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.”
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 »
Communism In and Out of Fashion: The American School of Classical Studies at Athens and the Cold WarPosted: September 1, 2016
Posted by Jack L. Davis
Jack L. Davis, Carl W. Blegen Professor of Greek Archaeology at the University of Cincinnati and a former director of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens (2007-2012), here contributes an essay about attitudes of the ASCSA and its members toward Communists and Communism in the 20th century.
“Feeling they were witnessing the demise of capitalism, many writers moved left, some because their working class origins helped them identify with the dispossessed, others because they saw socialism or Communism as the only serious force for radical change, still others because it was the fashionable thing to do; they went where the action was.”
Morris Dickstein, Dancing in the Dark (2009), pp. 16-17.
In 1974, when I first arrived at the American School of Classical Studies at Athens (ASCSA or the School hereafter), we youngsters were told that we should not express our political views in public. The ASCSA’s institutional mission might be hurt, were it perceived not to be neutral. In September 1974 that was certainly a reasonable position for the ASCSA to assume. Yet I was curious. In 1974, I was myself radicalized, and had definitely headed left. I could not condone U.S. policy in respect to the Junta, or the suppression of the Left in Greece. Could I say nothing? Had the ASCSA always maintained a position of strict neutrality? Or were its postures more convenient than sincere? Read the rest of this entry »
Posted by Dylan Rogers
Dylan Rogers holds a PhD from the University of Virginia, and he has been Assistant Director at the American School of Classical Studies at Athens since 2015. The essay he contributes to “From the Archivist’s Notebook” was inspired by his summer experience at the School.
“Summers at the ASCSA are a vibrant time for the School, full of students and scholars, with the buzz of activity and chats at Ouzo Hour. Taking on the role of the Assistant Director of the School last year, I was intrigued to learn that each Summer Session Director is given the title, “Gertrude Smith Professor.” At first, I was only vaguely familiar with Smith’s scholarship on Greek law. So, why would the School associate SS Directors with her? This led me on a quest to find out more about Smith—and to find out what her story exactly was. She must have had a passion for Greece, but why? And in what ways did she spread this love to others?”
Gertrude Elizabeth Smith (1894-1985) spent most of her adult life in Illinois. Born and raised in Peoria, Smith would later go on to receive her education at the University of Chicago, writing a PhD dissertation on Greek law– after which Smith would begin teaching at the university, eventually becoming the Edwin Olson Professor of Greek in 1933. From 1934 until her retirement in 1961, Smith was the Chairman of the Department of Classics at Chicago, making her a prominent female figure in the field of Classics in America in the 20th century. Smith also served as a founder of Eta Sigma Phi, the national Classics honor society, was the first woman to serve as the president of both the Classical Association of the Middle West and South (CAMWS, 1933-1934) and the American Philological Association (1958), and was a long serving member of the editorial board of the journal, Classical Philology (1925-1965). After her retirement from Chicago, Smith would go on to teach briefly at the University of Illinois, Loyola University in Chicago, and Vanderbilt University (Gagarin 1996-1997). Read the rest of this entry »
“The island of Skyros is fairly remote and inaccessible, on account of the winds. One consequence of its geographical location is that there is very little information about the island in the ancient authors, and the picture also given by the travelers is also fragmentary,” archaeologist Efi Sapouna-Sakellaraki could write in her archaeological guide to Skyros, as recently as 1998. Before her, American archaeologist Hazel Hansen, in writing about prehistoric Skyros in 1951, similarly described the island as “one of the most solitary islands in the Aegean for nearly all the other islands are nearer to one another or to the mainland.” Its isolation and the capricious sea between it and the mainland and Euboea are the reasons why Skyros is far less frequently visited…”.