BY JUDITH LEVINE
Judith Robinson Levine has a high fashion design degree from Les Écoles de la Chambre Syndicale de la Couture Parisienne in Paris, France. She worked for 12 years in film and still photography in France as a stylist and a costume designer. Currently, she is a photo stylist specializing in package photography and, in her spare time, she does interior design and a variety of special projects for private clients and non-profits. She lives in Fayetteville, Arkansas with her husband Daniel Levine, Professor of Classical Studies at the University of Arkansas, whom she has assisted during his ASCSA Summer Session directorships in Greece.
In 2008 Daniel and I spent spring semester in Greece. I spent a lot of time in the Archives of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens (ASCSA or School hereafter) researching the history of the School’s Summer Sessions. In studying old logbooks and Annual Reports, I was fascinated by the WW II years and the story of Anastasios Adossides, Administrator and Business Manager of the Athenian Agora Excavations from 1931 to 1942. He and his wife Elie, who was active with the Red Cross, were responsible for making sure that the School was occupied by the Swiss and Swedish Red Cross commissions to Greece during the war; thus they ensured that the School’s property in Kolonaki could never be confiscated by the Germans (Meritt 1984, p. 17).
Jack Davis in an essay titled “The American School of Classical Studies and the Politics of Volunteerism” noted about Adossides and Edward Capps, Chair of the School’s Managing Committee: “The careers of two individuals exemplify the sorts of ties forged between ASCSA members and influential Greek statesmen, and the resulting benefits to the School. The first is Anastasios Adossides (1873–1942), administrator of Samos in 1914–1915, a member of the provisional government of Venizelos in Thessaloniki in 1917, governor of Macedonia in 1918–1919, prefect of the Cyclades and Samos in the early 1920s, and subsequently the business manager of the Athenian Agora and consultant to the ASCSA (1931–1942)… Their personal relationship was valuable to the School during the negotiations between the ASCSA and the Greek government that established the legal groundwork for the inception of excavations of the Athenian Agora in 1931” (Davis 2013, p. 16). Sylvie Dumont in her recent publication of Vrysaki: A Neighborhood Lost in Search for the Athenian Agora (Princeton 2020) has dedicated an entire chapter on Adossides’s role in the expropriation of the land where the ancient Agora once stood (pp. 63-73).
Adossides died in October 1942 during the great starvation that afflicted the city of Athens during the war. His death was reported with great sadness, and it was noted that his very last words to his wife were messages to his successor (lawyer Aristeides Kyriakides) so that this important preservation work might continue. One only needs to read two of the necrologies that his American friends wrote to understand how devastated the School was by his loss (ASCSA Annual Report 1942-43, pp. 15-17; The Philhellene, vol. II, 1942-1943, no. 3-4, p. 3-4.)
The completion of the initial phase of the Agora Excavations followed the reconstruction of the Stoa of Attalos (see also Liz Papageorgiou, “That Unspeakable Stoa“), and the landscaping of the Athenian Agora in the 1950s by the American landscape architect Ralph Griswold; the latter project included the installation of commemorative benches and exedras:
“During that first winter and spring of 1954-55 the modern retaining wall below the Hephaisteion was removed, and earth terraces were restored and planted. The Garden of Hephaistos, the slopes of Kolonos Agoraios, the whole west half of the Agora were planted, and graveled walks with benches (two in memory of Anastasios Adossides and Margaret MacVeagh) at intervals were laid out. General public interest was aroused and maintained by special planting ceremonies. The enterprise had been inaugurated on June 4, 1954 by Their Majesties when King Paul planted an oak and Queen Frederika a laurel beside the Altar of Zeus Agoraios…” (Meritt 1984, p. 189).
In addition to the bench, “an olive was planted nearby for Mr. Adossides, where his office once stood” (Meritt 1984, p. 190).
We know about Adossides. But who was Margaret MacVeagh, in memory of whom the second bench was built? Margaret Charlton Lewis (1886-1947) of New York was an alumna of Bryn Mawr College (Class of 1908), and “a serious student of classical languages” according to John Iatrides, who edited and published Ambassador MacVeagh Reports: Greece, 1933-1947 (Princeton 1980). She married Lincoln MacVeagh (1890-1972) in 1917.
Lincoln (Harvard Class 1913), a personal friend of Franklin Delano Roosevelt and his wife Eleanor, was appointed U.S. Minister to Greece from 1933 to 1941, served as Ambassador to the Greek government in exile in Cairo in 1943-1944, and after Greece’s liberation, was back in Athens as Ambassador from 1944 to 1947. Their daughter Margaret Ewen (Peggy), born in 1920, started learning Greek at the age of nine and not only developed a serious and lasting interest in Greek literature and culture, but also inspired her son, Stuart MacVeagh Thorne, to become an archaeologist (Thorne has participated in many excavations in Greece, including Isthmia, Palaikastro on Crete, and more recently Geraki in Laconia).
Lincoln and his wife Margaret were both accomplished scholars and helped raise funds for the Agora excavations and the American School. They published together “Greek Journey” in 1937, and before that, she had translated and he published George Clemenceau’s American Reconstruction, 1865-1870: And the Impeachment of President Johnson (1928). Lincoln also published a long essay “On the Margins of Greek Tourism” (1939), and ardently fundraised for the restoration of the Lion of the Amphipolis in the 1930s. (For Lincoln MacVeagh’s philhellenism and his involvement with Greek archaeology, see Betsy Robinson’s excellent essay, “The Pride of Amphipolis.”) Margaret died in Athens in 1947 at age 61 and Lincoln left Greece soon afterward. I believe that the bench was a memorial to that good match; in fact, it commemorates the dates of their marriage, 1917-1947.
Ten years later, in April 2018, during our semester off-campus, while walking in the Agora Park, we saw the Adossides bench and I remembered his dedication to preserving the School’s buildings from pillaging during WW II. A month later, Deputy Director Craig Mauzy was able to secure permission from the Ephorate of Antiquities to clean and recolor the engraved lettering on that bench and also on the one dedicated to Margaret MacVeagh along the steps leading up from the Tholos to the south side of the Hephaisteion, where the Adossides bench stands.
In May 2018, armed with neutral-PH dish-soap, water, and a toothbrush, I was able to clean the two inscriptions of the dirt, moss, and lichen that had accumulated over the years and then refill the letters with terra-cotta color similar to that which had been used originally in 1954. It was a joy to be able to make a good head start on the renovation of this memorial project. The restoration of the Agora Park benches will continue as time and funds allow.
Soon after the cleaning operation, I contacted MacVeagh’s grandson, Stuart Thorne, who was kind enough to send me a copy of what appears to be Carl W. Blegen’s handwritten remarks at the dedication ceremony for the MacVeagh bench in 1956 during the 75th-anniversary celebration of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens. Blegen read:
“Just above the Tholos is a stone seat, presented as a memorial for Margaret MacVeagh by her husband Lincoln MacVeagh. Margaret MacVeagh, as those of you who had the privilege of knowing her warm and gracious personality will remember, had a deep-rooted abiding love for Greece, ancient, medieval, and modern. She made many journeys about the country, knew at first hand its people of today, its natural beauties, its flowers, its birds, its legends, its archeological treasures. She took a keen interest in excavations, was at home on the Acropolis, familiar with Mycenae and Tiryns; came twice to Troy and saw some of the many “cities” emerging to view, looked in at Pylos and took part in the actual digging of a tholos tomb.
A friend of the American School and a supporter of its work, she came often to the Agora, following regularly the progress of this great excavation. She liked to stroll about the site and would frequently sit during the sunset hour on the slope below the “Theseum” whence she could look out across the widening expanse of the area under clearance and see the lovely violet glow ascending the side of distant Mt. Hymettus. As nearly as may be to this favorite vantage point the bench has now been placed. From it may other lovers of Greece find a like enjoyment and satisfaction in close communion with the ancient and modern spirit of this land of Hellas!”
Many thanks to Agora Deputy Director Craig Mauzy, Registrar Sylvie Dumont, and Conservator Maria Tziotziou for advice and facilitation of this collaborative effort, and to Jennifer Hoenig Bakatselou for much-appreciated assistance and encouragement.
Davis, J. L. 2013. “ in “The American School of Classical Studies and the Politics of Volunteerism,” in Philhellenism, Philanthropy, or Political Convenience: American Archaeology in Greece, ed. J. L. Davis and N. Vogeikoff-Brogan, Hesperia 82:1, Special Issue, pp. 15-48.
Dumont, S. 2020. Vrysaki: A Neighborhood Lost in Search for the Athenian Agora, Princeton.
MacVeagh, L. 1939. On the Margins of Greek Tourism, Athens.
Meritt, L. S. 1984. History of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 1939-1980, Princeton.
BY CURTIS RUNNELS – PRISCILLA MURRAY
Curtis Runnels, Professor of Archaeology at Boston University and an expert in Palaeolithic archaeology in Greece, and his wife Priscilla Murray, an anthropologist and Classical archaeologist, here contribute to From the Archivist’s Notebook a story about the purchase of a miniature portrait of an elegant, young woman in an antique fair, their research to identify both the subject of the portrait and its creator, and, finally, their thrilling discovery.
Even from a distance, the small portrait of a beautiful young woman had a commanding presence. We bought the miniature watercolor on ivory (less than 10 by 8 cm) at an antique fair in Holliston, a town near Boston, Massachusetts, because the sitter was dressed a la Gréque with a Greek column in the background. The quality of the painting, which points to a very accomplished miniaturist, together with the appearance and accoutrements of the subject, suggest that the painting was an important commission by a socially prominent person. We loved the painting, and of course, we were intensely interested in the identity of the young woman.
The antiques dealer could not provide a provenance, but we believe that the picture spent much of its life in Boston or thereabouts. The period frame, perhaps original, is marked “Foster Bros., Boston,” and the style of the miniature is typical for miniature artists working in Boston and New York City in the 1830s and 1840s. (The Foster Brother Records are housed in the American Art Archives.) Although miniature watercolors on ivory were popular in the years before photography, the quality of this miniature was such that only the most affluent could have afforded the commission. So who would have chosen to be depicted in a “Greek” costume and setting?
The sitter wears a white dress with a striking blue shawl. She has a red tasseled hat of the kind made popular by Queen Amalia of Greece (1818-1875). Pearls are strung in her hair and she has pearls around her neck. The dress and jewelry suggest high status and wealth, and the beauty of the sitter is remarkable. We listed names of prominent young women in New York and Boston and considered the possibilities. We concluded that this may be a portrait of Julia Ward, a “bluestocking” born into an affluent New York family and a notable heiress who at the age of 24 moved to Boston about the time this portrait was painted to marry Samuel Gridley Howe (1801-1876), the famed physician, philanthropist, and Philhellene. Did Julia Ward Howe have this miniature painting executed as a gift for Samuel Gridley when they were engaged, or soon after their marriage, as was the custom of the day?
We studied the picture and frame carefully but could find no identifying information, so we had to look elsewhere for clues to the identity of the sitter. The young woman in the painting resembles the marble bust of Julia Ward at age 22 by Shobal Vail Clevenger (1812-1843) in the Boston Public Library, which is illustrated in the Pulitzer-Prize winning biography of Julia written by two of her daughters (Laura E. Richards and Maude Howe Elliott, Julia Ward Howe, 1819-1910, Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1915).
We have other evidence that our portrait is Julia. One of the most celebrated miniaturists working in this period was Anne Hall of New York (1792-1863), who is known to have painted Julia Ward as a child with her siblings Samuel and Henry. Anne Hall was also directly connected to the Ward family through her sister Eliza’s marriage to Henry Ward and is known to have made several paintings of the Ward family. The style of our miniature is consistent with those miniatures of Anne Hall that we have examined. The most conclusive evidence that the young woman in our picture is Julia comes again from her daughters’ biography where we learn that one of Julia’s prized possessions was a string of pearls given to her by her father, fabulously valuable jewelry for the time.
Even better is the account by a visitor to New York City in 1843 that describes Julia as she strolled down Broadway with her fiancé, Samuel Gridley Howe. The witness relates that “the pretty blue-stocking, Miss Julia Ward, with her admirer, Dr. Howe…had on a blue satin cloak and a white muslin dress” (Richards and Elliott 1915, p. 75). We see this very outfit, along with the famous pearls, in our painting. And what about the Greek cap? Julia’s daughters relate that the Wards gave sanctuary to a Greek orphan child, Christy Evangelides, for a time, so such a cap might have been familiar to them. Or perhaps it was a token to Samuel Gridley Howe’s fame as a Philhellene?
All together, we believe that there is strong circumstantial evidence that the sitter is Julia Ward Howe. Yet one difficulty remains. Julia had red-gold hair and the person in our painting has brown hair. Was this perhaps artistic license? Our question was answered, once again, in the daughters’ biography: red hair was unfashionable at the time, and Julia was known to color it with French pomade or comb it with a leaden comb to darken it (and ornament it with pearls, as Julia recalls in her autobiography, Reminiscences, Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1899, p. 65).
At the time of Julia’s marriage, Samuel Gridley Howe was already famous. He was celebrated for his participation in the Greek War of Independence (and he would be active in Greek relief efforts for the rest of his life), and for his work in the Perkins School for the Blind, which he founded and directed, and which continues today in Watertown, Massachusetts, after 191 years. His most notable achievement was his breakthrough in teaching Laura Bridgman, a blind and deaf girl, to read, write, and speak. This success represented a tremendous advance in the teaching of deaf and blind people and Samuel Gridley Howe was lionized for this achievement in scientific and humanitarian circles in America and Europe. He would continue to champion many humanitarian causes in his lifetime, from abolitionism to sanitary reform.
Julia Ward Howe herself became a noted advocate of human rights, abolition, and women’s rights. She traveled to Greece with Samuel Gridley in 1867-1868 to distribute humanitarian aide to Cretan refugees (clothing that she had collected from the women of Boston, as recounted in her book From the Oak to the Olive. A Plain Record of a Pleasant Journey, Boston: Lee and Shepard, 1868). The Howes were both active in the Union cause during the Civil War, and Julia gained lasting fame as the author of Battle Hymn of the Republic, the unofficial anthem of the Union to this day. In addition to her other activities on behalf of women’s rights and suffrage, it was Julia who first proposed Mothers Day in 1873, which has now become a national celebration.
In the second half of the nineteenth century, Julia Ward Howe and Samuel Gridley Howe were among the most famous Americans as noted authors, philanthropists, humanitarians, and Philhellenes. If confirmed as a portrait of the young Julia Ward Howe, we hope that this beautiful image will continue to keep alive her memory, and the memory of the Howes together.
Editor’s Note (1): Before the construction of the Gennadius Library in 1926, the street that leads up to the Library, was known as “Howe street,” named after Samuel Gridley Howe. Today the street carries the name of the founder of the Library, Johannes Gennadius (Ιωάννου Γενναδίου).
Editor’s Note (2): Curtis asked me if I could add to the post an out-of-frame photo of the miniature for more detail and truer color.
As a young woman, Hazel Dorothy Hansen broke several glass ceilings. From a humble background –her father was a foundryman—she was admitted to Stanford University in 1916, at a time when the institution had severely limited the admission of women. In 1904, Mrs. Stanford became afraid of the increasing number of women enrolling at Stanford (by 1899 reaching almost 40% of the student population) and implemented a quota that restricted their numbers at the undergraduate level: for every woman at Stanford, there had to be three men. (See Sam Scott, “Why Jane Stanford Limited Women’s Enrollment to 500,” Stanford Magazine, Aug. 22, 2018.). Fortunately for a girl of modest means, Stanford remained tuition-free until 1920.
She broke the glass ceiling again when she chose a prehistoric topic for her dissertation (“Early Civilization in Thessaly”) that also required extensive surveying for sites on the Greek periphery. In the 1920’s female graduate students at the American School had limited options when it came to field research. Apart from Alice Leslie Walker, who had been entrusted with the publication of its Neolithic pottery, Corinth remained a male domain, with Bert Hodge Hill and Carl W. Blegen controlling access to, and publication of, archaeological material. Hazel would have needed either to finance her own excavation, as Hetty Goldman and Walker had done in the 1910s, or to write an art history thesis based on material in museums. It was not until David R. Robinson began excavations at Olynthus and Edward Capps spearheaded the Athenian Agora Excavations that women were allowed to participate in the publication of (secondary) excavation material.
Identifying the Elusive “Mr. Welch”
In last month’s essay (“Forgotten Friend of Skyros: Hazel Hansen, Part I”), I explored Hazel’s early years in Greece (1922-1925) and the people she interacted with, especially the ones who contributed to her intellectual growth and academic development. I also examined aspects of her personal life, and I mentioned serendipity in archival research. The letters of her fellow student Natalie Murray Gifford implied that Hazel had some sort of romantic involvement with an older British man, a “Mr. Welch” connected with the British Embassy. Several days after publishing my story, I discovered in the photographic albums of Winifred Lamb, a British archaeologist and contemporary of Hansen (1894-1963), a photo depicting two young women, on either side of a distinguished, older man. Amalia Kakissis, the Archivist of the British School at Athens where Lamb’s papers are kept, identified the woman on the left as Winifred Lamb and the man as Francis Bertram Welch (1876-1949). Looking closer, I recognized Hazel Hansen as the woman to the right of Welch.
Welch was not just a member of the diplomatic corps in Athens, as Gifford’s frequent references to him led me to believe. He was a trained archaeologist who, in 1899, had directed the British Museum’s excavations at Kouklia and Klavdia on Cyprus and was also part of the BSA’s excavations at Phylakopi on Melos. During WW I, he was with the British army in Macedonia, this time serving as an Intelligence Officer. In 1922-1924, when Hazel met him at the BSA, he was stationed in Athens as Vice Consul. We can now add Francis Welch and possibly Winifred Lamb to the people who might have inspired Hansen to work outside the “boundaries” of the American School.
Upon her return to America in 1928, Hansen was hired at Stanford, first as an Instructor and then as an Assistant Professor (1931). After the publication of her dissertation in 1933, she was promoted to Associate Professor (1935). Alan Kaiser, writing about Mary Ross Ellingson in Archaeology, Sexism, and Scandal: The Long-Suppressed Story of One Woman’s Discoveries and the Man Who Stole Credit for Them (Lanham 2015) has included a chapter with charts of the career opportunities available to women in academia before and after WWII. The decade 1930-1940 was the last decade before the 1970s when women occupied 25% of the faculty positions in American universities. Hansen was fortunate to have matured as a scholar within the early years of that decade. By then, the flirtatious girl of the 1920s had also made a personal commitment: to remain unmarried. Apparently, there was no place for married women professors in American academia. After the Depression of 1929, U.S. legislation became increasingly hostile to female employment, especially in academia, where anti-nepotism policies were introduced. If she ever wanted to marry one of her colleagues at Stanford, she would have to resign from her position. Her talented friend from her early years at the American School, Dorothy Burr, and other married women archaeologists of her time, such as Gladys Davidson, chose not to compete with their husbands for academic positions.
It is also surprising that a promising scholar such as Hansen was in the 1930s, did not produce much after the publication of her book (1933), except for a long article in Hesperia 1937 that secured her promotion to full professor in 1940. My search in JSTOR yielded only four papers presented at the annual meetings of the Archaeological Institute of America (AIA): “The Lebes Gamikos in the Stanford Collection” (AIA Meetings, 1929), “The Use of Wings as an Attribute in Greek Art” (AIA Meetings, 1935), “The racial continuity of Prehistoric Thessaly” (AIA Meetings, 1937), and ‘Protogeometric Vases from Skyros” (AIA Meetings 1950). In the meetings of December 28-30, 1937, Hansen, together with Hetty Goldman and Dorothy Kent Hill (another of David Robinson’s students at Johns Hopkins), were the only women speakers among thirty-four participants.
The slow pace of research by an energetic scholar such as Hansen may also reflect sexist attitudes that prevailed in academia before the 1970s. To support the research of male professors, universities were systematically assigning higher teaching loads to female faculty, leaving them little time for research. Margalit Fox in The Riddle of the Labyrinth (New York 2013) makes a strong case that Alice Kober’s research on the decipherment of Linear B suffered from her heavy teaching loads at Brooklyn College. Unlike Kober, Hansen was, however, able to negotiate two sabbaticals, as well as some semesters off (in exchange for summer work), during her career at Stanford.
Geese and Ganders
In 1936-1937, Hansen spent her first sabbatical in Greece. Charles H. Morgan, the new Director of the School, reported that “Professor Hazel D. Hansen of Stanford University continued her researches in the prehistoric pottery of Thessaly and assisted Professor Broneer in the excavation on the North Slope of the Athenian Acropolis” (Annual Report 56, 1936-1937, p.15). At first glance this would appear to have been a good year for Hazel: working on her pottery from Thessaly and participating in Broneer’s excavations (remember, she, Broneer, and Mylonas were old pals after having shared quarters as students at the Palace of Prince George on Academias Street). But it wasn’t actually such a good year for Hazel, at least in part. We would not have known anything about her troubles if it weren’t for a letter she addressed to Verna and Oscar Broneer from the deck of the M.S. Lafayette on Sept. 19, 1937. It starts as a happy enough reminiscence about all the pleasant experiences she had had during the year: “in fact it was such a grand year that I almost wish it were starting over again […]. Even on this fine boat which serves the most delectable food –the choicest French culinary art can produce—I must confess that the appearance of a pilaphi at lunch yesterday really made me feel homesick for Greece.”
Among her pleasant experiences, she probably counted the celebrations for the Centenary of the University of Athens. The American School participated with many of its members representing U.S. universities. “The University celebrations have been quite wearing but the essential Academic business is over now. Peabody [the President of the School’s Board of Trustees] represented the School and most of the School members were there in force to represent various American seats of learning. Priscilla [Capps] did her usual efficient rescue work, and outfitted most of them with gowns and hoods, so that we made a very creditable showing indeed” noted Charles Morgan to Edward Capps, Priscilla’s father and Chair of the School’s Managing Committee on Apr. 20, 1937 (AdmRec 318/4 folder 1).
The happy tone of her letter, however, changes in the second paragraph. As she fondly recalls her last two weeks in Athens where “there was a luncheon or dinner party of some sort for me every day and I was literally snowed under with gifts and mementos,” we read that Oscar and Verna were not part of the festivities. There had been a terrible blow-out between Oscar and her, with Broneer losing his temper. Although we only have her testimony to what happened, it is worth citing parts of her letter because they are very revealing about how little respect even women of high-professional status received from their male peers. In 1936-1937, Hansen was a tenured professor at a competitive university. Broneer, promoted to the rank of associate professor at the American School (without any tenure process, however), was running a small excavation on the North Slope of the Acropolis, where he had discovered the Sanctuary of Aphrodite. Professionally he and she were equals.
In the spring of 1937, Broneer asked Hansen to study the finds from the dig. You would think that mutual respect would have governed their professional relationship. Apparently, not. According to Hazel, Oscar treated her as a servant.
“In all those first weeks of work with you, you did nothing but find fault –never did you speak one word of approval or even thanks for anything I did. You completely forgot that I was generously giving you my time (not being paid as the Agora people, for example) […]. All the Agora people had told me repeatedly during the winter that you were very difficult to work with –that I would regret it- but I thought I knew better” Hazel wrote in her letter (ASCSA Archives, Oscar Broneer Papers, Box 13, folder 1).
She further implied that he was running a messy dig, bawling her and the workmen out “at times badly” for petty reasons. She also reminded him that she had worked with other first-rate excavators, such as Goldman, Heurtley, and Blegen “who never demanded of their staff what they did not do themselves.” She would always give him credit for the opportunity to study the prehistoric pottery from the North Slope, but “the inspiration [for her to write a good paper] was killed that awful day in April…”. She did, however, enclose the draft of a long article, which was published in Hesperia of 1937 (pp. 539-570).
Broneer utterly dismissed her complaints in his reply of Nov. 17, 1937. His short answer acknowledged briefly her “important contribution to the meager knowledge that we have of prehistoric Athens.” In her article, “The Prehistoric Pottery on the North Slope of the Acropolis, 1937,” she established connections with the island of Aegina, especially during the Middle Helladic period.
Hansen and Broneer must have patched up their relationship at some point because on Dec. 6, 1938, she wrote him a long and friendly letter about her future plans. She had finally convinced her department to agree to an arrangement that would allow her “to teach in alternate summers and in exchange, she would take a six months leave every other year.” For the summer of 1939, she was planning to spend most of her time in Thessaly, “running around on a mule, and working on Strabo.”
Honorary Citizen of Skyros
The first time we hear about her association with Skyros (an island to the north of Euboea) is in the Director’s Annual Report for 1939-1940 (p. 20). “Miss Hansen was honored by the Greeks of the island of Skyros. She owns a house there and spends much of her time on the island when she comes to Greece. She was made an honorary citizen of the island, a distinction which brings with it freedom from taxation and exemption from military service.” Moreover, “for the first time in the history of the island the American flag was flown over the City” reported Gorham P. Stevens.
But what was the reason for this high distinction? (Of course, I had to laugh at Stevens’s comment about exemption from military service.) In a note to Stevens, on Sept. 5, 1939, two days after he telegramed her the news about England declaring war on Germany, she explained why she couldn’t leave Skyros: “All our 400 vases and sherds […] are still on the floor, etc. and unless I put them in order no one will and I hate leaving the place in a mess.” In addition the rain had washed down “a part of a cliff and exposed another grave which, if we do not dig immediately, will be ruined,” and, because of the cooler weather, she worked on Skyros better than in Athens.
Note that she uses the first plural in her note: “all our 400 vases” and “if we do not dig immediately.” She must have partnered with somebody in this Skyrian project. Was it her old friend John Papademetriou, a native of Skyros, who undertook a small trial excavation on the island in 1935? Or was it Phoebus Stavropoulos (1904-1972), who in February of 1938 dug four Protogeometric graves which had been exposed to view during the winter rains? She refers to both of them in an essay titled “Prehistoric Skyros,” published in the Studies Presented to David Moore Robinson on his Seventieth Birthday (1951, pp. 54-63). It is unclear, however, what kind of service she rendered in 1939; I suspect that she was honored for her efforts to organize the island’s first museum by putting together a display of the pottery and other objects found in the graves. In “Prehistoric Skyros” she refers to the one-room museum in the town hall, which was damaged during WWII. “When I visited Skyros in 1947 I undertook to make the room and cases repaired and I washed and put together as many of the vases as possible” (p. 59, note 18).
The publication of the pottery from the Skyrian graves and a travel guide for Skyros would become her life-long projects after 1939, both left unfinished, however. Her personal papers in the School’s Archives show that she had made considerable progress on both projects. Her guidebook captures information of ethnographic interest about life on the island before the invasion of tourism.
“One evening at dusk as I passed along the road I counted 47 people coming from various directions- their yellow kerchiefs streaming about their heads, each with a huge stamna, water jar, on their heads, their skirts billowing out in the breeze… The typical woman of Skyros has a water jar on her head –trudging on her way to the fountain. Sometimes she is a smiling, brown-faced girl. Again a ragged urchin, another time an old woman worn with toil, whose bronzed and wrinkled face betrays her hard lot,” she wrote in her chapter about the town’s fountain house.
WW II must have put her Skyrian projects on hold for several years since she was not able to get back to Greece until 1947. In the School’s Annual Report of 1949-1950, Director John L. Caskey noted that Hansen was on the island of Skyros inventorying the objects in the local museum and “writing a catalogue of the prehistoric and Geometric pottery” (p. 28). That same year she received official permission to publish the prehistoric material. “The island’s dependence upon Thessaly” formed the principal idea behind all her work about Skyros in the Bronze and Early Iron Age. Through her pottery studies, she further argued that the island was drawn into the Mycenaean orbit not through contacts with the south but from the north.
With the Office of Strategic Services?
Returning to Stanford after her visit to Greece in 1947, Hansen, together with Wayne S. Wucinich (1913-2005), gave on-campus presentations about their Balkan experience. Wucinich, a historian of Serbian origin, who had worked for the Office of Strategic Services (OSS) during the War, had recently joined the faculty of the history department at Stanford. Hansen spoke about the need for U.S. military and political aid to help terminate the Civil War in Greece (The San Francisco Examiner, May 16, 1948). In May 1951, after a 6-month stay in Greece, she delivered another public talk about the political situation in the country. In “Greece: the Land of Struggle,” she talked about the material aid that America had offered to Greece “from monumental works down to such useful items as nylons, sports, shoes, and bubble gum.” But that wasn’t enough if America wanted to prevent the infiltration of communism in Greece. “The failure to eliminate corruption… to reduce unemployment and to narrow up the gap between wages and soaring prices threatened to perpetuate all the familiar social ills on which Communism thrives” (Times Advocate, Mar. 22, 1952). Hansen’s involvement in the political affairs of Greece and the public talks she delivered after each visit to Greece suggest that: a) she had been recruited by the OSS during the War (her knowledge of Greece’s topography and language would have made her an ideal candidate), and b) her post-WW II trips to Greece may have been partially funded by the U.S. government.
Cold War Realities
After 1950 Hansen did not participate in any more AIA Meetings, and her “Prehistoric Skyros” in David Robinson’s Festschrift was her last publication. She must have put all her efforts into turning her Skyrian field notes into a book. She also continued to work on the restoration of the Cesnola Collection in the archaeological laboratory she had established in the basement of the Stanford Museum. But it is also very possible that she was preoccupied with administration at Stanford.
The university underwent a fundamental change after WW II, especially under Provost Frederick W. Terman (1955-1965). The transformation took place during Terman’s tenure in the Electrical Engineering Department. According to the historian of science and geneticist C. Stewart Gillmor, “as the department grew in stature, so did Fred as an academic administrator.” Terman was also responsible for the cross-fertilization between academic and industrial research, which is “one reason why university scientific discoveries are so rapidly translated into new industries, companies, products, and services” (C. S. Gillmor, Fred Terman at Stanford: Building a Discipline, a University, and Silicon Valley, Stanford 2004, p. viii). On the other hand, during Terman’s tenure as Stanford’s provost, the university ratcheted up its support of hard sciences at the expense of geography, history, and classics. Furthermore, his peers were astounded by how he could “downplay or even eliminate established programs or academic emphases that lacked promise for the future” (N. Cohen, The Know-It-Alls: The Rise of Silicon Valley as a Political Powerhouse and Social Wrecking Ball, New York 2017). According to Cohen, Terman never directly engaged in a dialogue with the professors who objected to his new agenda; instead, he privately undermined their academic status, by challenging their competence and intelligence. Cohen’s archival research in Stanford University’s institutional records revealed dismissive comments, such as “hardworking but not particularly bright biologist… who specializes in fish.” Among these efforts, Terman decided to shrink the department of classics by not replacing two retiring professors. How could the study of classics support business opportunities? And when Hazel Hansen wrote him to express her objections to the departmental cuts, Terman never replied, but privately dismissed her as a “single woman—lonely—frustrated” (Cohen 2017, p. 50). This reduction of teaching positions probably translated into an increased teaching load for Hansen and much less time for research.
Meeting her Match
In 1956-1957 Hansen was the Annual Professor at the American School. Rhys Carpenter was the Visiting Professor. We read in her annual report that she conducted a weekly seminar on prehistoric pottery, where “in the first three sessions the Neolithic pottery of Thessaly was studied in detail for this was new material for all the members of the class” (ASCSA Annual Report 76, 1956-1957, pp. 48-49). She also organized Saturday meetings at which the students sorted, washed, and cataloged sherds. (I am now almost certain that she is responsible for the rich Neolithic collection of sherds from various Thessalian sites in the School’s teaching collection.) In addition, she offered an elementary course on Homer, but the sessions were not rewarding. “And the question still remains why some students come to the School with so little Greek. Why do they think that Greek is divorced from archaeology?” Hansen wondered in her report.
Her early death in 1962 deprived me personally of first-hand information about this dynamic woman. While searching for people who might have known her personally, I realized that Brunilde Sismondo Ridgway, professor of archaeology at Bryn Mawr College for almost forty years (1957-1994), was a student at the School in 1956-1957. Knowing that Bruni (as she is known by her students) reads my blog, I wrote her. She not only responded within a day, but also went hunting for her own letters from Greece to her family. In one of them, she found what she was looking for.
On Feb. 15, 1957, she and Miss Hansen took a trip to Korakou to hunt for sherds. After collecting sherds and having a meal together, they returned to Athens. With Bruni’s permission, I quote: “But I almost ruined the pleasant occasion when Miss Hansen asked me whether I wanted to keep at least one sherd for myself. Since she insisted, I finally selected one with matte-painted traces, which (to my recollection) I had personally found.” However, Miss Hansen was furious with Bruni’s choice because she believed that she had found the sherd and also considered it the most diagnostic sherd of those they had collected. “How dared I select just that very sherd?” “I finally blew my own top: I told her that I was not a prehistorian… [and] at any rate, I was not interested in keeping any sherd at all and she could certainly have it. Rather than ruining our relationship, my outburst seems to have cleared the air, and we continued to be friendly for the rest of her stay in Athens.” Ridgway found Hansen difficult and domineering but also a good teacher. She also asked me to be kind to her, recognizing the difficulties Hansen must have endured as a woman throughout her academic career in a coed, competitive institution. Ridgway pointed out that even in the 1960s, colleges like Bryn Mawr “objected to my being married and having children….”. For the record, Ridgway had four children, published more than eight books and hundreds of articles while supervising 36 dissertations, including my own.
Hansen satisfied her need for a child by informally adopting one from Skyros. In The Stanford Daily Archives, a few days after her death, Stanford’s President Wallace Sterling reminded people that “she also became the sole supporter of a WW II orphan who grew to maturity on the island.”
“Her main contribution was not destined to be in the field of excavation, but in discovering in dark cellars a good number of broken vases still covered with earth, discovered by others over the years in the island of Skyros. There she collected, cleaned, patched, and provided with a shelter transforming into a small Museum a room in the City Hall of Skyros. For this service to archaeology and the island she was made Honorary Citizen of Skyros,” wrote archaeologist George Mylonas about Hazel Hansen in early 1963, a few months after her death, in the Annual Report of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens (ASCSA or the School hereafter).
I asked several archaeologists of my generation and slightly older if her name or her association with the island of Skyros rang a bell. It did not, although she was known well enough in Greece, for her death to be noted at length in Kathimerini (December 22, 1962), one of the most respected Greek newspapers. «Ηγγέλθη χθες στην Αθήνα ο θάνατος της φιλέλληνος αρχαιολόγου καθηγητρίας του Πανεπιστημίου Στάνφορδ, Χέιζελ Χάνσεν, η οποία είναι ιδιαιτέρως γνωστή δια το σύγγραμμά της περί του αρχαιοτέρου πολιτισμού της Θεσσαλίας…”. In addition to her work in Thessaly and Skyros, the note referred to her participation in the excavations at Olynthus and on the North Slope of the Acropolis. The author of Hansen’s Greek obituary knew her well and wanted to capture the accomplishments of a friend and able colleague. It must have been (again) George Mylonas, whose friendship with Hazel started in the 1920s when they were both at the American School.
“That giant Arcadian mountaineer, servant, foreman and friend, proved the hero of the week-end. I never saw any one more dignified, grave and competent, and as he came from the heights of Arcadia, his physique was impressive, unlike that of the usual wiry little Greek. He brought us tea in the Museum, which we ate sitting among baskets of pottery and fragments of sculpture” (Conway 1917, p. 37).
The passage above comes from Agnes Ethel Conway’s book, A Ride through the Balkans: On Classic Ground with a Camera, and refers to George (Γεώργιος) Kosmopoulos, the son of Angelis (Αγγελής) –both skilled and highly valued foremen of American and German excavations in Greece in the late 19th and early 20th century. Published in 1917, the book is an account of a journey that two young, English women, Conway and her friend Evelyn Radford, made in the Balkan Peninsula in the spring of 1914 as students of the British School of Archaeology. One of their first excursions, while still living in Athens, was to the nearby site of Corinth, where the American School of Classical Studies at Athens (ASCSA or the School) had been digging since 1895.
Evelyn, “had a friend, an archaeologist, who was taking part in the excavations at Corinth, and invited us to come to her for the week-end.” The friend was no other than Alice Leslie Walker (1885-1954), a graduate of Vassar College (Class of 1906) who had already acquired the reputation of a seasoned excavator, having co-directed with Hetty Goldman the excavations of ancient Halae in Boeotia in 1911-1913. Upon arriving at Corinth the two women went to the excavations, where “our friend had just dug up the oldest piece of pottery ever found in the Peloponnese,” described Conway in her book (p. 36). Eighty years later, John C. Lavezzi, writing a biographical essay about Walker (for Brown University’s online project, Breaking Ground: Women in Old World Archaeology) would describe her discovery “as the largest and probably still the most significant deposit of Early Neolithic pottery from Corinth.” (Also check the comments that John Lavezzi and others added to the post since it went online.)
The following day the three women and George drove with a “sousta” (a kind of carriage) to ancient Sicyon to see the ancient theater. On the way back they “persuaded George to sing to us… His grandfather had been in close attendance to Kolokotronis and his pride in the songs was splendid to see. He was very anxious that we should understand all the words in the songs, and assured us over and over again that the circumstances were really historical… George had the remains of a fine voice, and to hear a patriot, full of pride in his songs, sing them in his own country, in the moonlight, was an experience worth having” (Conway 1917, pp. 39-40). Read the rest of this entry »