Mine. It brought in over 30,000 firms—9,222 of which were American—to present their goods. Walt certainly would have approved. In I Hear America Singing, he invokes the mechanic, the carpenter, the boatman, the shoemaker, the wood-cutter, “Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else”. Were that the case, the Centennial Exhibition would serve as a choir for America’s workers of industry, agriculture, and manufacture alike, as the country did not only celebrate its Independence with this event, but to showcase the profound progress and accumulation of wealth since then. This is echoed also in Song of the Exposition:

 Mark the spirit of invention everywhere, thy rapid patents,

Thy continual workshops, foundries, risen or rising,

See, from their chimneys how the tall flame-fires stream.

 Mark, thy interminable farms, North, South,

Thy wealthy daughter-states, Eastern and Western,

The varied products of Ohio, Pennsylvania, Missouri,

            Georgia, Texas, and the rest,

Thy limitless crops, grass, wheat, sugar, oil, corn, rice,

            hemp, hops,

Thy barns all fill’d, the endless freight-train and the bulging

            storehouse,

Thy grapes that ripen on thy vines, the apples in thy orchards,

Thy incalculable lumber, beef, pork, potatoes, thy coal, thy

            gold and silver,

The inexhaustible iron in thy mines.

 And while it’s true that agriculture was well represented at the Centennial, it was the inventions that set America far apart from the rest. Sure, the introduction of Heinz ketchup, popcorn, Hires root beer, and bananas to the American public were fascinating and tasty revelations, but couldn’t hold a candle to some other truly world-changing exhibits. For one, a Scottish immigrant, by way of Canada, holding U.S. patent 174,465, unveiled to Exhibition visitors the manifestation of his experiments with sound. Yes, if you were lucky enough to make a trip out to the Centennial Exhibition, you would have seen first hand Alexander Graham Bell’s telephone. The Remington Typographic Machine was also presented, the most efficient and successful typewriter of its time. These two devices ushered in a new era of communication. But the most powerful of all the machines and knickknacks and displays was the Corliss Steam Engine, which powered virtually all of the exhibits in Machinery Hall.

 Yes, the Centennial was grand in size and scope. 250 buildings were built on 285 of Fairmount Park’s then 2,740 acres. The five major buildings were the Main Exhibition Building, Machinery Hall, Agricultural Hall, Horticultural Hall, and Memorial Hall.

 Walt marveled the enormity of the Exhibition’s Main Building when he said, “looking up a long while at the grand high roof with its graceful and multitudinous work of iron rods, angles, gray colors, plays of light and shade, receding into dim outlines.” His sentiment was hardly without exaggeration. The Main Building was a colossal achievement as far as architecture goes. The Board of Finance for the Centennial described the extensive amount of components needed to build it: “Some idea of the large amount of material which enters into the requirements of a structure covering 20 acres may be formed from the statement that to complete it 3,928 tons of iron must be rolled and fitted, 237,646 square feet of glass made and set, 1,075,000 square feet of tin roof-sheeting (equal to 24 -5/8 acres welded and spread” (Giberti 85). Indeed, in the end the Main Exhibition Building would cover a ridiculous 21.47 acres after all was said and done. Of that acreage, the American section of the Building, situated in the southeast corner, covered 187,700 square feet, far and away the largest exhibition space of any country. And in keeping with the worldly spirit of things, other countries’ exhibition spaces were laid out in accordance to their geographic closeness to America. Thus, England, France and Canada would be closer, and Japan and China would be on the far outskirts. (Gross and Snyder 29).

 How long to build such a massive structure? A few years? A decade? No, the idea behind such a building is that it is not meant to be permanent. Most of the building was prefabricated, and set up like a series of sheds right in a row. The process took a mere 18 months, at a cost of $1.78 million—about $26 million today (Gross 29). The breadth of this undertaking might’ve even had Walt thinking twice after writing, “All architecture is what you do to it when you look upon it;/Did you think it was in the white or gray stone? or the lines of the arches and cornices?” (Song of Myself 94).

 The Exhibition also proved to be more than a one-up show of America’s might and a long procession of displays and exhibits. It was an affair of togetherness. It was countries from all over the world, people gathering from all over the world, in one place to impress and amaze with exotic and local wares. In a gesture of solidarity, France constructed for America the Statue of Liberty, which, while not completed and dedicated until 1886, made a partial (literally) appearance at the Centennial. The Statue’s right, torch-bearing arm was a popular sight to see for Exhibition-goers, and for 50 cents you could climb a winding stair to the top. Even standing atop this mere fraction of the Statue of Liberty granted people a nice view of the Exhibition grounds. The solidarity is something Walt would have appreciated. If I can interpret This Moment Yearning and Thoughtful on a broader scale, I think it effectively encapsulates the closeness of these otherwise faraway nations:

 It seems to me there are other men in other lands yearning

            and thoughtful,

It seems to me I can look over and behold them in Germany,

Italy, France, Spain,

Or far, far away, in China, or in Russia or Japan, talking

            Other dialects,

And it seems to me if I could know those men I should

            become attached to them as I do to me in my own

            lands,

O I know we should be brethren and lovers,

I know I should be happy with them.

While Walt never wrote explicitly on the Centennial Exhibition of 1876, I think it’s clear that implicit within this astounding event are many of his ideas: The celebration of the self, of the common worker, progression, invention, the harvest of crops and ideas. He allows himself to stand in wonderment of the fruition of these when he observes the incredible Main Building. And all in all, what is a successful world fair without people coming together?

If I can make an ancillary note here, the only buildings still standing in Fairmount Park from the Centennial Exhibition are the Memorial Hall and Ohio House. Memorial Hall became home to the Please Touch Museum in October 2008 after many years of disuse. The Please Touch Museum includes an extremely fascinating section devoted to the Centennial Exhibition, including a scaled replica of the entire Exhibition grounds. It’s something worth checking out. Ohio House, also abandoned for many years, has been renovated and turned into the Centennial Café, where I can attest to the delicious Turkey Club and Tomato Bisque soup found on the Café’s lunch menu.

Walt Whitman and the Centennial Exhibition

 America does not repel the past or what it has produced under its forms or amid other politics or the idea of castes or the old religions. . . .

 -Walt Whitman, Preface to Leaves of Grass

 Walt originally wrote Song of the Exposition for the Annual Exhibition of the American Institute in 1871, where he also recited it, however it was later taken up by the Centennial Exhibition of 1876. The spirit of the poem was just as relevant.

 The Centennial Exhibition of 1876 was arguable the largest non-war spectacle to ever grace American soil. Between May and November of that year, nearly ten million visitors converged upon West Fairmount Park in Philadelphia to experience what was officially called the International Exhibit of Arts, Manufactures and Products of the Soil and Mine. It brought in over 30,000 firms—9,222 of which were American—to present their goods. Walt certainly would have approved. In I Hear America Singing, he invokes the mechanic, the carpenter, the boatman, the shoemaker, the wood-cutter, “Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else”. Were that the case, the Centennial Exhibition would serve as a choir for America’s workers of industry, agriculture, and manufacture alike, as the country did not only celebrate its Independence with this event, but to showcase the profound progress and accumulation of wealth since then. This is echoed also in Song of the Exposition:

 Mark the spirit of invention everywhere, thy rapid patents,

Thy continual workshops, foundries, risen or rising,

See, from their chimneys how the tall flame-fires stream.

 Mark, thy interminable farms, North, South,

Thy wealthy daughter-states, Eastern and Western,

The varied products of Ohio, Pennsylvania, Missouri,

            Georgia, Texas, and the rest,

Thy limitless crops, grass, wheat, sugar, oil, corn, rice,

            hemp, hops,

Thy barns all fill’d, the endless freight-train and the bulging

            storehouse,

Thy grapes that ripen on thy vines, the apples in thy orchards,

Thy incalculable lumber, beef, pork, potatoes, thy coal, thy

            gold and silver,

The inexhaustible iron in thy mines.

 And while it’s true that agriculture was well represented at the Centennial, it was the inventions that set America far apart from the rest. Sure, the introduction of Heinz ketchup, popcorn, Hires root beer, and bananas to the American public were fascinating and tasty revelations, but couldn’t hold a candle to some other truly world-changing exhibits. For one, a Scottish immigrant, by way of Canada, holding U.S. patent 174,465, unveiled to Exhibition visitors the manifestation of his experiments with sound. Yes, if you were lucky enough to make a trip out to the Centennial Exhibition, you would have seen first hand Alexander Graham Bell’s telephone. The Remington Typographic Machine was also presented, the most efficient and successful typewriter of its time. These two devices ushered in a new era of communication. But the most powerful of all the machines and knickknacks and displays was the Corliss Steam Engine, which powered virtually all of the exhibits in Machinery Hall.

 Yes, the Centennial was grand in size and scope. 250 buildings were built on 285 of Fairmount Park’s then 2,740 acres. The five major buildings were the Main Exhibition Building, Machinery Hall, Agricultural Hall, Horticultural Hall, and Memorial Hall.

 Walt marveled the enormity of the Exhibition’s Main Building when he said, “looking up a long while at the grand high roof with its graceful and multitudinous work of iron rods, angles, gray colors, plays of light and shade, receding into dim outlines.” His sentiment was hardly without exaggeration. The Main Building was a colossal achievement as far as architecture goes. The Board of Finance for the Centennial described the extensive amount of components needed to build it: “Some idea of the large amount of material which enters into the requirements of a structure covering 20 acres may be formed from the statement that to complete it 3,928 tons of iron must be rolled and fitted, 237,646 square feet of glass made and set, 1,075,000 square feet of tin roof-sheeting (equal to 24 -5/8 acres welded and spread” (Giberti 85). Indeed, in the end the Main Exhibition Building would cover a ridiculous 21.47 acres after all was said and done. Of that acreage, the American section of the Building, situated in the southeast corner, covered 187,700 square feet, far and away the largest exhibition space of any country. And in keeping with the worldly spirit of things, other countries’ exhibition spaces were laid out in accordance to their geographic closeness to America. Thus, England, France and Canada would be closer, and Japan and China would be on the far outskirts. (Gross and Snyder 29).

 How long to build such a massive structure? A few years? A decade? No, the idea behind such a building is that it is not meant to be permanent. Most of the building was prefabricated, and set up like a series of sheds right in a row. The process took a mere 18 months, at a cost of $1.78 million—about $26 million today (Gross 29). The breadth of this undertaking might’ve even had Walt thinking twice after writing, “All architecture is what you do to it when you look upon it;/Did you think it was in the white or gray stone? or the lines of the arches and cornices?” (Song of Myself 94).

 The Exhibition also proved to be more than a one-up show of America’s might and a long procession of displays and exhibits. It was an affair of togetherness. It was countries from all over the world, people gathering from all over the world, in one place to impress and amaze with exotic and local wares. In a gesture of solidarity, France constructed for America the Statue of Liberty, which, while not completed and dedicated until 1886, made a partial (literally) appearance at the Centennial. The Statue’s right, torch-bearing arm was a popular sight to see for Exhibition-goers, and for 50 cents you could climb a winding stair to the top. Even standing atop this mere fraction of the Statue of Liberty granted people a nice view of the Exhibition grounds. The solidarity is something Walt would have appreciated. If I can interpret This Moment Yearning and Thoughtful on a broader scale, I think it effectively encapsulates the closeness of these otherwise faraway nations:

 It seems to me there are other men in other lands yearning

            and thoughtful,

It seems to me I can look over and behold them in Germany,

Italy, France, Spain,

Or far, far away, in China, or in Russia or Japan, talking

            Other dialects,

And it seems to me if I could know those men I should

            become attached to them as I do to me in my own

            lands,

O I know we should be brethren and lovers,

I know I should be happy with them.

While Walt never wrote explicitly on the Centennial Exhibition of 1876, I think it’s clear that implicit within this astounding event are many of his ideas: The celebration of the self, of the common worker, progression, invention, the harvest of crops and ideas. He allows himself to stand in wonderment of the fruition of these when he observes the incredible Main Building. And all in all, what is a successful world fair without people coming together?

If I can make an ancillary note here, the only buildings still standing in Fairmount Park from the Centennial Exhibition are the Memorial Hall and Ohio House. Memorial Hall became home to the Please Touch Museum in October 2008 after many years of disuse. The Please Touch Museum includes an extremely fascinating section devoted to the Centennial Exhibition, including a scaled replica of the entire Exhibition grounds. It’s something worth checking out. Ohio House, also abandoned for many years, has been renovated and turned into the Centennial Café, where I can attest to the delicious Turkey Club and Tomato Bisque soup found on the Café’s lunch menu.

Nearly 150 years after its inception, The Campbell’s Soup Company remains one of the most successful food corporations in the world. It dates back to 1860 when Abraham Anderson, an icebox manufacturer, opened a canning factory in Camden. In 1869, Joseph A. Campbell, a Philadelphia produce vendor, went into partnership with Anderson and together, the two began canning and selling vegetables, condiments and other goods. By 1876, three years after Walt Whitman arrived in Camden, Anderson was out of the picture, and Campbell had taken full control of the business and renamed it the Joseph Campbell & Company.

In 1882, after realizing the difficulties that come with manning an entire company alone, Campbell enlisted support from his nephew Joseph S. Campbell, his son-in-law Walter Spackman, and Spackman’s close friend Arthur Dorrance, who brought much-needed financial help to the partnership. After building itself up as a solid business, the company—now called the Joseph Campbell Preserve Company—could afford to construct a large factory in the heart of Camden, and in 1896, Campbell and company broadened its production line and started packaging and selling ketchup, plum pudding, and other in-demand condiments and foods. It wasn’t until 1899, however, that the company began producing what it would it eventually be best known for: soup.

Campbell’s Soup production began when Arthur Dorrance’s nephew, John Thompson Dorrance, introduced a new and effective way of canning condensed soup. This innovative method gave Campbell’s and advantage over its soup-canning rivals: while other companies wasted money shipping uncondensed soup, Campbell’s was able to package its products for a fraction of the price. By this time, the prepared foods industry was on the rise; by 1904, Campbell’s boasted annual sales of sixteen million cans of soup, had added Pork and Beans to their inventory of products, and increased the number of varieties of soup from the original five to twenty-one. Also introduced in 1904 were the Campbell Kids:

Very creepy, now that I think about it; but they are recognizable icons nonetheless.

By 1911, Campbell’s had expanded all the way to the opposite coast, selling its products in California. It was one of the very first companies to gain nationwide success. In 1914, John Thompson Dorrance became president of the Joseph Campbell Preserve Company. One of his first orders of business was to concentrate on the production of soup and eliminate the company’s less important products like condiments and jellies. He was also able to increase Campbell’s already impressive sales by advertising that in addition to being eaten alone, their soups could be used to flavor and enhance other foods.

Dorrance was a genius whose sharp mind and innovative ways of thinking were responsible for Campbell’s early success. Knowing that self-reliance was the smartest way to do business, Campbell’s began growing its own produce, namely tomatoes. The company devoted most of the summer months to producing tomato juice and tomato soup. This gamble paid off, because during World War I, nearly half the company’s sales were from these two products alone. In 1915, Campbell’s added another jewel to its crown when it bought the Franco-American Food Company, the first American soup-producing company.

So, what is the connection to Walt Whitman? Well, I’ve searched high and low and haven’t been able to find any interaction between him and any of the Campbell’s Soup forefathers. However, there are obvious parallels between Mr. Whitman and the Joseph A. Campbell Preserve Company. The most apparent one is that they are both American icons that are forever linked with the city of Camden. The Campbell’s Soup can is an instantly-recognizable image thanks to its prominence and long history:

Love Andy Warhol.

Another is that they had ambitions to reach a wide national audience at a time when work was generally confined to one’s local area. A passage from “Drum Taps” comes to mind:

“From Paumanok starting, I fly like a bird,

Around and around to soar, to sing the idea of all;

To the north betaking myself, to sing there arctic songs,

To Kanada, ’till I absorb Kanada in myself—to Michigan then,

To Wisconsin, Iowa, Minnesota, to sing their songs (they are inimitable);

Then to Ohio and Indiana, to sing theirs—to Missouri and Kansas and Arkansas to sing theirs,

To Tennessee and Kentucky—to the Carolinas and Georgia, to sing theirs,

To Texas, and so along up toward California, to roam accepted everywhere;

To sing first (to the tap of the war-drum, if need be)

The idea of all—of the western world, one and inseparable,

And then the song of each member of these States.”

Walt Whitman wants national fame (international, technically, if you include Canada). He’s not the first American poet to achieve legendary status, but many do consider him the greatest (he is given the honor of being “America’s poet” very frequently). It may seem odd to compare a poet to a soup company, but Campbell’s is definitely the same way. Thanks to innovation and ingenuity, Campbell’s managed to outperform its predecessors and competitors and forge a reputation as the most successful soup company in the nation, if not the world. Just as Whitman has managed to overshadow both his contemporaries and his predecessor, Campbell’s manages to maintain its reputation as the greatest name in the soup industry, despite not having been the first.

The city of Camden has garnered a really negative reputation in recent years thanks to crime and poverty. It also has the misfortune of being nestled in the overwhelming shadows of both Philadelphia and New York City. But Walt Whitman and Campbell’s Soup (and let’s not forget RCA) can make a Camdenite swell with town pride.

Works Cited

Salamie, David A. “Campbell Soup Company — Company History” Web – <http://www.fundinguniverse.com/company-histories/Campbell-Soup-Company-Company-History.html>

Whitman, Walt. “Drum Taps”. Whitman Poetry & Prose. Library of America, 1996.

Nearly 150 years after its inception, The Campbell’s Soup Company remains one of the most successful food corporations in the world. It dates back to 1860 when Abraham Anderson, an icebox manufacturer, opened a canning factory in Camden. In 1869, Joseph A. Campbell, a Philadelphia produce vendor, went into partnership with Anderson and together, the two began canning and selling vegetables, condiments and other goods. By 1876, three years after Walt Whitman arrived in Camden, Anderson was out of the picture, and Campbell had taken full control of the business and renamed it the Joseph Campbell & Company.

In 1882, after realizing the difficulties that come with manning an entire company alone, Campbell enlisted support from his nephew Joseph S. Campbell, his son-in-law Walter Spackman, and Spackman’s close friend Arthur Dorrance, who brought much-needed financial help to the partnership. After building itself up as a solid business, the company—now called the Joseph Campbell Preserve Company—could afford to construct a large factory in the heart of Camden, and in 1896, Campbell and company broadened its production line and started packaging and selling ketchup, plum pudding, and other in-demand condiments and foods. It wasn’t until 1899, however, that the company began producing what it would it eventually be best known for: soup.

Campbell’s Soup production began when Arthur Dorrance’s nephew, John Thompson Dorrance, introduced a new and effective way of canning condensed soup. This innovative method gave Campbell’s and advantage over its soup-canning rivals: while other companies wasted money shipping uncondensed soup, Campbell’s was able to package its products for a fraction of the price. By this time, the prepared foods industry was on the rise; by 1904, Campbell’s boasted annual sales of sixteen million cans of soup, had added Pork and Beans to their inventory of products, and increased the number of varieties of soup from the original five to twenty-one. Also introduced in 1904 were the Campbell Kids:

Very creepy, now that I think about it; but they are recognizable icons nonetheless.

By 1911, Campbell’s had expanded all the way to the opposite coast, selling its products in California. It was one of the very first companies to gain nationwide success. In 1914, John Thompson Dorrance became president of the Joseph Campbell Preserve Company. One of his first orders of business was to concentrate on the production of soup and eliminate the company’s less important products like condiments and jellies. He was also able to increase Campbell’s already impressive sales by advertising that in addition to being eaten alone, their soups could be used to flavor and enhance other foods.

Dorrance was a genius whose sharp mind and innovative ways of thinking were responsible for Campbell’s early success. Knowing that self-reliance was the smartest way to do business, Campbell’s began growing its own produce, namely tomatoes. The company devoted most of the summer months to producing tomato juice and tomato soup. This gamble paid off, because during World War I, nearly half the company’s sales were from these two products alone. In 1915, Campbell’s added another jewel to its crown when it bought the Franco-American Food Company, the first American soup-producing company.

So, what is the connection to Walt Whitman? Well, I’ve searched high and low and haven’t been able to find any interaction between him and any of the Campbell’s Soup forefathers. However, there are obvious parallels between Mr. Whitman and the Joseph A. Campbell Preserve Company. The most apparent one is that they are both American icons that are forever linked with the city of Camden. The Campbell’s Soup can is an instantly-recognizable image thanks to its prominence and long history:

Love Andy Warhol.

Another is that they had ambitions to reach a wide national audience at a time when work was generally confined to one’s local area. A passage from “Drum Taps” comes to mind:

“From Paumanok starting, I fly like a bird,

Around and around to soar, to sing the idea of all;

To the north betaking myself, to sing there arctic songs,

To Kanada, ’till I absorb Kanada in myself—to Michigan then,

To Wisconsin, Iowa, Minnesota, to sing their songs (they are inimitable);

Then to Ohio and Indiana, to sing theirs—to Missouri and Kansas and Arkansas to sing theirs,

To Tennessee and Kentucky—to the Carolinas and Georgia, to sing theirs,

To Texas, and so along up toward California, to roam accepted everywhere;

To sing first (to the tap of the war-drum, if need be)

The idea of all—of the western world, one and inseparable,

And then the song of each member of these States.”

Walt Whitman wants national fame (international, technically, if you include Canada). He’s not the first American poet to achieve legendary status, but many do consider him the greatest (he is given the honor of being “America’s poet” very frequently). It may seem odd to compare a poet to a soup company, but Campbell’s is definitely the same way. Thanks to innovation and ingenuity, Campbell’s managed to outperform its predecessors and competitors and forge a reputation as the most successful soup company in the nation, if not the world. Just as Whitman has managed to overshadow both his contemporaries and his predecessor, Campbell’s manages to maintain its reputation as the greatest name in the soup industry, despite not having been the first.

The city of Camden has garnered a really negative reputation in recent years thanks to crime and poverty. It also has the misfortune of being nestled in the overwhelming shadows of both Philadelphia and New York City. But Walt Whitman and Campbell’s Soup (and let’s not forget RCA) can make a Camdenite swell with town pride.

Works Cited

Salamie, David A. “Campbell Soup Company — Company History” Web – <http://www.fundinguniverse.com/company-histories/Campbell-Soup-Company-Company-History.html>

Whitman, Walt. “Drum Taps”. Whitman Poetry & Prose. Library of America, 1996.

Sometime around 1863, Walt Whitman met John Burroughs, became close friends with him, and accepted the gift of a walking stick from him.  This walking stick proves to be very important to Whitman, and its importance demonstrates values of the American culture.

Before Whitman received the walking stick from Burroughs, he was using a cane/walking stick of his own, probably as a fashion accessory.  This establishes the importance walking sticks have in Whitman’s life in general.  In 1841 Whitman used a cane.  The first picture shows him professionally dressed, and the description indicates the cane was part of that look.  The image of Whitman in the photo matches the description given in the PBS special American Experience:  Walt Whitman:

He dresses in a white collar with a vest, walking stick, a big floppy Fedora, and tries to pass for a professional man of letters. And he gets into doors on the basis of how he appears. It’s not his Harvard pedigree. He doesn’t have one. What he has is the force of his personality and how he appears (Allan Gurganus).

Comparing the description from this short film and the image in the photo, it seems Whitman continued to dress professionally as he needed to be taken seriously.  The cane/walking stick is part of this image.  This indicates that the poet showed an affinity for walking sticks and would appreciate one as a present.

Whitman as a youth

In 1863, Whitman met John Burroughs, who quickly became one of his closest friends and a major part of his support system.  Sometime after that, Burroughs gave Whitman a walking stick made out of calamus root and cleverly inscribed (Library of Congress).  This indicates the closeness between the poet and his friend—Burroughs purposely chose the calamus root as the basis for the walking stick to refer to his book of poetry Calamus, which was published for the first time in the 1860 edition of Leaves of Grass.

Whether Whitman used this particular walking stick to support him while walking or not is unclear.  During his years at Camden, Whitman’s health was failing, and there are many examples in his prose of “hobbling,” which would indicate the use of some aid.  If we trace the trajectory of walking sticks in Whitman’s life, (such an undertaking is speculation at best) we would probably come to the conclusion that Whitman went from carrying walking sticks/canes as fashion accessories (1840s in New York) to using them to remain ambulatory in his later years in Camden.  In “A Sun-Bath—Nakedness,” Whitman writes, “Another day quite free from mark’d prostration and pain.  It seems indeed as if peace and nutriment from heaven subtly filter into me as I slowly hobble down these country lanes and across fields” (830).  In this work of prose, Whitman indicates openly that he has been suffering from pain recently, but is enjoying a day without pain, but still has trouble walking, so he moves slowly, hobbling.  Between this passage and the fact that many pictures of Whitman’s final years, featured on Whitman’s Archives, display a cane prominently, it is probably safe to say the poet was using a walking stick—at least until paralysis forced him into a wheel-chair.  However, it is unclear whether he actually used Burroughs’s gift.

Whitman in old age

The typically intended use of this gift for support is symbolic of the relationship between Burroughs and Whitman.  Burroughs was always behind Whitman, as a friend, admirer, and disciple.  He—and Whitman’s other disciples—would rush to Whitman’s defense when critics attacked Whitman’s work.  He wrote the first biography of the poet; although, its accuracy is questionable.  Burroughs proves to be a loyal friend, showing Whitman in the best possible light—and conveniently neglecting certain aspects of the poet’s life and personality—which makes him a nonobjective biographer, but a very supportive friend.  In Walt Whitman’s America:  A Cultural Biography, David Reynolds writes, “Burroughs failed to mention Whitman’s churlish side—evidenced, for instance, by an incident on a Washington streetcar in which the poet reportedly got into an angry scuffle with a carpetbag senator” (Reynolds 460).  Burroughs also wrote reviews for Whitman’s work, often defending him from other critics.  In his review of Drum Taps, Burroughs wrote, “He has been sneered at an mocked and ridiculed; he has been cursed and caricatured and persecuted, and instead of retorting in a like strain, or growing embittered or misanthropic, he has preserved his serenity and good nature under all” (qtd. in Reynolds 459).   In other words, if Whitman needed some support from a friend, Burroughs was there—and so was the walking stick if he needed it.

This walking stick must have been very special to Whitman because it was very well preserved—and now is part of the Library of Congress’s collection.  At some point, Whitman must’ve decided to preserve the treasured gift and switch to a less precious cane:  In later years, Whitman is pictured often with a cane, but it isn’t the one Burroughs gave him.  As you can see in the pictures, the walking stick gift doesn’t have the cane shaped top, but the ones in the later photos do.  This fact—and the fact that the present is in fine condition and now a part of America’s history—indicates that Whitman valued his friend’s gift very highly, but stopped using it—if he ever used it.

Now, what does this say about America’s culture?  The gift itself is practical, thoughtful, and symbolic of the relationship between giver and receiver. Burroughs obviously put a lot of thought into the gift, by choosing something of practical use and referring to the poet’s work.  Such a practical, thoughtful, and symbolic gift indicates the importance of gift-giving in American culture.  Sometimes, we give or receive presents that demonstrate the amount of thought that went into choosing them; other times, presents illustrate little or no thought, but they are always appreciated.

The way the gift was preserved is also indicative of American culture.  Whitman chose to keep something—a material object—that he was no longer using because he considered it important to him, and his friend, that he keep it.  Americans tend to horde their belongings.  How many books and TV shows are out there about clutter, and how to organize our stuff?  Clearly, Americans like to have a lot of stuff, and keep it forever.  Whitman kept what was important to him, and I can understand this.  I still have the note from a friend that came with a vase of flowers, which have long since died.  Do I have any practical use for the note?  No, but it’s important to me because it came from a friend, and so I will probably keep it forever.  I’m sure you all have a story—and a present—similar to mine and Whitman’s.  As Americans, we place symbolic importance on material objects, and seek to preserve those objects.

The concept of a walking stick also indicates a culture that places great emphasis on mobility.  When age and/or disability keep individuals from being mobile, they rely on aids to improve their mobility.  Assuming Whitman used a walking stick during his days of hobbling, he needed that device to remain ambulatory so he could experience nature in its full glory and write poetry and prose.  The poet would have been unable to write as effectively, for as long as he did, if he couldn’t move—even if it was more of a hobble.  In our culture, our livelihoods typically rely on our being mobile—either by our own means or through the use of crutches, walking-sticks/canes, wheel-chairs, etc.

The walking stick is important in our study of Whitman, our understanding of his friendship with Burroughs, and our understanding of the importance of gift-giving, hoarding belongings, friendships, and mobility.

Works Cited

American Experience:  Walt Whitman. Dir. Mark Zwonitzer. Patrick Long Productions, 2008.PBS. Web. 22 Oct. 2009.

Morand, Augustus. Walt Whitman # 068. 1878.  The Walt Whitman Archive: Pictures and Sound. Web. 22 Oct. 2009.

Papers of Walt Whitman in the Charles E. Feinberg Collection. Manuscript Div., Lib. Of Cong.  Feinberg-Whitman Collection. Web. 20 Oct. 2009.

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America:  A Cultural Biography. New York:  Vintage, 1995. Print.

Walking Stick. Library of Congress.  American Treasures:  Revising Himself: Walt Whitman and Leaves of Grass. Web. 19 Oct. 2009.

Walt Whitman # 002. 1848-1854. The Walt Whitman Archive:  Pictures and Sound. Web. 22 Oct. 2009.

Whitman, Walt. “A Sun Bath—Nakedness.” Whitman:  Poetry and Prose. New York:  Library of America College Editions, 1996. 830-832. Print.

Sometime around 1863, Walt Whitman met John Burroughs, became close friends with him, and accepted the gift of a walking stick from him.  This walking stick proves to be very important to Whitman, and its importance demonstrates values of the American culture.

Before Whitman received the walking stick from Burroughs, he was using a cane/walking stick of his own, probably as a fashion accessory.  This establishes the importance walking sticks have in Whitman’s life in general.  In 1841 Whitman used a cane.  The first picture shows him professionally dressed, and the description indicates the cane was part of that look.  The image of Whitman in the photo matches the description given in the PBS special American Experience:  Walt Whitman:

He dresses in a white collar with a vest, walking stick, a big floppy Fedora, and tries to pass for a professional man of letters. And he gets into doors on the basis of how he appears. It’s not his Harvard pedigree. He doesn’t have one. What he has is the force of his personality and how he appears (Allan Gurganus).

Comparing the description from this short film and the image in the photo, it seems Whitman continued to dress professionally as he needed to be taken seriously.  The cane/walking stick is part of this image.  This indicates that the poet showed an affinity for walking sticks and would appreciate one as a present.

Whitman as a youth

In 1863, Whitman met John Burroughs, who quickly became one of his closest friends and a major part of his support system.  Sometime after that, Burroughs gave Whitman a walking stick made out of calamus root and cleverly inscribed (Library of Congress).  This indicates the closeness between the poet and his friend—Burroughs purposely chose the calamus root as the basis for the walking stick to refer to his book of poetry Calamus, which was published for the first time in the 1860 edition of Leaves of Grass.

Whether Whitman used this particular walking stick to support him while walking or not is unclear.  During his years at Camden, Whitman’s health was failing, and there are many examples in his prose of “hobbling,” which would indicate the use of some aid.  If we trace the trajectory of walking sticks in Whitman’s life, (such an undertaking is speculation at best) we would probably come to the conclusion that Whitman went from carrying walking sticks/canes as fashion accessories (1840s in New York) to using them to remain ambulatory in his later years in Camden.  In “A Sun-Bath—Nakedness,” Whitman writes, “Another day quite free from mark’d prostration and pain.  It seems indeed as if peace and nutriment from heaven subtly filter into me as I slowly hobble down these country lanes and across fields” (830).  In this work of prose, Whitman indicates openly that he has been suffering from pain recently, but is enjoying a day without pain, but still has trouble walking, so he moves slowly, hobbling.  Between this passage and the fact that many pictures of Whitman’s final years, featured on Whitman’s Archives, display a cane prominently, it is probably safe to say the poet was using a walking stick—at least until paralysis forced him into a wheel-chair.  However, it is unclear whether he actually used Burroughs’s gift.

Whitman in old age

The typically intended use of this gift for support is symbolic of the relationship between Burroughs and Whitman.  Burroughs was always behind Whitman, as a friend, admirer, and disciple.  He—and Whitman’s other disciples—would rush to Whitman’s defense when critics attacked Whitman’s work.  He wrote the first biography of the poet; although, its accuracy is questionable.  Burroughs proves to be a loyal friend, showing Whitman in the best possible light—and conveniently neglecting certain aspects of the poet’s life and personality—which makes him a nonobjective biographer, but a very supportive friend.  In Walt Whitman’s America:  A Cultural Biography, David Reynolds writes, “Burroughs failed to mention Whitman’s churlish side—evidenced, for instance, by an incident on a Washington streetcar in which the poet reportedly got into an angry scuffle with a carpetbag senator” (Reynolds 460).  Burroughs also wrote reviews for Whitman’s work, often defending him from other critics.  In his review of Drum Taps, Burroughs wrote, “He has been sneered at an mocked and ridiculed; he has been cursed and caricatured and persecuted, and instead of retorting in a like strain, or growing embittered or misanthropic, he has preserved his serenity and good nature under all” (qtd. in Reynolds 459).   In other words, if Whitman needed some support from a friend, Burroughs was there—and so was the walking stick if he needed it.

This walking stick must have been very special to Whitman because it was very well preserved—and now is part of the Library of Congress’s collection.  At some point, Whitman must’ve decided to preserve the treasured gift and switch to a less precious cane:  In later years, Whitman is pictured often with a cane, but it isn’t the one Burroughs gave him.  As you can see in the pictures, the walking stick gift doesn’t have the cane shaped top, but the ones in the later photos do.  This fact—and the fact that the present is in fine condition and now a part of America’s history—indicates that Whitman valued his friend’s gift very highly, but stopped using it—if he ever used it.

Now, what does this say about America’s culture?  The gift itself is practical, thoughtful, and symbolic of the relationship between giver and receiver. Burroughs obviously put a lot of thought into the gift, by choosing something of practical use and referring to the poet’s work.  Such a practical, thoughtful, and symbolic gift indicates the importance of gift-giving in American culture.  Sometimes, we give or receive presents that demonstrate the amount of thought that went into choosing them; other times, presents illustrate little or no thought, but they are always appreciated.

The way the gift was preserved is also indicative of American culture.  Whitman chose to keep something—a material object—that he was no longer using because he considered it important to him, and his friend, that he keep it.  Americans tend to horde their belongings.  How many books and TV shows are out there about clutter, and how to organize our stuff?  Clearly, Americans like to have a lot of stuff, and keep it forever.  Whitman kept what was important to him, and I can understand this.  I still have the note from a friend that came with a vase of flowers, which have long since died.  Do I have any practical use for the note?  No, but it’s important to me because it came from a friend, and so I will probably keep it forever.  I’m sure you all have a story—and a present—similar to mine and Whitman’s.  As Americans, we place symbolic importance on material objects, and seek to preserve those objects.

The concept of a walking stick also indicates a culture that places great emphasis on mobility.  When age and/or disability keep individuals from being mobile, they rely on aids to improve their mobility.  Assuming Whitman used a walking stick during his days of hobbling, he needed that device to remain ambulatory so he could experience nature in its full glory and write poetry and prose.  The poet would have been unable to write as effectively, for as long as he did, if he couldn’t move—even if it was more of a hobble.  In our culture, our livelihoods typically rely on our being mobile—either by our own means or through the use of crutches, walking-sticks/canes, wheel-chairs, etc.

The walking stick is important in our study of Whitman, our understanding of his friendship with Burroughs, and our understanding of the importance of gift-giving, hoarding belongings, friendships, and mobility.

Works Cited

American Experience:  Walt Whitman. Dir. Mark Zwonitzer. Patrick Long Productions, 2008.PBS. Web. 22 Oct. 2009.

Morand, Augustus. Walt Whitman # 068. 1878.  The Walt Whitman Archive: Pictures and Sound. Web. 22 Oct. 2009.

Papers of Walt Whitman in the Charles E. Feinberg Collection. Manuscript Div., Lib. Of Cong.  Feinberg-Whitman Collection. Web. 20 Oct. 2009.

Reynolds, David S. Walt Whitman’s America:  A Cultural Biography. New York:  Vintage, 1995. Print.

Walking Stick. Library of Congress.  American Treasures:  Revising Himself: Walt Whitman and Leaves of Grass. Web. 19 Oct. 2009.

Walt Whitman # 002. 1848-1854. The Walt Whitman Archive:  Pictures and Sound. Web. 22 Oct. 2009.

Whitman, Walt. “A Sun Bath—Nakedness.” Whitman:  Poetry and Prose. New York:  Library of America College Editions, 1996. 830-832. Print.