Francis Patrick Fowler
Aug.6, 2020
Internship in History
Journal entry 2
Second week of NAMA Internship
Today is Aug.6th 2020. It is my day off. I did not write a journal entry for last week, so I will bring up some highlights from my second week before moving on the third.
About but not written Monday July.27th
Looking back, I remember I got my ID in the morning. I did not have a shirt yet, but the Department of Interior badge made me feel good.
The Conservator and I cleaned graffiti, one foot in length, from a lamppost near the War World II memorial. It was someone’s name. It was not obvious to the public. It was in white out. The Conservator and I applied acetone. There was a little bit of ghosting (remnants of the graffiti), but it was minimal. I looked about me. From War World II The Lincoln Memorial is to the West, the MLK Memorial and Jefferson Memorial to the South and the Washington Monument is to the East.
As we headed south to the Tidal Basin, we were stopped by a park policeman. Congressmen John Lewis’s funeral procession was stopped at the Martin Luther King Jr Memorial. The pr Tidal Basin past War II and the Washington Monument. It would turn to the Lincoln Memorial. Two Park Rangers in full uniform saluted the procession. We waited. I reflected. But I do not remember what sat in my head.
I think back now but it is heavily mediated by time. My thoughts lead to something that happened two days after the motorcade at a NPS picnic (see July.29th entry). I would find out at a picnic on July.29th that the MLK and Lincoln memorials were favorite sites for the Civil Rights leader to visit. It was fitting that his motorcade stopped at the sites for one last visit.
The Congressman liked to walk around the Mall in the evening. He was friendly to NPS staff and always willing to talk. He would not ask for any special treatment. But crew members were often reluctant to interrupt the man’s sojourn. He could be found at the Lincoln Memorial’s steps, sometimes unnoticed by the stream of humanity filing in and out. He was at Martin Luther King Jr.’s memorial at dusk. He had been at the groundbreaking and its dedication.
The rest of this memory is abstract and imagined. Should I have asked, were the cherry blossoms in bloom? To give a sense of time was it Spring, Summer, Winter or Fall? Was the Congressmen staring at the statue or looking at the Tidal Basin? Maybe, Cormorants flew by him as he stared at his mentor and friend.
What was it like to know someone in the flesh and blood who was now rendered and emerged from stone, bathed in light from the evenings last rays and the reflection of marble? I can imagine many questions, but I do not want to intrude on those thoughts.
Elenore Roosevelt’s bronze statue is a five minute from MLK’s marble likeness at the FDR Memorial. She once remarked near the end of her life about the loving and painful memories flooding back to her strongest at twilight. “The night” she would say “has a thousand eyes.”
They most have been powerful for the Congressman, in this imagined moment from a secondhand recollection. But as we waited and the hearst waited, I cannot honestly remember what I was thinking.
I could make assumptions about my thoughts as the motorcade went by from what I feel now sitting at my table with my laptop handy. Yet, it lacks the strength of immersive observation, be heavily mediated by time and be as abstract as imagining Congressmen Lewis standing at some unknown evening on the Tidal Basin and connecting it to a his funeral procession waiting during the afternoon.
In these days of joy and panic observation, time and abstraction do not seem to always follow a linear course. What I imagine and what I hold as fact must sit close by in my brain.
I would have to explain to anyone reading that I was not a reliable primary source for a historian. I would explain John Lewis’s posthumous note in the New York Times captured the moment more than I could. President Obama’s eulogy encapsulated Lewis’s call to “good trouble”.
I remember one thing about the motorcade that is fact. As it passed, I placed my hand on my heart and said, “Safe travels, sir.” I was told later by my mom, a retired Navy commander, that this is a proper civilian salute.
About but not written on Tuesday July.28th
I hanged out with the Preservation Crew at Brentwood D.C. I learned from one of the preservation crew’s mason’s how to replace pavers down at the Archives building. We removed and replaced two pavers. The first one we used hand tools. The second one we used an electric chisel.
The Mason expert stressed the importance of working smart and not hurting myself. I was greatly appreciative. As it neared 100 degrees at noon, he took over and banged out the job in ten minutes. It was a good experience, but I do not think I will be pursuing a career in mason work. However, it was an important skill to be aware of even at my novice level.
In front of the archives I realized that the last time I had been hear was a year ago when the Nationals won the World Series. Before a Pandemic but during a time when racial injustice was still ongoing, I was obliviously high fiving strangers. The world has changed, but have I? To use an expression from New Zealand “yeah, nah, yeah.”
I will say that it was nice to get to know the mason. No stone or pavement is placed without labor and precision in this city. After explaining his love of building things encouraged by his father he went on to explain that regardless if a piece of construction is the size of a pebble, the logistics of fitting it in and making it work with the built systems in place can be monumental. No job is small in masonry. Mason work is an honorable profession and should never be looked down upon.
About not written on Wednesday July.29
Every part of my body is sore! The mason was right about working smart. I was wrong. OUCH!
Today I did some cleaning with two preservation crew members. I have done brass waxing on some of the signage around the memorial with the conservator. Today, we were cleaning some of the leaves out of the empty pools. The water system of the memorial will be turned off till the Fall.
I am starting to get a keener eye for looking at the statues. I noticed what I thought was a fracture on FDR’s funeral procession relief. I snapped a picture and sent it to the conservator. She explained it was a casting flaw. I looked underneath FDR’s collar by his main statue. Found some green here and there. But for the most part the brass looks good with a nice dark brown.
I am not getting to bogged down by definitions like Patina, or the hundreds of descriptions of cracks and rusts. But I am slowly getting more comfortable asking questions the preservation crew and conservator.
I finished the day with a small picnic at Hain’s point that NPS hosted. I got to talk with the head of the preservation crew about his thirty years with the Park Service. He talked about his experience seeing the Grand Canyon. He talked about sighting Congressmen John Lewis along the National Mall.
He also mentioned growing up in D. C’s Navy yard and one time riding his bike with his friends to Roosevelt Island. He said that too nine-year-old it was like finding a lost world. I got a chance to talk with NAMA’s superintendent. After my shift at Brentwood I went to the Arboretum to see the famed Capital Columns.



