MUSEUM COLLECTIONS: WE’LL TAKE IT ALL?

What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the words ‘museum collections?’

Priceless artifacts? You wouldn’t ‘t be wrong.

Unique objects? Right on track.

But all the other stuff is confusing. Is it all special?

Noooo. But . . .

The ace museum collections guy goes out in the field with instructions on what to bring back.

It starts with a mention to someone, who mentions it to someone else.

Eventually all of the mentions get to a person who knows what to do, and they make a call.

 

“Would you be interested in donating to a museum?”

 

If the answer is yes, the museum crew swings into action.

These are a few of the stories.

 

Cast Iron In Tillamook

A lady called to donate her cast iron cookware. Curator Jack got the details and passed them along to the collections guy, who then set a date, packed up the Van of History, and went out with high hopes.

The collections guy followed directions from Portland to Tillamook, then out on country roads, one of which had a few stray cows wandering around.

Arriving at the address they found a distressed lady in her housecoat standing beside an open field gate.

 

Lady: My cows have escaped. Did you see them on the road?

Guy: I saw two big ones and one little one.

Lady: Those are my cows.

Guy: I’m from the museum to look at your cast iron.

Lady: Yes. Thank you for coming all this way, but I need to get my cows back in the field first. Can you help me?

Guy: Yes, ma’am. I’ll go herd them back here.

Lady: You can do that?

Guy: I’m just the cowboy for the job.

 

So I walked down the road around the bend to find the cows meandering along their way.

What was I going to do?

Get in front of them and turn them back.

And that’s what I did, but they weren’t very cooperative.

The big ones lowered their head at me like they might charge.

I worked side to side along the road so I had a fence to jump over just in case.

One of them seemed more aggressive, so I focused on turning it back first thinking the others would follow.

I yelled, waved my coat, stepped toward them, then back, until we all got on the same page.

I walked them back to their field and past the lady at the gate.

 

Lady: You’ve calmed them down. 

Guy: They were ready to come home.

Lady: How did you do it?

Guy: I’vc unloaded yearlings from a semi to a feeding lot. Not all of them wanted to go. I told them that story and they turned around and came back.

Lady: I’m absolutely stunned.

Guy: Let’s get stunned together with your cast iron cookware.

Lady: For all of your help, I’ve got other collections to show you.

Guy: I’ll be happy to look.

 

After picking over the cast-iron, along with pieces she wanted to add, she opened a pocket door into a room full of Native American baskets and beads and jewelry.

 

Lady: These aren’t funeral artifacts.

Guy: Yes, ma’am.

Lady: I bought it piece by piece from people in town who were ready to sell.

Guy: It’s a beautiful collection. We’d love to come back when you decide to donate.

Lady: I’ll pick a few things you can take with you today.

Guy: Thank you, but let’s wait until we come back.

Lady: Would you like to see my chair and trunk collections?

 

A Hot Day In North Portland

One Portland summer day the museum office took a call about a quilt donation.

After a quick consult, I packed the Van of History along with a collection receipt, and headed out to North Portland.

It’s important not to drag the material across the back of the van so I brought the quilt sheets and rolled foam so fragile stitching wouldn’t break in sharp folds.

I pulled up to the house and parked on the side street just as a car pulled into the detached garage.

The low cyclone fence around the property should have been a clue.

So should a woman wearing a wool blazer on a hot day.

She looked late seventies, early eighties, all dressed up for a drive to the drugstore in a coat, slacks, and blouse with perfectly curled beauty parlor hair,

I wore a shirt and tie under a white lab coat to prevent any mistaken identity.

 

Me: Hello, I’m from the museum to look at your quilts.

Lady: Wonderful. Let’s go in the house. Aren’t you awfully warm in your white coat.

Me: Not as warm as you must be in your blazer.

Lady: I have to wear this when I go out.

Me: I wear this whenever I travel for a donation so you’ll know who I am.

Lady: Very smart. I wear my coat so no one will know who I am. I’ve lived here fifty years and watched the neighborhood change. Last year I pulled up to my garage just like today, but I didn’t see anyone. They jumped me, robbed me, and threw me on the ground.

Me: That’s awful.

Lady: Yes it was. All of my friends and family said I needed to move, and soon. But I didn’t want to move, didn’t want to feel chased out of my neighborhood. But they all kept after me. So I got one of these.

 

With trained precision she drew a small black semi-automatic pistol from her jacket pocket.

 

Me: That’s a good looking gun.

Lady: Yes it is, isn’t it. Let’s go in the house. Maybe you help me with a problem.

Me: Yes, ma’am.

After we looked at the quilts, all gorgeous and bright and museum quality, she told me her problem.

 

Lady: You see, I’m going out of town for the first time since the incident and don’t know what to do.

Me: How can I help?

 

We walked into her bedroom with a queen-sized bed.

She reached over her side of the bed and pulled a Mossberg Street Sweeper out from under the pillow.

She slept with a pistol grip twelve gauge shotgun.

When she handed it to me I checked the magazine. Empty.

We went back go the living room where she pulled out a scrapbook with news clippings about her robbery.

The story included her recovery, her trip to the gun store, and self-defense classes at the local range.

Lady: I don’t know where to put these while I’m gone.

Me: You have more?

 

She had the Sweeper and four pistols, one in every room.

 

Me: Let’s get started. 

 

I hid her shotgun in her fireplace on a ledge inside the chimney.

I asked her for duct tape and fastened the pistols under tables in the rooms they came from.

It was a very methodical half hour.

 

Lady: This is just what I needed. Where did you learn how to do this?

Me: I’m an Army veteran museum professional. All part of the job.

Lady: Thank you very much. Before you leave, would you like to see the trunks and chairs I’ve collected out in the shed?

Me: Lead the way.

 

Am I an arms expert? Noooo.

But I’d just watched ‘Someone To Watch Over Me‘ and copied the cop thriller in real life.

 

What’s The Story On All Of The Trunks And Chairs

During my twenty-year museum career stuff came under three categories:

CI: The cream of the crop, an important object in and of itself, AND related to a historically important person or event.

CII: A good museum quality piece for long-term exhibit and further study.

CIII: Material for student groups to learn from.

Going out on collection pick-ups was a chance to find more than the stated object.

Once people got over the threshold of giving they want to give more, and sometimes you take more to find the treasures.

The question came up on a recent tour of the storage facility, The Vault.

The pictures in this post come from earlier museum storage in a building you’d never guess.

One of the rules once you’d been inside was never talk about it. If you did you’d be a former employee.

The great thing about this building was an elevator big enough to carry a small moving truck, a box van.

At the time it was the second largest elevator in Portland.

 

 

One year we cleared the floor and had an annual dinner, a formal affair where I was asked to run the elevator.

I rented a tux for the event to keep spirits high.

It went off without a hitch.

 

PS:

If a museum object transfer depends on accepting chairs and trunks? Load them up.

 

PSS:

I complained about trunks and chairs to a museum consultant doing their rounds and he explained it like this:

 

“Sometimes a trunk is a calling card: the better the trunk, the higher the expectations.

“Take a tool chest for example. A carpenter will make his tool chest with a combination of different joinery to show his skills. His chest is his resume.

“The same goes for strange looking overbuilt furniture. During the move from hand-made to factory-made, some factories used furniture to show they can do what hand-made furniture companies can do, but faster and better. Sometimes it works out, sometimes not.”

“What about these trucks and chairs?”

“It’s only a problem when you run out of room.”