For the really significant history is that grass roots history which reveals the everyday life of people, in their homes, and at their retreats, in their work and in their play, in turbulence and in repose.
Theodore C. Blegen, 1948
“I suppose you have heard about the Revolution which is taking place here. It began last Friday night -March 1st. During dinner we heard various rumblings and shots out in the city, but didn’t think much about it, believing them just the ordinary noises of the city. But afterwards they became so pronounced that we knew something was happening. So Betty [Dow] and I went down-town, in the direction from which the shots came. We met many troops marching through the streets, and finally came to the region where the firing came from – near the Akropolis. A revolution is such a strange thing here – everyone takes it as a matter of course, and a little as a joke – and the firing isn’t widespread at all. We were able to approach so near –without any danger – that we witnessed a tank storming a barracks for soldiers, and saw the firing on both sides… after the attacks on the barracks which we saw (we were in a crowd of about 25 – the sole witnesses), we saw other tanks, at close range and finally came upon battalions of soldiers drawn up with guns and bayonets in the streets and ready for action… ” wrote Richard (Dick) H. Howland, age 25, to his family back in America.
The attempted coup d’état of March 1, 1935, a failed Venizelist revolt against the government of Panagis Tsaldaris, would hasten the collapse of Greece’s short-lasting parliamentary democracy (1924-1935) and the return of the king in November that same year. Fifteen months later, on August 4th, 1936, Howland, Gladys Davidson, and a few others from the School would look desperately for a taxi to take them to Piraeus to catch the boat to Istanbul. Howland reported to his family that they managed to arrive in the harbor “despite the fact there was a taxi strike in town and a general strike of all workers because the premier of Greece had just made himself dictator. Soldiers in the streets everywhere, but no goings-on. No newspapers published at all that day. I have learned since, of course, that it all went off quietly and things settled down, but as we left, it looked as though we were going to miss a big revolution.”
Having come to Greece in the fall of 1933 to attend the year-long program of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens (ASCSA or the School hereafter), Howland and his peers at the School became “witnesses in spite of themselves” to critical events in the political history of the nation (Ricoeur 2006). Their “involuntary testimonies” (and the “target of a historian’s indiscretion”) may or may not add new information to what was already described in the press at the time but they suggest real potential for any systematic study of mundane history which lies unacknowledged or hidden in archival reserves. This is a type of social history, one that starts from the bottom rank of social agency, even if, in our case, the agents were privileged foreigners living protected lives within the walls of the “white tower” of academia. This is also “applied history” in the sense that it engages and connects its readers with “large history,” and allows, as in novels, “one’s own mind to be temporarily inhabited by that of another person” (Phillips 2017).
The King Does Not Eat Better Food Than We Do
“I haven’t met the King yet, but then, none of the American School, even the Director has. We trade at the same grocery, however, and the King has no better food to eat than we do. Very often, when we stop by in the evening for a box of crackers, some cheese, or wine, we see the King’s kitchen buying a can of peaches or something similar for the royal dessert” Howland wrote on Feb. 9, 1936. A week later, at the School’s Open Meeting, “his highness, the Crown Prince Paul sat down in front, and left as soon as it was over, not stopping to talk to anyone except to say a word to Dr. Shear and Dr. Capps, the Director” he reported to his family with some disappointment, not perhaps realizing that there was probably a better explanation for the Crown Prince’s lack of interest in socializing with the leadership of the American School. It must have been known to the royal family that both T. Leslie Shear and Edward Capps had been ardent supporters of former Prime Minister Eleutherios Venizelos. In fact, immediately after Venizelos’s death on March 18, 1936, Stuart Thompson, the architect of the Gennadius Library, was asked, most likely by Capps, to draw up plans for an extension to the building which would be named after Venizelos (“Μουσείον του Ελευθερίου Βενιζέλου”). (The plans, long-forgotten, were discovered in a closet of the Gennadius Library during construction work in 1999; see Kalligas 2004).
Howland’s wish to meet or, at least see, King George II up close was granted a year later, at the Open Meeting of the French Archaeological School. Howland noted (February 19, 1937) that “the king, who sat in a chair about 15 feet away from mine, looked tired and thin and yellowish, as if he was getting jaundice. He left the minute it was over, of course, as a King can’t stick around to chat with people… ”. A month later he would find King George attending the Archaeological Society’s meeting “where the lecture was delivered at break-neck speed – in order not to tire the King…” (March 21, 1937). Deserted by his wife, Queen Elizabeth (the former Princess Elisabeta of Roumania), who divorced him in July 1935, and childless, the King cultivated a reserve that was noticeable to everybody.
Howland’s descriptions of the royal family’s aloofness provide a sharp contrast to the narratives of other members of the School from the earlier 20th century. The letters of Nellie Marie Reed (1895-1896), Ida Thallon (1899-1901), Theodore Heermance (1903-1905), and those of long-time Athenian residents Carl Blegen and Bert Hodge Hill describe the court as lively and hospitable during the reign of King George I and Queen Olga, and later during the short reign of King Alexander (1917-1920). But back then, the royal family had not yet experienced long periods of exile and the extent of Venizelos’s power over the Greek people.
Looking Like an English Lord
Richard Hubbard Howland (1910-2006) was born and raised in Providence, Rhode Island. He studied at Brown (B.A., 1931), Harvard (M.A., 1933), and Johns Hopkins (Ph.D., 1946) universities. Following the end of WW II, he made a career in historic preservation in the U.S., the U.K., and Ireland. He served as the first president of the (U.S.) National Trust for Historic Preservation (1956-1960) and served for many years in various positions at the Smithsonian Institution.
From 1933 until 1938 Howland lived in Athens, first as a student and later as a fellow of the ASCSA, excavating both at Corinth and the Athenian Agora. Having lost his mother in 1932, he addressed most of his letters to an extended family (“Dear Folks”), the Hubbards and the Howlands, who lived in a “two-family,” eight bedroom house (according to the State of Rhode Island Historic Property Search) on 89 and 91 Whitmarsh Street, Providence. There he took great care of his appearance — always impeccably dressed— and surroundings. Tall, blond, and handsome, he was often mistaken for a noble Englishman during his time in Greece. In a few cases he was even mistaken for the Crown Prince and “treated to much embarrassed formality, which fled when they found out I wasn’t,” he wrote after a week of vacation at Corfu in July 1938.
During his second year in Greece he met Carol Bullard, whom he initially described as “a Chicago debutante with lots of money and no ideas at all of archaeology. Her aunt [Ada Small Moore] gave the new Corinth Museum, and thought her niece might enjoy a year in Greece…” Soon after, however, he would take Carol to late dinners and dancing at the Cosmopolite Roof, the Fix Brewery “where there is an excellent restaurant run by a Hungarian, in connection with the brewery,” and the Glyphada Casino (July 27, 1936).
By the 1930s Glyphada, a newly developed suburb on the south side of the city, had become the preferred recreational destination (including night swims) for Americans and other foreigners living in Athens. In July 1937, Henry Beck, the U.S. Vice Consul, hosted a big party “at his villa in Glyphada – a buffet cocktail and supper on the terrace, with musicians in a balcony above. Afterwards dancing and at midnight, when the moon came up, everybody got into a small boat and were paddled, with the musicians, to the Glyphada casino, for more dancing. It was quite a brawl” (July 17, 1935 to Gladys Davidson, with whom he shared a close friendship). After two years of courtship, he and Carol were married in 1937 setting up their first household on the second floor of a house behind the School on Dinokratous Street. The uncertainty of the times, however, forced them to return to America in 1938. After their divorce in 1942, Howland did not remarry but continued to lead a vigorous social life that contributed to successful fundraising for the institutions he served. As chairman of the School’s Managing Committee (1965-1975) he persuaded Claire Woolie Mayer to donate her house in New York to the American School in 1974. The so-called Mayer House housed served for years as the School’s base of operations in America until it was sold for $5,850,000 in 1998, thus enriching the ASCSA’s endowment.
But for Classical archaeologists (and I have to admit it took me some years to realize this) his most lasting contribution to the field was Greek Lamps and Their Survivals (Princeton 1958) —a.k.a. Agora IV. Sixty years after its publication it remains one of the most important reference volumes in Greek archaeology. Very few, however, are aware of the man behind H[owland]T[ype] 24, or HT 25 Prime.
An Innocent Abroad
I was, however, fortunate to meet Howland in 1996 on his last journey to Greece — an elderly, distinguished man who walked into the Archives and introduced himself as Dick Howland. He had brought with him his collection of photos from his various times in Greece. He had already entrusted his personal correspondence to his old friend and Trustee of the School Doreen Canaday Spitzer. (His photographic collection, as well as that of Gladys Davidson Weinberg, was digitized as part of a recent ESPA project.) Although there are a number of photographic collections from the 1930s in the School’s Archives, Howland’s letters to his family are perhaps the only written record preserving information about the daily activities of the small “colony” of American expatriates living in Athens during that decade. Dorothy Burr Thompson’s diaries at Bryn Mawr College also exist, but after 1933 these accounts are limited to descriptions of summer visits. There also are the M. Alison Frantz’s papers in the Firestone Library at Princeton, which I have not yet had the pleasure of reading.
A few years ago Kostis Kourelis published a rich and multi-layered essay exploring the avant-guard leanings and bohemian background of several of the School’s members, including directors Rhys Carpenter, Richard Stillwell, and Charles Morgan, artists Piet de Jong and Georg von Peschke, and their occasional interactions with members of the Greek “Thirties Generation” through the extended social circles of Eva Palmer Sikelianos and Joan Bush Vanderpool (Kourelis 2007). Howland did not belong to this group, either because he was too young, just “an innocent abroad,” or perhaps because the “others” (i.e., the Carpenters and the Stillwells) were an exception to the rule. His letters rarely mention social interactions outside the orbit of the American colony in Athens. Although he and others from the School were invited to parties at Olga Cheimonas’s new apartment on Speusippou street — Mme Cheimona being the Russian widow of Greek-Russian painter Nikos Cheimonas (1866-1929) — where they might have met Greek artists, these encounters seemed not to have generated new ones (July 17, 1935 to GD). (I must mention here that the School owns two paintings by Nikos Cheimonas, which are currently on display in the dining room of the Director’s residence.) On another occasion, he, Gladys, and Ted Erck (Assistant Librarian at the Gennadius Library) “were invited to the Vanderpools for dinner. The Sikelianos were there…; we had a good dinner down in their garden” (July 27, 1936), but again he did not seem to have been able to reach out further into contemporary Greek intellectual circles.
On Sunday morning, September 27, 1936, Howland and others from the School visited Corinth “as the Athens Symphony Orchestra with Mitropoulos directing, gave a concert in the ancient theater, at old Corinth” attended by 3,000 people. “The concert was very good, Beethoven’s 1st and 7th Symphonies and was well appreciated, despite the rain which immediately preceded it.” (The program from that event has survived in the papers of Oscar Broneer, who also must have been in attendance.)
A few months later, during the week of April 17, 1937, Howland represented Brown University at the festivities for the 100th Anniversary of the University of Athens. There is a great photo in the Howland papers commemorating the event, which was attended by many members of the School who had been appointed delegates of American Universities.
But most often, when Carol Bullard was not in Athens, Howland would dine with Rodney Young, Gladys Davidson, Alison Frantz, and Mary Zelia (Philippides). Other guests on these evenings might have included junior members of the U.S. Legation such as vice-consul Burton Berry (1901-1985), Henry Beck (died in 1939), and Harold Schantz, all bachelors with a laissez-faire attitude to life and a preference for Balkan or Eastern Mediterranean posts. Ambassador Charles W. Yost, in his memoirs, described Beck, upon his arrival in Alexandria in 1931, as a “natty little man in a Panama hat and tropical suit” who introduced him to the talents of an Egyptian belly dancer. Burton Berry who spent many years between Istanbul and Athens before he was appointed Ambassador to Iraq (1952-1954), is mostly known today for his valuable textile collection (Art Institute of Chicago) and his coin collection (American Numismatic Society).
As a couple, Howland and Carol socialized with the Joneses, the Kohlers, and the Rankins. G. Lewis Jones (1907-1971), Assistant Commercial Attaché at the U.S. Legation in Athens (1935-1939) would later become Ambassador to Tunisia (1956-1959) and Assistant Secretary of State; Foy D. Kohler (1908-1990), the Legation’s Secretary from 1936-1941, who would conclude his diplomatic career as Ambassador to the Soviet Union (1962-1966); and Karl Rankin (1898-1981), the Commercial Attaché (1932-1939), would later be appointed U.S. Ambassador to China (1950-1953) and Yugoslavia (1953-1957). To a mover and shaker like Howland these early brushes with the diplomatic corps must have come in handy later in his career, as the head of U.S. cultural foundations. (With this new information in mind, his chairmanship of the ASCSA Managing Committee deserves to be studied anew.)
The Magic of Old Corinth
If life in Athens required compliance with a certain decorum, the rural environment and simplicity of life at Old Corinth not only freed the School’s students from the city’s dos and don’ts, but also encouraged contact with the locals during excavation or time at the dig house. Apart from the local hospitality, this was for many their only opportunity to practice Greek, or even learn αρβανίτικα. “It is spoken in Corinth very much, as most of the natives for miles around are of Albanian descent. It causes them great amusement to hear me speak it… I have had one ‘lesson’ from Argyrie, my pot mender. The maid, Helene, nearly dropped the soup when I talked to her in Albanian, and returned to the kitchen where she told the cook and the other maid about it with great astonishment. She’s my friend for life,” he wrote to his family with pride (Oct. 28, 1934).
And indeed, young Richard did not hesitate to form a life-long relationship with one of the local families, when Evangelos Lekkas, the foreman of the dig, “asked me to baptize and be godfather to his daughter aged 10 months… In Greece it is quite a thing to be a Godfather… So according to customs and much advice from Greek friends in Athens, I went down to Corinth armed with a complete Baptismal outfit… all nicely embroidered, seven candles to use during the ceremony, a cake of soap, oil and incense, [and] some forty tin crosses to give to each guest as a souvenir, and last but not least a cash present to start a bank account for the baby. Any money I may have spent was certainly worth it, for I never had such a time in my life” (Jan. 21, 1935). Proof that he was not an “accidental” godfather, sixteen years later, in 1960, Howland would become again νονός, this time to Lekkas’s grandchild; and every time he came to Greece, even during his last visit in 1996, he would travel to Corinth to spend time with his Greek family.
I have borrowed the terms “involuntary witness” and “witnesses in spite of themselves” from Paul Ricoeur’s Memory, History, Forgetting, trans. K. Blamey and D. Pellauer, Chicago 2006.
Blegen, T. C. “The Saga of Saga Hill,” Minnesota History 29 (1948), pp. 289-299.
Kalligas, H. “1936: Μουσείον του Ελευθερίου Βενιζέλου,” The New Griffon 7 (2004), pp. 33-35.
Kourelis, K. “Byzantium and the Avant-Garde: Excavations at Corinth, 1920s-1930s,” Hesperia 76 (2007), pp. 391-442.
Phillips, S. “Should you Feel Sad about the Demise of the Handwritten Letter?” Aeon Magazine April 12, 2017 (https://aeon.co/ideas/should-you-feel-sad-about-the-demise-of-the-handwritten-letter, accessed April 30, 2017).
On February 17, 1901, a young American archaeologist and member of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens (ASCSA or the School hereafter) was “roaming over the city in search of Mr. Kavvadias, the general ephor of antiquities in Athens, in order to get a permit to begin work at Vari tomorrow” (letter of Charles H. Weller to his wife). Together with a small group of students from the School, he had conceived of the idea of conducting a small excavation at the Vari Cave on the southern spur of Mount Hymettus, near the ancient deme of Anargyrous. Known since the 18th century, the cave had been visited and described by several European travelers who were particularly taken by the reliefs and inscriptions carved on its walls.
In 1765, one such visitor, Richard Chandler, re-discovered the cave, which he described in his Travels in Greece or an Account of a Tour Made at the Expense of the Society of Dilettanti (Oxford 1776, p. 150). “You descend through a small mouth; the forked trunk of a tree… serving as a ladder. At the landing place is a Greek inscription very difficult to read. It is cut on the rock first smoothed, and informs us, that Archidamus of Pherae made the cave for the Nymphs, by whom he was possessed… When you are down and face the stairs, at the extremity on the right hand is an ithyphallus, the symbol of Bacchus… Under small niches in two places, is inscribed, “Of Pan”… Beyond there is a very rude figure of the sculptor represented with his tools, as working, and by it his name, Archidamus, twice repeated, the letters irregular and badly cut…”
Its excavation seemed like a worthy project for the group of young, adventurous, and aspiring archaeologists attending the school in 1901. The original idea belonged to Weller, a recent PhD from Yale University, who invited the slightly older Maurice Edwards Dunham, also from Yale, to join in the endeavor. Soon, two more students, Lida Shaw King and Ida Thallon, offered to take part and contribute $10 each; Edward D. Perry, the Visiting Professor for 1900-1901, chipped in another $15. With this funding (the equivalent of $1,000 today) and the approval of ASCSA director Rufus B. Richardson, the team made plans for a two-week excavation. It would be the School’s first new project since 1895, when it launched the Corinth excavations and digs at Eretria and the Argive Heraeum, which were now finished. “Gone were the days when the School could spread devastation over the face of the land by attacking theaters and ruined Byzantine churches in seven different sites in one season” wrote Louis E. Lord summarizing the ASCSA’s new excavation policy after 1895 (Lord, History of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 1881-1942, Boston 1947, pp. 84-85).
Just a year before, Richardson had not allowed Harriet Boyd to participate in the Corinth excavations on the grounds that women “could not endure the hardship of an active excavation” (Lord 1947, p. 95). Proving him wrong, Boyd went on to lead her own field mission on the island of Crete, excavating first at Kavousi in 1900 and a year later at Gournia. Creating her own legend, Boyd became a source of inspiration for many women at the School in the early 1900s, including Ida Thallon (later Hill).
“She has a man servant who rejoices in the name of Aristeides and who wears a fustanella. The only other fustanella servants in town belong to the Queen and the Schliemanns, but Miss Boyd is far too grand when she has him on the box,” wrote an impressed Ida to her mother in the early months of 1900.
Despite his initial permission allowing the two women (King and Thallon) to participate in the excavation, Richardson soon reneged, using as an excuse the absence of a chaperone. This feeble logic must have been particularly galling since one of the women, King, was 33 years old and an instructor of Greek and Latin at Vassar College. She had “chaperoned so many parties that it had not occurred her” that she would need a chaperone herself to dig at Vari (Weller to his wife, Feb. 15, 1901). In the end it was agreed that the women could participate in the excavation if they did not stay overnight in the dig house.
On February 19th, 1901, Weller, his team, and ten workmen from the neighboring village began the excavation of the cave. He described a slow project since “each basket full or half full of dirt had to be pulled up by a rope by two men, while a third unties the rope and empties…Oh, I suppose we are getting pretty good work from them but it seems pretty slow from an American point of view.” The same evening Weller’s workforce went on strike for more pay and he noted in a letter to his wife that he was forced to “yield though not till after a struggle. It is no snap to face a strike with a language that you don’t know.” A few days later he admitted that the work was hard enough to justify raising the workers’ wages.
“I enclose for you a picture of our gang at Vari. [Herbert] De Cou says they look like a ‘precious lot of cut throats,’ and I guess they do, but I can testify to their good and jolly character. I think too that I could get them to defend me in great shape. I know they will be willing after they each get the pictures that I am going to send them” (March 13, 1901).
The excavation uncovered a number of marble dedicatory reliefs, hundreds of lamps, fragments of figurines and pottery, and many coins. On the last day of the excavation, March 1st 1901, the team packed all the finds for the trip to Athens. “Have 50 fragments of marble reliefs, about 150 coins, 4 baskets of lamps, 2 or 3 baskets of the best pottery fragments, a number of terracotta statuettes including three or four very good heads and several inscriptions. Feel much pleased with the results,” wrote young Ida in her diary. The study of the finds showed that the cave had been used from the 6th century B.C. until well into the Roman times. Weller not only dug the cave but also published the results of the excavation in a collaborative spirit. The long report in the American Journal of Archaeology (AJA, 1903) listed a number of contributors besides Weller, who provided the overall account of the excavation. They include Dunham (inscriptions), Thallon (marble reliefs), King (vases, figurines, and small finds), Agnes Baldwin (coins), and Samuel E. Bassett (lamps).
The excavation of the Vari Cave was the first career step for many of the participants. Weller, after teaching at Hopkins School in New Haven, would move to the University of Iowa to teach Greek and art history until his death in 1927. In 1924, inspired by his love for good photography and his talent for writing, Weller established and led Iowa University’s School of Journalism. His youngest daughter Ruth Weller Nelson McCuskey would become a professional photographer, and it was in her basement that her niece (Weller’s granddaughter, from his older daughter Clara), Jeanne Perrin, would discover a treasure-trove of photos from Weller’s time in Greece (1900-1901 and 1910.)
Dunham, after a brief career as a professor of Classics at the University of Colorado at Boulder, would die two years later, just as his article on the Vari inscriptions was going to press. Ida Thallon would continue her studies at Columbia University where she received her PhD in 1905. Dedicated to Vassar, Ida would return to her alma mater to enjoy a distinguished teaching career as a professor of Greek and Latin until her marriage to Bert Hodge Hill in 1924. From that point on Ida Thallon Hill and friend Elizabeth Pierce Blegen would become key figures in the Athenian archaeological community (both women are featured in many of my posts). Ida would maintain her close relationship with Lucy Shaw King. After completing her study of the Vari figurines, Lucy became a university administrator, serving many years as the dean of Pembroke College at Brown University; unfortunately, she never returned to Greece. Unlike the others, Agnes Baldwin had not participated actively in the Vari excavation; however, her publication of the coins from the cave was the first step in a long and illustrious career as a numismatist. She became the first female curator of the American Numismatic Society (ANS) in 1910 and her photographic collection in the Archives of the ANS, available online through FLICKR, is a treasure-trove of information about life in Athens at the turn of the century.
GOING TO COURT BALLS AND PLAYING GOLF
In addition to Weller’s and Baldwin’s photos of Athens in the early 20th century, one learns a lot about everyday life in the city at the turn of the century from Weller’s letters to his wife and the letters that Thallon sent to her mother (transcripts of which are saved in the ASCSA Archives). To these we could add a third source, a wonderful guide-book by George Horton (1859-1942), the well-known philhellene diplomat, titled Modern Athens (1897, 1901). (Modern Athens is available online, and it has also been translated into Greek by Alcestis Dema, Patakis Editions, 1997.) Horton served as U.S. consul in Athens in 1893-1898, and again from 1905 to 1906. Shortly after the Olympic Games of 1896, Athens became a popular destination for British and Americans tourists. To assist this new clientele, expatriates with long-term residency in Athens, such as Horton or Rufus B. Richardson, Director of the ASCSA (1893-1903), produced literary travelogues.
While all three sources (Weller, Thallon, and Horton) agree on many aspects of everyday life in Athens, their accounts also differ, as expected, in some areas. Weller, a scholar of modest means and a married man with two toddlers in America, avoided unnecessary expenses. Unlike Ida Thallon who could afford to stay in and eat multi-course dinners at the lavish Merlin House, Weller boarded with the Poulios family on Demokritou street. He frequently ate his meals, which consisted of “fried eggs, bread, a cup of chocolate and a rizogalo [rice pudding],” in the town’s milk shops, and his letters home often make mention of his threadbare clothes.“The pair I last sent in the wash were mostly holes. The wash lady put in whole new heels and toes but in such a way that with close shoes I can’t begin to wear them” (March 11, 1901). I also suspect that Weller’s lack of suitable clothes did not allow him to attend the New Year’s ball at the Greek Palace, which Ida attended twice (1900 and 1901), having come to Athens with a wardrobe appropriately equipped for such occasions. For the court ball, she wore her “white,” which was not as stunning as her black, which she could not wear because, as she explained to her mother, of the two rules about formal female clothing in Athens. “First can’t wear black; second must be off at the shoulders or at least very low. No white feathers or long train unless you like” (Jan. 12, 1900).
Thanks to Ida, we have a blow by blow description (three single-spaced pages) of one court ball. Unlike Horton who found Greek upper class women quite fashionable (p. 21) as well as “dashing horse riders” (p. 71) -Horton would marry a Greek in 1909- Ida did not have one good word to say about the women she met at the ball. “Of course there were some pretty ones but very few and the rest were such guys. They are either very thin with washboard necks or very much the other extreme and they get to look old very soon; they do not hesitate to improve on nature and lay the paint on with whitewash brush. They look terrible disagreeable too, as if they had nasty tempers. They like white dresses and wear them very low. Some of the hair was astonishing to see. The women are not as polite as the men, they shove fearfully; of course there were some nice ones, but on the whole, they couldn’t touch American girls for looks” confided Ida to her mother. On meeting the Queen, Ida “made a grand courtesy, you can imagine about as graceful as a cow and took her hand but she wouldn’t let us kiss it, she shook hands instead and was so nice. She did let Greeks kiss her hand” (Jan. 18, 1900). Ida’s chauvinism, however, suffered a blow a few days earlier at the Merlin House. When she asked one of her boarding mates, Miss Kohler, “the exceedingly queer little English girl who follows the dowdy rather than stunning type,” if she was going to the court ball, Kohler responded: “Oh, no, when you have a court and a Queen of your own, things here look very small!” (Jan. 12, 1900).
A month later Ida with Lida would also attend Madame Schliemann’s ball “which was a great success.” They had not been in the Schliemann house but had heard a lot about it. They expected to find a “very gorgeous and giddy” place, but instead found it “very attractive and in spite of its palatial size… very homelike and comfortable.” They were also impressed by Madame Schliemann and her lovely daughter Andromache Melas. Although “the Greeks do not, as a rule, introduce people, and we understood from Mrs. Richardson that Mme Schliemann didn’t,” both girls were pleasantly surprised when they were introduced to lots of men. “There were a great many naval officers there so we frisked about gaily with these gorgeous uniforms.” As always, I found their descriptions of the food interesting. Ida noted to her mother (Feb. 5, 1900) that instead of a single meal the supper room was open all the time “and you go and come just as you like. They don’t have hot things like consume [sic] or oysters; only hot things are tea and coffee and they have the greatest assortment of drinks, beer and punch, champagne, lemonade, etc. and fine fancy cakes and ices, candies, etc.”. Another surprising observation is that these fancy balls went on until early in the morning. “We came home about half past two… but it didn’t end till six.”
Ida was not excessively wealthy, but she had the means to sustain an upper-class lifestyle while a student in Athens. Unlike Weller who constantly worried about money, Thallon rarely expressed similar concerns in her letters. Without neglecting her obligations as a student at the American School, Ida and Lida led a busy social life with lots of tea and dinner parties organized by Mrs. Richardson, members of the U.S. legation, and a few Americanized families such as the Kalopothakes or the Schliemanns. In January 1900, she added one more activity to her weekly schedule.
“You will never guess what we were doing; playing golf,” she wrote triumphantly to her mother. “They have had the links ready for two or three weeks, but this was the first time we had gone out…Of course, they are not very wonderful links, but good fun and in the loveliest situation, you can possibly imagine, almost under the side of Hymettus and with such a view… I am glad I brought my clubs which have been collecting dust at a fearful rate for some time… We had only one set of clubs for three but that is a trifle; of course you can’t buy them here” (Jan. 25, 1900).
During another visit to the golf course she scribbled that “it took us a long time to go around for the King was playing right in front of us and we did not want to yell “fore” at him too vigorously, neither did we want to hit him in his royal head with a golf ball…” (March 6, 1900). Searching the history of golf in Greece on the internet revealed no information about this course which was later replaced by the new links in Glyfada in the 1960s (I welcome any information).
NERVOUS FOREIGNERS WOULD DO WELL TO AVOID GREEK FUNERALS
One subject that the two men, but not Ida, described in great detail and with some humor, despite its macabre content, is the spectacle of a Greek funeral. Horton suggests that “nervous foreigners would do well to avoid, the possibility of getting an unexpected view of the corpse, which is carried exposed in a shallow coffin” (p. 65), but he feels that he has to include it in his guide-book since the “dead were borne for the last time through the streets of the city which had been their home.” No did Weller shy away from the spectacle. He instead “got a fine picture of a part of it, including the gentleman most interested… To see the open coffin with the body rolling back and forth occasionally is quite interesting” (Jan. 22, 1901). In fact, after the funeral, one of the relatives tracked Weller down and asked for a copy of the photograph! As photographs were rare at the time and most people were photographed only in a photographer’s studio, an extra portrait of the deceased would have been a valuable addition to the family’s small photographic collection.
“AS A LAMB BEFORE HIS SHEARERS” AND THE GREEK EASTER
The rituals of Greek Easter have always had a special appeal to foreigners visiting Greece. Both Horton and Weller describe at length the procession of the Epitaph on Good Friday and the midnight celebrations with the crowd kissing each other and exchanging good wishes: “Christ is risen; he is risen indeed.” “Then the congregation breaks up and goes home, still carrying the lighted candles that soon scatter all over the city, like little lines and squads of moving stars. The first thing the Greek does when he reaches home is to light, from his candle, the lamp which burns before the icon, then he breaks the long fast with a dish of soup, made from the entrails and feet of the Easter lamb, seasoned with egg and lemon [i.e., mageiritsa]. But a small portion is taken, for it is necessary to prepare the stomach for the feasting of the morrow. It is a pretty poor Greek who cannot afford at least a piece of lamb on Easter Sunday, although he may not eat meat any other day of the year” (Horton, p. 70). Weller, who was writing to his wife (and not trying to impress his readers), gives his own version of the Easter preparations.
“Easter is a big season here and the lambs have to suffer for it. I do not know yet the significance of them, but each well to do family has one or two and sometime tomorrow there will be a general butchery of the innocents… The lamb at Poulios house is quite a pet today. He was even under the dining table when I ate today… I don’t know how many times I have remembered today the ‘As a lamb before his shearers is dumb, so he openeth not his mouth’” [Isaiah 53:7].
A TALE OF TWO CITIES
George Horton in Modern Athens recounted a tale of two cities, “each differing from the other in climate, in traditions, and to a great extent, in character of population.” Horton’s winter city, was a European city, “the resort of tourists, diplomats, and climate seekers,” where one ate “course dinners at the Angleterre Hotel,” attended service at the English church, danced “the barn dance at Madame Schliemann’s,” and played “charades in the library of the American School” (p. 1). This state of affairs lasted from October until May. “Then all changed. The diplomats and the climate-seekers hide them away, and the tourists cease to come” (p. 2). The summer city swarmed with Greeks from Egypt, Turkey, and Roumania, who drank resin wine and masticha, ate “pilaf, stuffed courgas, and fish with garlic-sauce, by candle light in the squares,” and attended open-air theaters.
In 1900-1901, Charles Weller had experienced Horton’s winter Athens without the course dinners and the fancy balls. When he returned to Greece in 1910 for a brief visit, it was late June. He described the days as scorchers, but, to his surprise, summer Athens “pleased him more than ever” (letter to his wife on June 28, 1910). “This is a great town in summer. I have just been down in front of the Zappeion listening to an open air vaudeville and drinking coffee and masticha… I am learning how the Athenians live. The days are so hot that life at night must be busy.” A few evenings later he was back at the square watching moving pictures.
“When I left the square this evening the seats were still well filled and only half the program of music and moving pictures finished. I wish we had that sort of thing [in the] summers. The crowded square under a clear sky is great. Why hustle so much? These people do things as well as we and without half the hustle and worry… Oh I like the life all right. My sole sorrow is being alone.“
To cope with the day’s heat, Weller adopted the afternoon nap. “Since luncheon I have been asleep for an hour. I have taken to undressing and going to bed just as at night. One is up late nights and needs the day’s sleep” as he explained in another letter (July 7, 1910). In Horton’s Modern Athens, “everybody, except the bustling foreigner, respected the noon-day nap in Athens” (p.9)—proof that by 1910 Weller was turning into a Greek.
ATHENS, THE LAND OF PURPLE SUNSETS
Horton’s summer Athens was also the land of purple sunsets (p. 90). “It will pay us to keep our eyes fixed upon the slopes of Hymettus just as the sun is going down. During the few moments immediately following the disappearance of that luminary the sides of the mountain are bathed in a deep, soft, yet quite vivid violet hue. This is the most transporting, most poetic spectacle on earth—the far-famed transfiguration of Hymettus… The poet or the dreamer who has looked but once upon that violet glow is homesick for it ever after,” according to Horton (p. 27).
On July 12, 1910, Weller experienced his own Attic sunset “sitting before the west end of the Parthenon watching the sun go down—with my back to it.” The light on the building is wonderful. I like to dream here at sunset and forget for a time the problems that the Parthenon presents to the archaeologist. There is nothing quite like the crimson light on this building and the mountains beyond for rousing reveries. There. It’s over, and in a moment the whistle of the guard will tell me to go. I will go down to the square and sip a coffee while reading the evening paper. There’s the whistle…”
Note: The second phrase in my title “A sentimental capital and a resort of scholars” comes from George Horton’s Modern Athens (1901, p. 85).
Have you noticed that in the last ten days the press has been flooded with articles about the Doomsday Clock? Here are some of the titles: “The Doomsday Clock is the closest to midnight since 1953” (Engadget, Jan. 28, 2017), “Nuclear ‘Doomsday Clock’ ticks closest to midnight in 64 years (Reuters), “Doomsday Clock Moves Closer to Midnight, Signaling Concern Among Scientists (The New York Times, Jan. 26, 2017), and “The Doomsday Clock is now 2.5 minutes to midnight, but what does that really mean? (Science Alert).
The Doomsday Clock was created in 1947 by members of The Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists’s Science and Security Board; several of them were part of the “The Manhattan Project” that led to the creation of the first atomic bomb. (For those of you who want to learn more about “The Manhattan Project,” I recommend a drama series that premiered in 2014; although the series was discontinued after the second season, it featured good acting and it was fun to watch. Also see Jack Davis’s Communism In and Out of Fashion, Sept. 1, 2016.) “Originally the Clock, which hangs on a wall in The Bulletin’s office at the University of Chicago, represented an analogy for the threat of global nuclear war; however, since 2007 it has also reflected climate change and new developments in the life sciences and technology that could inflict irrevocable harm to humanity… The Clock’s original setting in 1947 was seven minutes to midnight. It has been set backward and forward 22 times since then, the smallest ever number of minutes to midnight being two in 1953, and the largest seventeen in 1991” (after Wikipedia, accessed 28/1/2017). As of January 2017 (and this explains the flurry of articles in the press), the Clock has been set at two and a half minutes to midnight, a reflection of President Trump’s comments about nuclear weapons: “The United States must greatly strengthen and expand its nuclear capability until such time as the world comes to its senses regarding nukes.” Trump posted this remark on Twitter on December 22, 2016, and followed it with an even more worrisome comment: “Let it be an arms race,” he said, referring to the Russians.
While reading the history of the Doomsday Clock my eyes happened to fall on the cover of the 1947 Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, which featured for the first time the Clock (at seven minutes to midnight), and the name of the artist who had designed it: Martyl Langsdorf. Martyl is an unusual name, and I had seen it before. I went to the Archives Room of the American School of Classical Studies (ASCSA or the School hereafter), where we keep the School’s administrative records, and personal papers of its members. There, hanging on one of the walls, was an abstract painting depicting a mountainous landscape, and signed in the bottom left corner: “Martyl.” To my surprise, when I checked our inventory, there was a second work of art, an etching, by “Martyl” in the Archives of the ASCSA. But this one also carried a personal dedication: “To George and Lela with affection and admiration, Martyl.” This meant that Martyl’s other painting had also originally belonged to George and Lela Mylonas.
George Mylonas (1898-1988), a renowned Greek archaeologist, professor of archaeology at the Washington University of St. Louis, and excavator of many Greek sites including Mycenae, had died the year before I arrived at the School, as a first year student in 1989. After the death of his wife Lela in 1993 (I was not the School’s Archivist yet) I remember items from the Mylonas apartment in Athens arriving at the School. Unfortunately, no inventory was made at the time, so now I rely on my institutional memory, and that of other people, in order to identify those items. For example, I recently discovered that the large, heavy table where food is being served in Loring Hall was once George and Lela’s dining room table.
To return to Martyl … I had once googled her without being sure if Martyl was her first or last name. I had found her both under Martyl Schweig (her maiden name) and Martyl Langsdorf (1917-2013). Her husband. Alexander Langsdorf, Jr., was, in fact, a physicist who had worked on the Manhattan Project and one of the founders of the Bulletin of Atomic Scientists. They were both graduates of Washington University in St. Louis (WUSL hereafter). Langsdorf had worked as Physics Instructor at WUSL from 1939 to 1942 before joining the Manhattan Project. One can assume from the intimate tone of Martyl’s dedication to George and Lela that the Langsdorfs must have known the Mylonas’s quite well. Much later, in 1963, Mrs. Martin Schweig [Martyl’s mother] and her granddaughter Suzanne Langsdorf [Martyl’s daughter] would visit the Mylonases at Mycenae (Brokaw to O’Reilly, August 7, 1963). One wonders whether the etching was given as a gift after that.
Martyl’s obituary in The New York Times (April 10, 2013), “Martyl Langsdorf, Doomsday Clock Designer, Dies at 96,” notes that her “career designing magazine covers stopped and started with that first magazine issue of the Bulletin… She devoted herself instead to her artwork.” From the same obituary we learn that when she was 18 she sold a painting to George Gershwin, and that “her art sold well throughout her life” with many museums holding it (e.g., The National Museum of American Art and the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden). To these, we can now add Martyl’s work at the ASCSA.
Mylonas taught at WUSL for thirty-five years, thirty as chair of his department. Although there are brief biographical essays at the beginning of Φίλια έπη εις Γεώργιον Ε. Μυλωνάν δια τα 60 έτη του ανασκαφικού του έργου (Athens 1986-1990), Mylonas’s Festschrift, and in Γεώργιος Εμμ. Μυλωνάς : Βίος και Έργο. 1898-1988 (Athens 2013), a posthumous volume, one can learn more about his long and distinguished career from his personal scrapbooks in the School’s Archives. From leafing through his many scrapbooks, one has the impression that he and Lela participated fully in a broad spectrum of local activities in St. Louis.
1952 was an important year in Greek archaeology since it was the first year after WW II that the Greek government allowed any excavations to take place in the country. The School launched two new projects, with Carl W. Blegen digging at Pylos, funded by the University of Cincinnati, and Oscar Broneer at Isthmia, funded by the University of Chicago. Mylonas, who spent that year in Greece teaching at the University of Athens, supported by a Fulbright teaching award, went into an excavation frenzy, digging at four different sites in one season: Agios Kosmas in Attica, Pylos, Eleusis, and Mycenae. Mylonas always made sure that his work in Greece was highly publicized in the newspapers of St. Louis, especially the “St. Louis Post-Dispatch.” Although he was the driving force in the creation of the Greek War Relief Fund during WW II, it is unclear if he continued his ties with the local Greek-American community after the war, since he rarely makes mention of it. The one and only time that the Greek-American community is mentioned is in 1952, in reference to Mylonas’s extensive digging activities of that year, which had been financed “in part by St. Louisans of Greek descent.” (St. Louis Post-Dispatch, June 8, 1952; and St. Louis Globe-Democrat, Aug. 10, 1952).
Mylonas was a pioneer in fund-raising for archaeological projects. Unlike Blegen, who did not need to worry about funding his dig at Pylos because of the University of Cincinnati’s commitment to supporting archaeological research through its Semple Fund, Broneer and Mylonas had to raise most of their excavation money, either by applying to philanthropic foundations or through private philanthropy. Unlike Broneer, who looked for funding opportunities among the members of the Greek-American Community in Chicago —often with poor results— Mylonas pursued St. Louis’s upper class systematically.
He and Lela created a group of ardent supporters, a club whose members were encouraged not only to visit Mylonas’ archaeological projects, but also to participate actively in them. Every prominent visit was followed by a press announcement in St. Louis’s press. “Comptons Digging in Greece” announced the St. Louis Post-Dispatch on Sept. 10, 1952. What more could Mylonas have wished for, in terms of publicity, in regard to his new excavation at Mycenae! Arthur Holly Compton (1892-1962) was a well-known and esteemed figure in St. Louis, not only for being the ninth chancellor of WUSL (1946-1952), but also as a Nobel prize laureate in Physics (1927) for having discovered the Compton effect. In 1936 he was featured on the cover of TIME magazine (Jan. 13 1936), and a few years later he was one of the key participants (together with Langsdorf) in the Manhattan Project.
Two years later, the St. Louisans would read in the local press about Mylonas’s major discovery at Eleusis of what is known today as the Eleusis amphora, “to have been named ‘the Shepley Vase’ in honor of Chancellor Ethan A. H. Shepley.” Shepley, who practiced law before and after his term at WUSL, descended from an old St. Louis family. Mylonas and his work in Greece were highly appreciated by the highest echelons of Washington University, feeding the city’s pride. In 1958, members of the faculty of WUSL raised and presented to Mylonas a check for $5,000 (the equivalent of about $45,000 today) to finance his excavations. The publicity photos show George and Lela surrounded by the Shepleys and the Comptons, as well as Lucia King O’Reilly (1925-2004), a graduate of WUSL (1947) and President of Washington University’s Archaeological Society. Her husband, Daniel Elliott O’Reilly (1916-1998) was a prominent physician at St. Louis University Hospital and professor at St. Louis University School.
But it was Edwin and Betty Grossman who most systematically and wholeheartedly promoted Mylonas’s work in Greece. He was a prominent lawyer and a public figure of St. Louis, and she was an archaeologist who had written her dissertation under Mylonas’s supervision and who worked for the City Museum of St. Louis (the Saint Louis Art Museum now). Through the City Museum and later through the Washington University Archaeological Society she and Lucia O’ Reilly helped Mylonas to organize local lectures, workshops, and educational programs, as well as highly publicized cruises to Greece.
The first of these cruises was led in the fall of 1963. “The trip is planned for twelve days on board ship, because the Greeks were a sea-faring people and most of their cities are located close to the sea…” according to the advertising brochure. The participants were promised time with the Queen of Greece, “a friend of many St. Louisans,” as well as with the American Ambassador, Roger Labouisse, in the new U.S. Embassy, and a reception “in the beautiful colonnade flanking the Gennadeion Library.”
Several months before the cruise the Washington University Archaeological Society was featured in a special contribution to the St. Louis Post-Dispatch with photos of prominent St. Louisans, who, in preparation for the cruise, were immersing themselves in Modern Greek culture: either by admiring hand-crafted dolls clad in Greek costumes and hand-embroidered modern-day Greek dresses, or by dressing their daughters in Greek costumes that had been brought from Greece (March 31, 1963). By June of the same year, in the same newspaper, there would be headings such as “Washington U. Students Aiding Mylonas on Mycenae Project,” naming Elizabeth Brokaw and Richard Rothman.
The participants of the 1966 cruise were informed that:
“Zolotas, the fine jeweler (who surely must have taken a trip of his own after the ’63 descent of St. Louisans on his shop!) would be open from 2-5 —the usual siesta time— for us alone on Thursday…” and “Gentlemen, do your Christmas shopping early and avoid the rush.”
In addition to the cost of the trip ($1,000-1,500 per person, about $8,000 today), the participants were required to donate another $250 to Washington University for the research of George Mylonas. In 1969, one year after his retirement from WUSL, Mylonas would lead a final cruise to Greece, the highlight of which would be the dedication of the Mycenaean Melathron Center at Mycenae.
In 1968, after almost four decades abroad, Lela and George would move permanently back to Greece. If in the 1930s the couple had carried with them memories of Greece to St. Louis —as Asia Minor refugees they would have had abandoned most of their possessions in Smyrna —this time, thirty-five years later, they would bring pieces of St. Louis to their Greek home in Athens. In addition to Martyl’s artworks, the ASCSA is in the possession of a painting by another St. Louisan artist: Wallace Herndom Smith. Born in 1901 to a wealthy family, Smith studied architecture and built houses for relatives and friends of his family at Ladue, an inner-ring suburb of St. Louis, before devoting himself to painting. Although early in his career Smith flirted with modernism, his work is now thought to be closer to American Regionalism — but he had a definite, personal, style. Mylonas would have become aware of the artist’s work through Smith’s portrait of George Reeves Throop, Chancellor of WUSL from 1927 to 1944 (the painting now in the Kemper Art Museum). Mylonas had known Throop from Athens when the latter spent two summers at the American School in 1927 and 1934. We do not know how Mylonas acquired Smith’s painting. A gift perhaps? Although there is no evidence in the scrapbooks that Smiths participated in any of Mylonas’s cruises, “Mr. and Mrs. Wallace Herndon Smith” appear in the brochures as members of the Committee of the Archaeological Society of Washington University. The Mediterranean theme of the painting (some idyllic cove on the French Riviera?) would have appealed to George and Lela. Today the painting is on display in the ASCSA Director’s house.
After a period of oblivion, there has been increased interest in Wallace Herndon Smith’s work since 1985, when James Van Sant, the retired chairman of General Steel Industries, and Lee Hall took an interest in his paintings, with Hall publishing a monograph about Smith. Most of Smith’s art now belongs to the Bellwether Foundation. The city of St. Louis, justifiably proud of him, has held many exhibits of his works. The latest,“Wallace Smith: Paintings and Drawings,” opened at The Sheldon Concert Hall and Art Galleries on Dec. 2, 2016 and will continue until March 13, 2017.
Today George Mylonas is mostly known for his impressive archaeological discoveries, but a glance at George and Lela’s carefully compiled scrapbooks and their personal art collection not only reveals less known aspects of their lives, but also introduces us to the post-WWII spirit of a Midwestern town, St. Louis, and its people who shared with enthusiasm the aspirations of a Greek archaeologist.
Note: The title of this essay is taken from the name of the plane that Charles Lindbergh (another St. Louisan) flew from New York to Paris non-stop in 1927. He described it as: “a living creature, gliding along smoothly, happily, as though a successful flight means as much to it as to me, as though we shared our experiences together, each feeling beauty, life, and death as keenly, each dependent on the other’s loyalty. We have made this flight across the ocean, not I or it.”
“Maybe I asked you before, but will you save all my letters, dear, for I may want to use some of the material in them” Zillah Pierce Dinsmoor (1886-1960) reminded her mother a month after her arrival in Greece (Oct. 20, 1910). And because Emma Pierce respected her daughter’s wish, a valuable collection of private correspondence describing the daily life of a young American bride in Athens in the early 20th century has been preserved in the Archives of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens (ASCSA).
This is the second time From the Archivist’s Notebook features an essay about Zillah Dinsmoor. In February 2014, guest author Jacquelyn Clemens published an account of Zillah’s Greek experience, mining information from her letters. “Students and scholars who study at the American School… have often been accompanied by their spouses, significant others, and children who live with them here in Athens. In the early 20th century, Zillah Pierce Dinsmoor was one of these women who traveled to Athens along with her husband, architect William Bell Dinsmoor” wrote Clemens in her introductory paragraph. (Read J. Clemens,”Letters from a New Home. Early 20th Century Athens Through the Eyes of Zillah Dinsmoor“) Barely 24 years old (and away from home for the first time), this fashionable young woman from Massachussets wrote long letters once a week to her mother about her new life in Athens.
Considered “as somehow inferior, less political, or less significant texts,” familial letters have been neglected by historians. In the past decade, however, there has been an upsurge of scholarly publications studying social issues, such as the rise and strengthening of the middle class in America and Britain, based on private correspondence. I mention in passing Sarah Pearsall’s Atlantic Families (2008), Eve Tavor Bannet’s, Empire of Letters (2005), and Konstantin Dierks, In my Power: Letter Writing and Communications (2011).
I recently revisited Zillah’s rich correspondence, especially the letters she wrote from 1910-1912, looking for information about daily interactions, social and professional, between American and German archaeologists working in Greece at the end of the 19th/early 20th century. Yet, what caught my eye were Zillah’s detailed descriptions of dinners she hosted or attended in Athens. Because she was particularly interested in cooking and entertaining, her letters trace the culinary profile and social aspirations of the city’s upper middle class, a mixture of foreign expatriates and a local westernized aristocracy.
The rise of professionalization at the end of the 19th century did not leave cooking unaffected. Although recipes still passed from mothers to daughters (sometimes as well-kept family secrets), the Boston Cooking School project –which was initiated in 1876 and the first to categorize different kinds of food, standardize quantities, and study the relationship between food and health– elevated cooking to a science. In the spirit of the time, an Italian cook Pellegrino Artusi also published La Scienza in Cucina e l’ Arte di Mangiar Bene (1891) which was soon translated into many languages including German. A few years later, in 1896, Fannie Farmer published the Boston Cooking School Cookbook. (See Alex Ketchum’s, “Fannie Farmer and the Boston Cooking School Cookbook : A History of Science, Gender, and Food”). Interestingly enough, Bert Hodge Hill, director of the ASCSA from 1906-1926, owned a copy of Farmer’s 1918 edition. Although it does not show any signs of wear (unlike my own cookbooks), except for occasional checks in pencil, it must have been consulted by the School’s hosts and hostesses before dinners.
Zillah’s time in Athens coincided with the rise of Nikos Tselementes (1878-1958), perhaps the most famous and influential Greek cook, who took it upon himself to “clean” Greek cuisine of oriental influences, thus banning olive oil from cooking and introducing butter and creamy sauces. Moussaka and pastitsio, signature dishes of modern Greek cuisine, were his creations. Originally from Siphnos, Tselementes learned to cook in his uncle’s hotel, the luxurious “Aktaion” in Phaleron. After spending time in Vienna, Tselementes returned to Athens to establish himself as the best cook in town, working for the Austrian Embassy (and other embassies later). Talented, ambitious, educated, and trendy, he soon distinguished himself from the other local cooks by publishing the first Greek cookbook in 1910 (Οδηγός Μαγειρικής και Ζαχαροπλαστικής).
“Fortunately I have not met the octopus yet”
After spending several days with her husband Bill (the architect William Bell Dinsmoor) and other members of the American School in Central Greece, Zillah described the local food as monotonous. “They soak everything that they possibly can in tomato sauce and while that is very good in itself it becomes a little tiresome when it flavors everything.” She continued with a description of the local products available for sale on the stores: “The front of all the stores are the same, one keg of pickled herring, a [?] of ripe olives, a big barrel of cheese, a big barrel of tomato sauce and a confection made of honey and sesame seeds called halva. Fortunately I have not met the octopus yet.” But she raved about the Greek honey, “[it] is the most delicious I have ever tasted. You almost think you are eating flowers.” (Oct. 20, 1910).
Zillah’s Chafing Dish
Zillah travelled to Greece with her own chafing dish, and she tried to use it to make fudge. Although it came out “beautifully creamy,” it tasted funny because she and Bill couldn’t make the shop keeper understand that they wanted unsweetened chocolate. “…We came home with some miserable Greek sweet chocolate.” While in Corinth at the excavation house, she cooked their breakfasts in the chafing dish, but her attempt to cook lamb proved unsuccessful: “the roast lamb was a fizzle. The oven was too hot at first and by waiting for it to cool enough to put the meat in, it was not hot enough to cook it through…” she complained to her mother (Nov. 15, 1910).
“I wish you could see my kitchen. Dirt floor, a long zinc table in the middle…, candles for light…, and about half of the room is piled up with excavation picks, shovels, baskets, etc. I have a box with a hinged cover to keep groceries in and I can’t leave a bit of milk or meat there for the two cats get in through the window the minute I leave the place… Even the hens walk in the kitchen when I am there and the goat has pushed his nose in inquisitively on several occasions.” Unlike other Americans who describe with disgust the goat’s milk, Zillah enjoyed the flavor, eggs, and local bread. “It is a pleasure to cook with it and the eggs also. Scrambled eggs puff up as light as a feather.” “I wonder how they make bread here. They only bake once a month but the bread seems fresh. It is very different from ours rather brown with a hard crust but I like it.”
“Evangelos is a Genius”
Zillah spared no words when it came to praising Evangelos, the School’s cook. Unfortunately, no picture of him survives; we don’t even know his last name. But Evangelos must have belonged to the new generation of Greek cooks like Nikos Tselementes, who were willing to experiment and learn from their foreign employers. I was surprised to read some of the seven-course menus he prepared more than a hundred years ago. (When was the last time more than a three-course dinner was served at a formal meal at the ASCSA?) For Thanksgiving in 1911, Evangelos served a fish soup, followed “by cold jellied pigeon with little individual salads with whipped cream, turkey with chestnut dressing, another kind of salad, potato ball, quince jelly, and the most remarkable ice in fancy shape, salted almonds…” (Nov. 27, 1910)
Two months later, in February 1911 when Zillah and Bill Dinsmoor hosted their first dinner at the American School, which was attended by Mr. and Mrs. Steele of the U.S. Legation, Miss Nicholls (a teacher at the Palace), professor Alice Walton, Dr. Georg Karo of the German Archaeological Institute, and Dr. Chester Alan Johnson, “Evangelos cooked himself with glory.” “We had a thin consommé…, then tarts with mashed birds on them (purée of snipe), then fish made into pears covered with crumbs and fried a perfect golden brown, potatoes, carrots and peas all cut in small round balls (but the peas). After that came roast of turkey with salad of apples, lettuce and nuts and mayonnaise, then ice-cream chocolate made into big eggs with sugar browned and made into fine strings over the top to represent straw and the nest of cake. It was very pretty. Fruit came last and on the table were salted almonds, peppermints…” reported a happy Zillah to her mother a few days later (Feb. 7, 1911).
“Tour la Reine”
Fancy dinners but with a limited wine selection. White or “green” Rhenish was the wine of choice for all courses. On one occasion Samian wine was served at a dinner in the U.S. Legation (Mar. 24, 1912). For their first formal dinner Bill and Zillah went shopping for wine, cigarettes, and flowers. “Wine is very cheap here (the only thing) and we bought the kind Mr. Hill always serves, a very light wine called ‘Tour la Reine.”
The wine took its name from a royal estate in Attika (near Nea Liosia) built by Queen Amalia as her personal getaway. At some point in the late 19th century it was bought by the Serpieri family and transformed into a plantation producing many goods including wine. (Ο Πύργος της Βασιλίσσης has now been renovated and a visit there is a wonderful weekend excursion. Read here about Queen Amalia’s gardens in Greece.)
Six, Seven, and Eight-Course Dinners
The multi-course dinners described by Zillah started with a soup (beef consommé, chicken or fish soup). During lunches and informal dinners Zillah would also serve fish chowder which “Evangelos makes as well as I do now.” (Feb. 17, 1911). “I cook the fish first, then take it from the stove and remove skin and bones; put it back and add one onion and sliced potatoes. When these are cooked, I add milk and before taking them from stove put some butter… I think I must have gotten the recipe from you at some time” she wrote to her mother a few days earlier (Feb. 7, 1911).
For the second course Evangelos usually served game, either cold, jellied pigeon or tarts with mashed birds, which Zillah also described it as “purée of snipe.” There is a great recipe of “Purée of Snipe a la Creole” in David S. Shields’s Southern Provisions: The Creation and Revival of a Cuisine (2015, p. 88). One must use fresh snipes which “should always be kept four days at least, before cooking. Never pluck them until you are ready to cook them…”. For Cyrus Ashton Rollin Sanborn’s birthday (Sanborn, aka CARS, was the School’s Secretary until 1912), Evangelos served fish as a second and game as a third course: “a pretty dish with mashed partridges made in a jelly mould with daisies near the top of the jelly, the petals made of hard boiled white of egg…” (Mar. 20, 1912).
Game and fish alternated as a second and third course, or game was skipped when the courses were fewer than six. For fish, Mrs. Gale, the wife of the U.S. Consul, served sole fried in batter; Mrs. Steele (whose husband was the manager of the Lake Copais Company) offered fry red mullets (μπαρμπουνάκια), while the incoming director of the German Archaeological Institute, Georg Karo, spared no cost serving broiled live lobsters with mushrooms (Mar 24, 1912 and Apr 20, 1911). On another occasion, Evangelos served “a delicious fish dressed with cream sauce and garnished with mushrooms and potatoes.”
Meat came next, served in one or two courses. Turkey with chestnut dressing was served for the School’s Thanksgiving of 1910, “roast turkey with salad of apples, lettuce, nuts, and maynonnaise” for Zillah’s first dinner at the School as a hostess, and “a big fat bird from Lake Copais” for Mrs. Steele’s dinner. Since the director of the School, Bert Hodge Hill, was a bachelor, the wives of the Visiting Professors would frequently act as hostesses for the School’s parties, or when the director was absent, Zillah and Bill would also be allowed to host parties at the School. Roast beef, steaks or lamb was the other choice. In addition to mushrooms, artichokes were a favorite side-dish of the local cooks and their foreign mistresses. On two occasions, chicken was served after the beef: at Karo’s dinner it was served broiled with lettuce salad, while at Mrs. Gale’s in the U.S. Legation, the “roasted chicken came with wonderful salad and currant jelly, delicious French peas” providing “a course by themselves” according to Zillah’s description (Mar. 24, 1912). This, after they had already consumed fried sole and roast beef with mushrooms and artichokes.
To describe these dinners using modern dietary terms, I would say they were rich in protein and fiber and low in carbs, since starch was limited to potatoes. Rice was completely absent. In Fannie Farmer’s Boston Cooking School Cookbook, although there are a couple of recipes for Turkish pilaf, rice does not constitute an important ingredient in North American cuisine. Likewise, the new generation of Greek cooks such as Tselementes and the School’s Evangelos, wishing to modernize the Greek cuisine by removing any Turkish influence, would have been equally happy to ban recipes with rice from the menu.
Dishes with macaroni or spaghetti are also missing from Zillah’s accounts. Although there are a few recipes for macaroni in Fannie Farmer’s cookbook, pasta may have been considered too ethnic and thus inappropriate for these social settings. In Greece, egg pasta such as χυλοπίττες, was also considered peasant food which had no place at a formal dinner, especially one prepared for foreigners.
What’s for Dessert?
It wasn’t pudding or cake or pie (although Zillah herself made delicious mince pies), but ice cream. The Boston Cooking School Cookbook lists a host of recipes for making ice cream in many flavors. For Zillah’s first dinner at the ASCSA, Evangelos outdid himself by serving a chocolate ice cream “made into big eggs with sugar browned and made into fine strings over the top”. On another occasion, a dinner she hosted at the “Continental Hotel,” the dessert was orange ice cream, while Mrs. Gale’s guests at the U.S. Legation were offered “ice cream with preserved ginger and sauce” (Mar. 24, 1912). There is also mention of Evangelos serving “Spanish cream filled with candied fruits and nuts” (Feb. 12, 1912). Cakes were reserved for special occasions, such as birthdays.
Dessert was followed by fruit, candies, salted almonds (Zillah does not miss a chance to mention the latter), and port. At Mrs. Gale’s dinner “coffee was served in an odd way. Instead of bringing in the cup quite prepared on a tray” coffee, milk, and sugar were brought in separately so that the guests could fill their cups as they wished (Mar. 24, 1912).
Letters Do Count
I started writing this post just before Christmas while cooking and baking for the holidays, and finished it in Rome between Italian lunches and dinners. It never felt like the work was spoiling the vacation.
Although Virginia Woolf, an avid diarist herself, remarked that women’s letters did not count in history writing, the letters of the School’s women, students or companions, do count. They are troves of microhistory which can be expanded into larger social history once enough information and context have been gathered (see Susan Whyman’s review of Sarah Pearsall’s Atlantic Families: Lives and Letters in the Later Eighteenth Century). Nellie Reed, Ida Thallon, Zillah Dinsmoor, and Dorothy Burr were keen observers of local life and customs, whether travelling in the country or living in a Balkan capital. “The people and modern things [as opposed to the ancient things that interested her husband Bill] interest me so much through the customs and habits” wrote Zillah to her mother during her first month in Greece (Oct. 20, 1910).
The transcription of Zillah Dinsmoor’s letters is an ongoing project which so far has depended on volunteer efforts. Her letters continue well into the 1920s, so there is much still to transcribe. This challenging work will, however, make valuable information available to scholars addressing gender and mobility studies, and the early history of the American School.
Καλή Χρονιά (και καλή όρεξη)! – Happy New Year (and bon appétit)!
The Man from Damascus, the Good Wife, and Baby Solon: R.I.P. at the American School of Classical Studies at AthensPosted: December 2, 2016
“You enter a reception hall of marble and go up a flight of marble steps which give the effect of entering a museum, as there are marble busts and old sculptures round that have been dug up…” Major A. Winsor Weld wrote to his wife on October 26th, 1918, upon entering the American School of Classical Studies at Athens (ASCSA or School hereafter). He and six other officers of the American Red Cross including Lieutenant Colonel Edward Capps would live in the School’s premises until July of 1919. (At the time one entered the Library through the Director’s residence.) Although the ASCSA was already building a small collection of antiquities –mostly pottery sherds and other small objects picked up on walks and informal surveys– the antiquities Weld described are of a different scale. The busts he refers to must have been plaster casts of originals similar to the one displayed above the fireplace mantle in the Library in a photo from 1902. I believe that the other “old sculptures” on display, the ones that “have been dug up,” were three Roman marble funerary reliefs unearthed in 1894, at the corner of Vasilissis Sophias (then Kephissias) and Merlin (then Academy) street, exactly opposite the Palace (now the Greek Parliament), during the construction of a mansion by Charles Edward Prior Merlin (1850-1898). Named after one of Merlin’s French ancestors, the “Hôtel Merlin de Douai” has housed the French Embassy since 1896.
“In digging for the foundations of the large house which Mr. C. Merlin, the well-known artist and photographer of Athens, is building at the corner of Academy and Kephissia Streets, the workmen came upon considerable remains of an ancient cemetery. At my suggestion Mr. Merlin made over to the American School the right of publishing these discoveries, and afterwards generously presented to the School three reliefs and one other inscribed stone, together with some smaller fragments. The finds were made in the autumn of 1894. Only a part of them came under my observation at the time; hence the description of the graves and their location rests in part upon the accounts of Mr. Merlin and his workmen” reported Thomas Dwight Goodell a year later (American Journal of Archaeology 10, 1895, pp. 469-479).
Posted by Curtis Runnels
Curtis Runnels, Professor of Archaeology at Boston University, here contributes to From the Archivist’s Notebook a story about the accidental discovery of an original letter by Heinrich Schliemann at an Antiquarian Book Fair in Boston. The letter was found inside an old Greek-English lexicon that Runnels bought for his book collection. In addition to doing fieldwork and publishing extensively on Palaeolithic archaeology in Greece, Runnels is also the author of The Archaeology of Heinrich Schliemann: An Annotated Bibliographic Handlist (Archaeological Institute of America; available also as an ebook from Virgo Books).
Experienced booksellers and collectors always look through old books that come into their possession to see what might have been left between the pages. Some people make collections of their finds, which range from the curious to the valuable. It can be an exciting business: almost anything may turn up in a book, from gold coins and paper money to love letters and flowers—even a strip of bacon (cooked or uncooked, one wonders). It was a matter of habit, therefore, that induced me to leaf through an old Greek-English lexicon that I purchased last November at the Boston International Antiquarian Book Fair. Of all the finds I have made in old books, this was perhaps the best: a letter written by Heinrich Schliemann. It was tucked inside the first volume of A Lexicon of Modern Greek-English and English-Modern Greek by N. Contopoulos, which was published in two volumes in 1867 [volume 1] and 1869 [volume 2] in Smyrna by B. Tatikidou (vol. 1) or B. Tatikianou (vol. 2). Read the rest of this entry »
On Saturday December 27, 1902, a well-publicized wedding took place in London. John Gennadius, former ambassador of Greece to England and a great book-collector, age 58, and Florence Laing, the youngest daughter of Samuel Laing and the widow of painter Edward Sherard Kennedy, age 47, were married in a double ceremony, first at the Greek Orthodox church of St. Sophia and later that day at the Anglican church of St. Peter’s at Cranley Gardens. There are no photos capturing the ceremony or the reception that followed, but Gennadius, the creator of more than seventy scrapbooks, did keep numerous newspaper clippings announcing this celebrated marriage. More than a few of them mention that the bride had an annual income of roughly 8,000 pounds, leading some to hint that it may have been a marriage of convenience. Time proved that their union was a harmonious one; it lasted 30 years until his death in 1932. She outlived him by another twenty years. The Gennadius Library of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens (ASCSA or the School hereafter) was the offspring of their union. The deed of gift was signed in 1922 and the building was completed in 1926.
The best source for John Gennadius’s life is a small, but thorough, booklet, Joannes Gennadios, the Man: A Biographical Sketch (1990), by Donald M. Nicol, director of the Gennadius Library (1989-1992). In it, there is very little information about the circumstances of how Gennadius met Florence Laing Kennedy. Nicol suspects that they were introduced by “Prince Alexis Dolgoruki, an acquaintance of Gennadios, [who] had married an English lady, Miss Fleetwood Wilson, who was an old friend of Florence.” In an endnote, Nicol mentions that Florence was an artist in her own right, having exhibited her “genre paintings” in the Royal Academy and other London galleries between 1880 and 1893. Read the rest of this entry »