Founded in 1881, the American School of Classical Studies at Athens (hereafter ASCSA or the School) was the third foreign archaeological school to be established in Greece and followed the French and German models. For the first thirty years, the activities of the American School were closely intertwined with those of the German Archaeological Institute at Athens (DAI or German Institute hereafter) and the Austrian Archaeological Institute of Athens (Austrian Institute or Station hereafter).
Eloquent testimony to their informal relationship is found in the ASCSA Annual Reports (AR) from 1887 onwards, where the directors of the American School repeatedly extended their profound gratitude to Wilhelm Dӧrpfeld, Director of the German Institute (1887-1912), Paul Wolters, Second Secretary of the German Institute (1887-1900), and Adolf Wilhelm, Secretary of the Austrian Institute (1898-1905), for allowing American students to attend their weekly seminars and archaeological excursions. Only occasionally, would the ASCSA similarly express its gratitude to a French or British colleague. In fact, the ASCSA relied so heavily on the German Institute that it delayed developing an independent academic program of its own until Dӧrpfeld stopped offering his lectures and tours in 1908.
In order to reconstruct the early decades of the School’s history and its relationship to the German Institute, in addition to the Annual Reports, I have also relied on a second type of primary source: personal correspondence and diaries. Both are rare, however. Unlike official documents that have a greater chance of survival (sometimes in more than one copy) the preservation of family correspondence is a matter of luck. Of the 200 men and women who attended the School’s academic program from 1881 to 1918, the outgoing letters of fewer than a dozen members have survived, and of those only the letters of few have found their way back to the School’s Archives.
By nature, each type of source provides the researcher with different kinds of information, even if both sources refer to the same people or events. Official reports are formal and, to a certain extent, sanitized documents that deliver the governing body’s mindset. I, personally, find private correspondence a more insightful source, although it can be subjective and overstated; nevertheless, it is the best thing that a historian has at his/her disposal for reconstructing the past because its testimonies offer contemporary perspectives. At a time when cell phones, text messages, and social media were not available, a letter was the only way for reporting one’s activities and also for expressing one’s feelings. Glimpses, for example, at the private correspondence of Nellie M. Reed, student of the School in 1895-1896, reveal a continuous stream of informal American-German gatherings during that year, otherwise undocumented in the Annual Reports.
In 2016, I was invited to participate in a conference that explored the early history of the German Archaeological Institute at Athens. I used that event as an opportunity to study and re-write the “German chapter” in the history of the American School. The narrative explores the catalysts that brought these two groups together and asks: Was it simply the vibrant and charismatic personality of Dӧrpfeld, who for three decades dominated the archaeological community of Athens, that was responsible for the rapprochement of the two institutions in the closing decades of the 19th century, or did the School’s close ties with the German and Austrian institutes reflect a larger educational trend that prevailed in American academic circles in the second half of the 19th century?
Wilhelm Dӧrpfeld and Adolf Wilhelm in the Annual Reports
For many years the directors of the American School expressed their gratitude to Dӧrpfeld and Wilhelm for allowing the School’s students to attend their weekly lectures, as well as participate in the archaeological excursions that Dӧrpfeld led twice a year. “He began his lectures on Saturday, the 10th of last October, and invited us to attend that and all his later lectures on every Saturday through the autumn and winter. I need not state how precious was this privilege, and how stimulating and suggestive we have found his lectures” acknowledged Director Charles Waldstein in his AR for 1891-1892. Ten years later, Director Rufus B. Richardson, at the end of his ten-year directorship at the American School thanked Dӧrpfeld and Wilhelm, noting that “these eminent specialists have by their kindness and generosity become, for all practical purposes, members of our faculty.” More than 15 years later, another director, Bert Hodge Hill would state in his Annual Report for 1908-1909:
“To hear him on Saturday afternoons has for so long been one of the great advantages of a student’s residence in Athens that it is difficult to conceive of the year’s work without his lectures. We shall wait long for another lecturer who can speak on the subject of Athenian topography with the authority, lucidity, and charm of Prof. Dӧrpfeld.”
The American students were also required to attend the lectures of Adolf Wilhelm (1864-1950) of the Austrian Archaeological Station at the Epigraphical Museum. “… and [he] invited our students to join him (along with several of the German students). This they did, and thus enjoyed the guidance of a scholar who has few equals in reading and explaining inscriptions,” reported Director Rufus B. Richardson in 1895. In fact, the Annual Professors of the American School would frequently give up their lectures at the Epigraphical Museum and surrender the field to Dr. Wilhelm “who was doing it better than I could hope to do” admitted J. R. S. Sterrett, one of the two visiting professors in 1896-1897. Four years later, in 1900-1901, the American students formed the largest part of Dr. Wilhelm’s class.
In addition to attending Dӧrpfeld’s Saturday talks and Wilhelm’s epigraphy courses, the students of the American School also had the opportunity to listen to Dr. Paul Wolters, the Deputy Secretary of the German Institute, lecturing on sculpture every other Wednesday (ASCSA Archives, Annual Report 1895-96, 22). Wolters (1858-1936) was later appointed professor of archaeology at the University of Würzburg (1900-1908), and in 1908 he succeeded Adolf Furtwängler at the University of Munich.
“A Prophet Piercing the Future”: Private Accounts of Wilhelm Dӧrpfeld
The information one gets about Dӧrpfeld and the others from the Annual Reports reveals the School’s high regard both for their generosity to the students and the quality of these lectures. From the private letters, we glean something very different, however. We catch valuable glimpses of their personalities and physical appearance.
I was blown away by the amount of detail that went into one’s letters when distance was real and not virtual, photography was expensive, and indoor photography a process with unreliable results. These letters are a good source of information for studying the social fabric, interaction, and shifting relations among the members of the archaeological community in Athens, but only part of them has so far been transcribed. Unfortunately, reading, transcribing, and editing personal letters or diaries is a laborious and time-consuming task, and one that is usually not rewarded with instant gratification.
Nellie Marie Reed (1872-1957), a graduate of Cornell University, attended the ASCSA in 1895-1896. Twice a week she wrote long letters to her mother and brother about her life in Athens. It was her first time away from home, and she wanted to share with her family every moment of her Greek experience. In her case, it might well be said that each of her descriptions is worth a thousand images.
“Yesterday afternoon we all went to Dr. Dӧrpfeld’s lecture which lasted from 2-5 on the spot… He speaks exquisite German, clearly and slowly, and I was more than happy to be able to understand everything, though of course it was hard work and very tiring. He is a fine man, about medium height, a rather light moustache, an exceedingly pleasant face, and exceptionally beautiful hands” wrote Nellie to her mother on November 10, 1895.
No image could have portrayed Dӧrpfeld’s commanding presence better than another of her descriptions after having attended the Open Meeting of the German Institute: “He simply demolishes with one blow the opponents who hold different views and proves the strength of his own. He is magnificent in his simplicity and modesty” (Reed to her family, March 1, 1896). And when she writes to her mother that he “sounded like a prophet piercing the future,” I suspect that she was repeating verbatim the comments of some senior archaeologist (Reed to her family, December 15, 1895). Little did she know that many of Dӧrpfeld’s theories would eventually fail the test of time.
Simple, charming, and genius are three characterizations of Dӧrpfeld that are repeated in people’s private correspondence. Four years later, in 1899, a young Ida C. Thallon (she would later marry the School’s Director Bert Hodge Hill) would also describe Dӧrpfeld as “the loveliest, most charming man imaginable, as simple and unaffected as possible and you would never think from his manner that he is about the biggest celebrity in his line” (ASCSA Archives, Ida Thallon Hill Papers, box 3, folder 3, Thallon to her mother, November 6-7, 1899).
It is also worth sharing the account of Theodore W. Heermance (1872-1905), who had attended Dӧrpfeld’s lectures first as a student, in 1894-1896, and almost a decade later, as a peer when he became Director of the American School (1903-1905). We do not have any descriptions from his student years but the one from 1903 is telling enough. After attending one of Dӧrpfeld’s lectures on the Old Athena temple, Heermance, still full of respect for the master, remarked in one of his letters:
“He did not finish, though he talked over 2 ½ hours. It was a masterly presentation of his argument, and yet I now count myself among his opponents having been converted from being an adherent a year ago… I was hoping he would have some new arguments…, but there was nothing he said yesterday which he has not already printed” (ASCSA Archives, Theodore W. Heermance Papers, box 2, folder 9, Heermance to his mother, January 18, 1903 (letter #27).
Heermance belonged to a new generation of American archaeologists ready to take the torch from Dӧrpfeld. However, when he heard that Dӧrpfeld considered leaving Athens because he had been offered a position in the Berlin Museum, he admitted to his mother: “Athens without D. would hardly seem the same place. Everything has revolved about him as a center for so long” (ASCSA Archives, Theodore W. Heermance Papers, box 2, folder 9, Heermance to his mother, February 15, 1903 (letter #31).
Heermance would not live long enough -he died prematurely from typhoid fever in 1905- to see the “darling” of the American archaeological community falling off the pedestal after his retirement because of his growing intolerance to the views of younger scholars –such as William Bell Dinsmoor and their famed debate over the different phases of the Parthenon.
The Peloponnesian and Island Trips: Official and Private Accounts
Today the American School is famous for its vigorous on-site academic program which includes five archaeological excursions throughout Greece and one or two outside the country. What is not widely known is that the School did not really develop its independent academic program until the first decade of the 20th century, after Dӧrpfeld retired from lecturing in 1908. Although the directors of the School would lead small bike trips in the Greek countryside, the real excitement for the American students was to participate in Dӧrpfeld’s Peloponnesian tour and the more famous “Inselreise.”
“Nearly every member of the School proposes to share in part the tour conducted by him through Peloponnesus, and to take the whole of his Island Tour. As these tours occupy about a month, it may seem like breaking up the School, but it would be most unwise, in my judgment, to deter our students in any way from sharing this great privilege… I am most happy to have then all go, and shall go with them,” wrote director Richardson in his AR for 1894-1895.
What is also not mentioned in the official reports but comes up in the private letters is that women were discouraged by Dӧrpfeld from participating in the Peloponnesian trip because of its rough conditions which included sleeping in tents or poorly kept inns, but were encouraged to join the island trip because it offered boat cabins and hot meals.
Ruth Emerson and Nellie Reed were among the 62 participants in the “Inselreise” of 1896. Ruth Emerson’s hand-drawn itinerary complements Nellie Reed’s account of the trip. From Nellie’s descriptions, one gathers that the island trip attracted most of the archaeological and diplomatic community of Athens (although the French archaeologists almost never joined any of Dӧrpfeld’s trips), as well as members of the newly founded American School of Classical Studies in Rome. Even “Mr. Schliemann’s son Agamemnon took the trip” noted Nellie in one of her letters (Reed to her family, May 15, 1896). We are very lucky to have these letters for without them we would have not known the extent, frequency, and composition of some of the American-German/Austrian social gatherings. Attracting a younger crowd, these so-called “Kneipe evenings,” frequently included Hans von Fritze, Albert Schiff, and Wilhelm Wilberg (1872-1956), with whom Nellie appeared to have fallen in love (ASCSA Archives, Nellie M. Reed Papers, box 1, Reed to her family, May 16, 1896). Wilberg, an accomplished architect, would participate for many years in the Austrian excavations at Ephesus (1899-1908, 1911 and 1913), before becoming the Director of the Austrian Archaeological Institute at Athens (1912-1921).
To Ida Thallon, who took part in the Inselreise of 1900, we owe a wonderful description of Baron Friedrich Hiller von Gaertringen (1864-1947), who was excavating at Thera. “[…] he is very rich and interested in archaeology and does it at his own expense… The baron is delightful, exactly like a man in a play or a book, but which I never thought really grew in ordinary life. Rather plump with a curly beard… He was the soul of hospitality; we had all sorts of good things to eat, sweet chocolate, loukoumi, biscuits, bottled soda and cognac, […] such a jovial funny man, we all are devoted to him. He has done fine work in his excavation and has just gotten under full swing for this season” (ASCSA Archives, Ida Thallon Hill Papers, box 3, folder 3, Thallon to her mother, May 8, 1900 [letter #77]).
Unlike Nellie, who was positively disposed to German culture, Ida was snobbish and critical of her German travel companions during both trips. In Olympia, she described them as “funny… with the most awful clothes and lack of collars and shaggy appearances, [as] queer as anything you ever saw”(ASCSA Archives, Ida Thallon Hill Papers, box 3, folder 3, Thallon to her mother, April 22, 1900 [letter #71]). As for the Germans of the Inselreise only Georg Karo (1872-1963) escaped Ida’s snide comments. In presenting some of her fellow travelers to her mother Ida scribbled: “One Mr. Karo was born in Italy (German parents) but was more like an Englishman, spoke exactly like one without the suspicion of accent and acted and looked like one, a very brilliant man and knew lots; also a great ladies’ man” (ASCSA Archives, Ida Thallon Hill Papers, box 3, folder 3, Thallon to her mother, May 13, 1900 [letter #79]).
The Difficult 1910s
Karo with his cosmopolitan manners and fluency in languages would also favorably impress William Bell Dinsmoor’s young bride, Zillah. (About Zillah Pierce Dinsmoor (1886-1960), see also “Letters from a New Home: Early 20th Century Athens Through the Eyes of Zillah Dinsmoor.”) Her letters describe enjoyable lunches and elaborate multi-national dinners at the German Institute with Karo as host. “Mr. Karo, of course, speaks anything and everything perfectly” admiringly noted Zillah to her mother on January 10th, 1912. (Suggested reading: “Expat Feasts in Athens on the Eve of the Balkan Wars.“) Zillah’s glowing reports of Karo’s social gatherings would, however, not last long. The day she heard about the sinking of the Lusitania, she refused with a sharp written rebuke to attend a dinner organized by Karo. And he replied to the Dinsmoors that “henceforth he will have nothing to do with them.” He would recognize Dinsmoor in his scientific capacity but no further (ASCSA Archives, Carl W. Blegen Papers, box 4, diary no. 7, December 20, 1914 – August 7, 1915, entry for May 10, 1915).
Bert Hodge Hill and Carl W. Blegen, Director and Secretary of the School respectively, would continue, of all the staff and students of the foreign schools, to attend the open meetings of the German School during the Great War until 1916, when the Institute was entrusted to the Greek Ministry of Education (Marchand 1996, 248). “In the evening we all (except Swift) went down to German School to Karos [sic]. Only Germans there besides us” scribbled Blegen on his personal diary on January 26, 1915. A month before, on Winkelmann’s day, Dec. 9, 1914, and a few months after Germany had gone into war with most European countries, the German Archaeological Institute had honored Bert Hodge Hill by making him a corresponding member (ASCSA Archives, Bert H. Hill Papers, box 33). Earlier in the year, Dinsmoor had also been elected a corresponding member of the Institute. Both Hill and Dinsmoor had no problem accepting and retaining their memberships “in spite of the October 3, 1914 ‘Aufruf an die Kulturwelt’, a very nationalistic manifesto, which was signed by many German academics” (Dyson 2016, 229). Finally, as late as November 7, 1916, Blegen and Karo would meet at the National Archaeological Museum to compare sherds from Tiryns and Korakou (ASCSA Archives, Carl W. Blegen Papers, box 4, diary no. 9, November 1, 1916 – April 1, 1917, entry for November 7, 1916).
“Germanophilia,” Independent Research, and the Expansion of Knowledge
Having examined the situation on the ground in Greece, I now would like to return to my original question: What was responsible for this remarkable phase of “Germanophilia” during the early decades of the ASCSA’s existence? For starters, there can be no doubt that personal agency played a major role. Dӧrpfeld’s charismatic personality, his eloquence, and the ability to excite his audience are all well attested. To this we could add the loss of the Delphi excavation to the French in the early 1890s. Losing Delphi appears to have nurtured some anti-French feelings among the members of the American School (Lord 1947, 58-62). (On losing the Delphi excavation, see “The American Dream to Excavate Delphi or How the Oracle Vexed the Americans (1879-1891).”)
Besides the obvious, what led me to look deeper into the issue of “Germanophilia” was the apparent ease with which the students of the American School attended Dӧrpfeld’s and Wilhelm’s lectures. Profiling the School’s early directors and professors also produced interesting results. Of the first ten ASCSA directors, eight had spent anywhere from a semester to several years in Germany, and six had received their Ph.D. from a German university. The same is true for the first two chairs of the School’s Managing Committee, John Williams White (1881-1887), Professor at Harvard, and Thomas Day Seymour (1887-1901), Professor at Yale. (White spent several years in Germany (1871-1877) studying classics at the University of Berlin, while Seymour studied classical philology for two years (1870-1872) in Leipzig and Berlin.) Of the first seventeen annual visiting professors, I have evidence that twelve matriculated at German universities. There could well be more, as in the case of White whose German experience was suppressed in his American obituaries of 1917, as well as the fact that he had been honored by the Kingdom of Prussia in 1904.
While trying to understand why so many American classicists were matriculating in Germany, and not in England or France, for example, I came across a significant body of literature concerning the “German Model” of education in America in the late 19th century. And it was not just the long tradition and excellence of German universities in the field of classics that made Germany the main destination for young American classicists. There is evidence that “ultimately some nine or ten thousand Americans matriculated in German Universities between the end of the Napoleonic Wars and the outbreak of the First World War” (Turner and Bernard 1993, 88, note 5).
In the decades after the American Civil War, higher education in the U.S. experienced profound change. Before the War, American colleges resembled high schools where students learned classical languages, rhetoric, simple mathematics, and religion. Recitation tested by regular examinations was the primary method of teaching. For about three decades after the Civil War, American colleges frequently sent their presidents and faculty to Germany with one mission, to study the German University. Germany was considered the Camelot of erudition (Turner 1999, 26; McCaughey 1974, 264-265). (For a more recent study of the educational pilgrimages that Americans paid to Germany in the 19th century, see Werner 2013. Werner also discusses the practice of establishing well-connected American colonies in Germany, which allowed the U.S. students to study in more than one university). On many occasions, German universities would serve as extensions of the American ones, as is the case of the “Yale-Leipzig-Gӧttingen network” (Werner 2013, 6). In addition to bringing back Wissenschaft, the Americans imported from Germany the concept of independent research and the flexible curriculum. American educators, however, would take independent research one step further by creating the graduate school, which did not exist in the German universities of the 19th century, thus giving birth to a new type of school: the research university.
Although Johns Hopkins is usually credited as being the first research university in the United States, places like Cornell and the University of Michigan were the forerunners of reforms in American education (Turner and Bernard 1993). Even more important from my perspective, however, is the fact that modern historians of education such as James Turner and Lawrence Veysey identify the American School of Classical Studies as the first American research institute in the humanities (Turner 1999, 298, especially note 4).
Discovering Nero’s Inscription: A Case in Point
I would like to illustrate this dynamic with an example from Cornell University because one of my main sources for this paper, Nellie M. Reed, graduated from there. Cornell’s first president and “perhaps the most significant of the university builders in the United States,” Andrew Dickson White (1832-1918), was one of the biggest proponents of the new research university (Turner and Bernard 2000, 225). The year Nellie was in Athens (1895-1896) there were two more people from Cornell in town: visiting professor Benjamin Ide Wheeler (1854-1927) and student Eugene Plumb Andrews (1866-1957). Wheeler was a Professor of Comparative Philology at Cornell and later became president of the University of California (1899-1919). He was also a product of the “German model,” having received his Ph.D. from the University of Heidelberg in 1885 after several years of study at German universities. Both Nellie and Eugene had taken many classes from him at Cornell, and Nellie Reed was thus an indirect product of the “German model,” which explains her deep admiration for the German/Austrian archaeological community of Athens. Andrews’s story is even more interesting because his academic work in 1895-1896 is proof of the new kind of scholarship that American universities were producing by the end of the 19th century.
Here is how Andrews described his experience with Dӧrpfeld that led to a major discovery:
“One cold afternoon in December  a group of shivering men and women followed a lecturer in and out among the blocks of marble that strew the Acropolis of Athens… It was an illustrated lecture on the Parthenon, with the Parthenon itself for illustration—one of the outdoor archaeological lectures which Dr. Wilhelm Dӧrpfeld of the German Institute gives every Saturday afternoon during the winter… We were gathered before the east front of the temple. The large holes, explained the lecturer, once served to hold great metal shields in place against the marble… Between the shields groups of metal letters were fastened, as these nail-holes that dot the spaces show, but what the letters were, or what they spelled, is not known.”
Dӧrpfeld concluded his Parthenon lecture by saying that it was possible “to determine from the relative positions of the holes what the letters were, and thus to recover the inscription. Such things have been done, and it is time that this was done” (Andrews 1897).
The new desire for independent research that universities such as Cornell and research institutes such as the American School were imbuing in their students, combined with Dӧrpfeld’s keen observations led Andrews to take up the call and suspend himself from the east side of the Parthenon. From this rather precarious position, he discovered Emperor Nero’s effaced inscription, which shed new light on the history of Athens.
Despite his remarkable discovery, Andrews never published the inscription because it was connected with Nero. “The inscription proved to be a dedication to Nero, whereat I’m much disgusted,” he wrote to his sister two days after having presented the results of his discovery to the Open Meeting of February 21st at the American School. Even half a century later, in 1952, Andrews would confide “I felt no elation at having torn from the Parthenon its shameful character” (Carroll 1982, 7). Finally, it was Sterling Dow who deciphered the remainder of the inscription from Andrews’s squeezes in 1972. (For a publication and commentary on the inscription, see Carroll 1982.)
Coming of Age
After 1900 one discerns a subtle shift in the curriculum vitae of the directors and professors of the American School, which no longer include years or even semesters in German Universities. Once the reformation of the American University created a series of new graduate schools, the flow of American students to German universities was significantly reduced. They would still go to Germany but during sabbatical leaves, not while in graduate school. Already from the first decade of the 20th century, we see a new generation of American graduate students arriving in Athens, intellectually confident, and better prepared than their predecessors. Some, but not all, would attend the lectures of Rudolph Heberdey on Archaic Sculpture, Georg Karo on “Smaller Antiquities,” and Anton von Premerstein on Epigraphy. And some would get bored:
“Once on shipboard, we joined a group of fourteen German scholars led by Dr. Karo, director of DAI, and Dr. Wilberg, Director of the Austrian School. I had earlier met most of these men in one way or another and so we often practiced exchanges of stilted conversation… On April 6, we landed at Candia and spent the whole day in the museum trying to concentrate on Karo’s painfully detailed discussions, mostly of vases and minor objects. By way of a change, on Monday Wilberg led us through the huge palace of Knossos, but his method proved nearly as boring…,” wrote one of the School’s students, Emerson H. Swift, in 1912-1913 (Swift 1975, 38).
By 1910 the American School had already built its own, independent academic program, and private testimonia attest to a growing tendency to interact more with the neighboring British School. In fact, it was Hill, not Karo, who would take over Dӧrpfeld’s Athenian walks and establish the American School’s own tradition of on-site lectures by the likes of Oscar Broneer, William Dinsmoor, and Eugene Vanderpool. Moreover, where in the 1890s the American School looked up to the German Institute for guidance, by the 1900s there were signs that the situation had reversed. In 1907, Dӧrpfeld after consulting with Karo announced to the German Archaeological Institute in Berlin that they had no objection to accepting women archaeologists in Athens following the successful paradigm of the American and British Schools, which not only accepted women into their academic program but even allowed them to direct excavations. Two years later (1909-1910), Margarete Bieber would be one of the four recipients of the travel fellowship yearly awarded by the German Archaeological Institute for work in Greece and Italy (Bonfante 1996, 159).
Despite how the Dinsmoors reacted to the sinking of the Lusitania, there is no strong evidence in the School’s Archives to support the idea that WWI created a breach in the relations of the two institutions. It is clear that Karo continued to enjoy the friendship of Hill and Blegen after the war. But their bond was one formed before the outbreak of the hostilities. At the same time, there is also no evidence that the two institutions re-established their close, pre-war ties after 1918. Charles Waldstein, the Jewish-American Director of the American School who had acquired his Ph.D. from Heidelberg and whose family had emigrated from Austria, would go as far as to change his name to Walston at the end of the Great War, so as not to be imagined a German. Perhaps even more telling, when the American School organized its own island cruise in 1923, there were no German students or professors among the many participants, unlike the cruises of the 1890s and early 1900s. (See “All Aboard”. Cruising the Aegean in 1923.”)
I am most grateful to Ann Townsend and Mary Townsend Bartholomew, granddaughters of Nellie Reed, for depositing faithful transcriptions of Reed’s letters to her family at the ASCSA Archives in 2010. I also thank them for allowing me to quote from Nellie’s letters. Reed’s letters are an invaluable source of information for a period that is otherwise poorly represented in the School’s Archives.
 The paper was published in Die Abteilung Athen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts und die Aktivitäten Deutscher Archäologen in Griechenland 1874-1933, ed. K. Sporn and A. Kankeleit, Berlin 2019, pp. 253-267.
 For a thorough presentation of Karo’s life, Lindenlauf 2015; Additional information can be found in Marchand 1996, 244-245, 247-248, 254-255; Davis 2010; and “A Preamble to the Nazi Holocaust in Greece: Two Micro-Histories from the American School of Classical Studies at Athens.”
 I thank Dr. Alexandra Kankeleit for sharing with me the letter that Dӧrpfeld addressed to the General Secretary of the Royal Archaeological Institute in Berlin (Kaiserlich Deutches Archäologisches Institut, Berlin), on February 25, 1907.
E. P. Andrews, 1897. “How a Riddle of the Parthenon was Unraveled,” The Century Magazine 54.2 (June 1897), 301-309.
L. Bonfante, 1996. “Bieber Margarete (1879-1978),” in Encyclopedia of the History of Classical Archaeology, ed. N. Thomson de Grummond, London, 159-160.
K. K. Carroll, 1982. “The Parthenon Inscription,” Greek, Roman and Byzantine Monographs 9, Durham, North Carolina.
J. L. Davis, 2010. “That Special Atmosphere Outside of National Boundaries. Three Jewish Directors and the American School of Classical Studies at Athens,” ASAtene 87, 133-145
S. L. Dyson, 1998. Ancient Marbles to American Shores. Classical Archaeology in the United States, Philadelphia.
A. Lindenlauf, 2015. “Georg Heinrich Karo: ‘Gelehrter und Verteidiger Deutschen Geistes’,” JdI 130, 259-354.
L. E. Lord, 1947. A History of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 1882-1942. An Intercollegiate Project, Cambridge, Mass.
S. L. Marchand, 1996. Down from Olympus. Archaeology and Philhellenism in Germany, 1750-1970, Princeton.
R. A. McCaughey, 1974. “The Transformation of American Academic Life: Harvard University 1821-1892,” Perspectives in American History 8, 239-332.
V. Mitsopoulos-Leon, 2004. “Adolf Wilhelm und das Österreichische Archäologische Institut,” in Αττικαί Επιγραφαί. Πρακτικά συμποσίου εις μνήμην Adolf Wilhelm (1864-1950), ed. A. Matthaiou, Athens, 1-6.
E. H. Swift, 1975. Youthful Rambles on the Trail of the Classics, 1912-1915, Gilroy, California.
J. C. Turner, 1999. The Liberal Education of Charles Eliot Norton, Baltimore.
J. Turner – P. Bernard, 1993. “The ‘German Model’ and the Graduate School. The University of Michigan and the Origin of the American University,” History of Higher Education Annual 13, 69-98.
J. Turner – P. Bernard, 2000. “The German Model and the Graduate School. The University of Michigan and the Origin of the American University,” in The American College in the Nineteenth Century, ed. R. Geiger, Nashville, 221-241.
BY JUDITH LEVINE
Judith Robinson Levine has a high fashion design degree from Les Écoles de la Chambre Syndicale de la Couture Parisienne in Paris, France. She worked for 12 years in film and still photography in France as a stylist and a costume designer. Currently, she is a photo stylist specializing in package photography and, in her spare time, she does interior design and a variety of special projects for private clients and non-profits. She lives in Fayetteville, Arkansas with her husband Daniel Levine, Professor of Classical Studies at the University of Arkansas, whom she has assisted during his ASCSA Summer Session directorships in Greece.
In 2008 Daniel and I spent spring semester in Greece. I spent a lot of time in the Archives of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens (ASCSA or School hereafter) researching the history of the School’s Summer Sessions. In studying old logbooks and Annual Reports, I was fascinated by the WW II years and the story of Anastasios Adossides, Administrator and Business Manager of the Athenian Agora Excavations from 1931 to 1942. He and his wife Elie, who was active with the Red Cross, were responsible for making sure that the School was occupied by the Swiss and Swedish Red Cross commissions to Greece during the war; thus they ensured that the School’s property in Kolonaki could never be confiscated by the Germans (Meritt 1984, p. 17).
Jack Davis in an essay titled “The American School of Classical Studies and the Politics of Volunteerism” noted about Adossides and Edward Capps, Chair of the School’s Managing Committee: “The careers of two individuals exemplify the sorts of ties forged between ASCSA members and influential Greek statesmen, and the resulting benefits to the School. The first is Anastasios Adossides (1873–1942), administrator of Samos in 1914–1915, a member of the provisional government of Venizelos in Thessaloniki in 1917, governor of Macedonia in 1918–1919, prefect of the Cyclades and Samos in the early 1920s, and subsequently the business manager of the Athenian Agora and consultant to the ASCSA (1931–1942)… Their personal relationship was valuable to the School during the negotiations between the ASCSA and the Greek government that established the legal groundwork for the inception of excavations of the Athenian Agora in 1931” (Davis 2013, p. 16). Sylvie Dumont in her recent publication of Vrysaki: A Neighborhood Lost in Search for the Athenian Agora (Princeton 2020) has dedicated an entire chapter on Adossides’s role in the expropriation of the land where the ancient Agora once stood (pp. 63-73).
Adossides died in October 1942 during the great starvation that afflicted the city of Athens during the war. His death was reported with great sadness, and it was noted that his very last words to his wife were messages to his successor (lawyer Aristeides Kyriakides) so that this important preservation work might continue. One only needs to read two of the necrologies that his American friends wrote to understand how devastated the School was by his loss (ASCSA Annual Report 1942-43, pp. 15-17; The Philhellene, vol. II, 1942-1943, no. 3-4, p. 3-4.)
The completion of the initial phase of the Agora Excavations followed the reconstruction of the Stoa of Attalos (see also Liz Papageorgiou, “That Unspeakable Stoa“), and the landscaping of the Athenian Agora in the 1950s by the American landscape architect Ralph Griswold; the latter project included the installation of commemorative benches and exedras:
“During that first winter and spring of 1954-55 the modern retaining wall below the Hephaisteion was removed, and earth terraces were restored and planted. The Garden of Hephaistos, the slopes of Kolonos Agoraios, the whole west half of the Agora were planted, and graveled walks with benches (two in memory of Anastasios Adossides and Margaret MacVeagh) at intervals were laid out. General public interest was aroused and maintained by special planting ceremonies. The enterprise had been inaugurated on June 4, 1954 by Their Majesties when King Paul planted an oak and Queen Frederika a laurel beside the Altar of Zeus Agoraios…” (Meritt 1984, p. 189).
In addition to the bench, “an olive was planted nearby for Mr. Adossides, where his office once stood” (Meritt 1984, p. 190).
We know about Adossides. But who was Margaret MacVeagh, in memory of whom the second bench was built? Margaret Charlton Lewis (1886-1947) of New York was an alumna of Bryn Mawr College (Class of 1908), and “a serious student of classical languages” according to John Iatrides, who edited and published Ambassador MacVeagh Reports: Greece, 1933-1947 (Princeton 1980). She married Lincoln MacVeagh (1890-1972) in 1917.
Lincoln (Harvard Class 1913), a personal friend of Franklin Delano Roosevelt and his wife Eleanor, was appointed U.S. Minister to Greece from 1933 to 1941, served as Ambassador to the Greek government in exile in Cairo in 1943-1944, and after Greece’s liberation, was back in Athens as Ambassador from 1944 to 1947. Their daughter Margaret Ewen (Peggy), born in 1920, started learning Greek at the age of nine and not only developed a serious and lasting interest in Greek literature and culture, but also inspired her son, Stuart MacVeagh Thorne, to become an archaeologist (Thorne has participated in many excavations in Greece, including Isthmia, Palaikastro on Crete, and more recently Geraki in Laconia).
Lincoln and his wife Margaret were both accomplished scholars and helped raise funds for the Agora excavations and the American School. They published together “Greek Journey” in 1937, and before that, she had translated and he published George Clemenceau’s American Reconstruction, 1865-1870: And the Impeachment of President Johnson (1928). Lincoln also published a long essay “On the Margins of Greek Tourism” (1939), and ardently fundraised for the restoration of the Lion of the Amphipolis in the 1930s. (For Lincoln MacVeagh’s philhellenism and his involvement with Greek archaeology, see Betsy Robinson’s excellent essay, “The Pride of Amphipolis.”) Margaret died in Athens in 1947 at age 61 and Lincoln left Greece soon afterward. I believe that the bench was a memorial to that good match; in fact, it commemorates the dates of their marriage, 1917-1947.
Ten years later, in April 2018, during our semester off-campus, while walking in the Agora Park, we saw the Adossides bench and I remembered his dedication to preserving the School’s buildings from pillaging during WW II. A month later, Deputy Director Craig Mauzy was able to secure permission from the Ephorate of Antiquities to clean and recolor the engraved lettering on that bench and also on the one dedicated to Margaret MacVeagh along the steps leading up from the Tholos to the south side of the Hephaisteion, where the Adossides bench stands.
In May 2018, armed with neutral-PH dish-soap, water, and a toothbrush, I was able to clean the two inscriptions of the dirt, moss, and lichen that had accumulated over the years and then refill the letters with terra-cotta color similar to that which had been used originally in 1954. It was a joy to be able to make a good head start on the renovation of this memorial project. The restoration of the Agora Park benches will continue as time and funds allow.
Soon after the cleaning operation, I contacted MacVeagh’s grandson, Stuart Thorne, who was kind enough to send me a copy of what appears to be Carl W. Blegen’s handwritten remarks at the dedication ceremony for the MacVeagh bench in 1956 during the 75th-anniversary celebration of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens. Blegen read:
“Just above the Tholos is a stone seat, presented as a memorial for Margaret MacVeagh by her husband Lincoln MacVeagh. Margaret MacVeagh, as those of you who had the privilege of knowing her warm and gracious personality will remember, had a deep-rooted abiding love for Greece, ancient, medieval, and modern. She made many journeys about the country, knew at first hand its people of today, its natural beauties, its flowers, its birds, its legends, its archeological treasures. She took a keen interest in excavations, was at home on the Acropolis, familiar with Mycenae and Tiryns; came twice to Troy and saw some of the many “cities” emerging to view, looked in at Pylos and took part in the actual digging of a tholos tomb.
A friend of the American School and a supporter of its work, she came often to the Agora, following regularly the progress of this great excavation. She liked to stroll about the site and would frequently sit during the sunset hour on the slope below the “Theseum” whence she could look out across the widening expanse of the area under clearance and see the lovely violet glow ascending the side of distant Mt. Hymettus. As nearly as may be to this favorite vantage point the bench has now been placed. From it may other lovers of Greece find a like enjoyment and satisfaction in close communion with the ancient and modern spirit of this land of Hellas!”
Many thanks to Agora Deputy Director Craig Mauzy, Registrar Sylvie Dumont, and Conservator Maria Tziotziou for advice and facilitation of this collaborative effort, and to Jennifer Hoenig Bakatselou for much-appreciated assistance and encouragement.
Davis, J. L. 2013. “ in “The American School of Classical Studies and the Politics of Volunteerism,” in Philhellenism, Philanthropy, or Political Convenience: American Archaeology in Greece, ed. J. L. Davis and N. Vogeikoff-Brogan, Hesperia 82:1, Special Issue, pp. 15-48.
Dumont, S. 2020. Vrysaki: A Neighborhood Lost in Search for the Athenian Agora, Princeton.
MacVeagh, L. 1939. On the Margins of Greek Tourism, Athens.
Meritt, L. S. 1984. History of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 1939-1980, Princeton.
BY CURTIS RUNNELS – PRISCILLA MURRAY
Curtis Runnels, Professor of Archaeology at Boston University and an expert in Palaeolithic archaeology in Greece, and his wife Priscilla Murray, an anthropologist and Classical archaeologist, here contribute to From the Archivist’s Notebook a story about the purchase of a miniature portrait of an elegant, young woman in an antique fair, their research to identify both the subject of the portrait and its creator, and, finally, their thrilling discovery.
Even from a distance, the small portrait of a beautiful young woman had a commanding presence. We bought the miniature watercolor on ivory (less than 10 by 8 cm) at an antique fair in Holliston, a town near Boston, Massachusetts, because the sitter was dressed a la Gréque with a Greek column in the background. The quality of the painting, which points to a very accomplished miniaturist, together with the appearance and accoutrements of the subject, suggest that the painting was an important commission by a socially prominent person. We loved the painting, and of course, we were intensely interested in the identity of the young woman.
The antiques dealer could not provide a provenance, but we believe that the picture spent much of its life in Boston or thereabouts. The period frame, perhaps original, is marked “Foster Bros., Boston,” and the style of the miniature is typical for miniature artists working in Boston and New York City in the 1830s and 1840s. (The Foster Brother Records are housed in the American Art Archives.) Although miniature watercolors on ivory were popular in the years before photography, the quality of this miniature was such that only the most affluent could have afforded the commission. So who would have chosen to be depicted in a “Greek” costume and setting?
The sitter wears a white dress with a striking blue shawl. She has a red tasseled hat of the kind made popular by Queen Amalia of Greece (1818-1875). Pearls are strung in her hair and she has pearls around her neck. The dress and jewelry suggest high status and wealth, and the beauty of the sitter is remarkable. We listed names of prominent young women in New York and Boston and considered the possibilities. We concluded that this may be a portrait of Julia Ward, a “bluestocking” born into an affluent New York family and a notable heiress who at the age of 24 moved to Boston about the time this portrait was painted to marry Samuel Gridley Howe (1801-1876), the famed physician, philanthropist, and Philhellene. Did Julia Ward Howe have this miniature painting executed as a gift for Samuel Gridley when they were engaged, or soon after their marriage, as was the custom of the day?
We studied the picture and frame carefully but could find no identifying information, so we had to look elsewhere for clues to the identity of the sitter. The young woman in the painting resembles the marble bust of Julia Ward at age 22 by Shobal Vail Clevenger (1812-1843) in the Boston Public Library, which is illustrated in the Pulitzer-Prize winning biography of Julia written by two of her daughters (Laura E. Richards and Maude Howe Elliott, Julia Ward Howe, 1819-1910, Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1915).
We have other evidence that our portrait is Julia. One of the most celebrated miniaturists working in this period was Anne Hall of New York (1792-1863), who is known to have painted Julia Ward as a child with her siblings Samuel and Henry. Anne Hall was also directly connected to the Ward family through her sister Eliza’s marriage to Henry Ward and is known to have made several paintings of the Ward family. The style of our miniature is consistent with those miniatures of Anne Hall that we have examined. The most conclusive evidence that the young woman in our picture is Julia comes again from her daughters’ biography where we learn that one of Julia’s prized possessions was a string of pearls given to her by her father, fabulously valuable jewelry for the time.
Even better is the account by a visitor to New York City in 1843 that describes Julia as she strolled down Broadway with her fiancé, Samuel Gridley Howe. The witness relates that “the pretty blue-stocking, Miss Julia Ward, with her admirer, Dr. Howe…had on a blue satin cloak and a white muslin dress” (Richards and Elliott 1915, p. 75). We see this very outfit, along with the famous pearls, in our painting. And what about the Greek cap? Julia’s daughters relate that the Wards gave sanctuary to a Greek orphan child, Christy Evangelides, for a time, so such a cap might have been familiar to them. Or perhaps it was a token to Samuel Gridley Howe’s fame as a Philhellene?
All together, we believe that there is strong circumstantial evidence that the sitter is Julia Ward Howe. Yet one difficulty remains. Julia had red-gold hair and the person in our painting has brown hair. Was this perhaps artistic license? Our question was answered, once again, in the daughters’ biography: red hair was unfashionable at the time, and Julia was known to color it with French pomade or comb it with a leaden comb to darken it (and ornament it with pearls, as Julia recalls in her autobiography, Reminiscences, Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1899, p. 65).
At the time of Julia’s marriage, Samuel Gridley Howe was already famous. He was celebrated for his participation in the Greek War of Independence (and he would be active in Greek relief efforts for the rest of his life), and for his work in the Perkins School for the Blind, which he founded and directed, and which continues today in Watertown, Massachusetts, after 191 years. His most notable achievement was his breakthrough in teaching Laura Bridgman, a blind and deaf girl, to read, write, and speak. This success represented a tremendous advance in the teaching of deaf and blind people and Samuel Gridley Howe was lionized for this achievement in scientific and humanitarian circles in America and Europe. He would continue to champion many humanitarian causes in his lifetime, from abolitionism to sanitary reform.
Julia Ward Howe herself became a noted advocate of human rights, abolition, and women’s rights. She traveled to Greece with Samuel Gridley in 1867-1868 to distribute humanitarian aide to Cretan refugees (clothing that she had collected from the women of Boston, as recounted in her book From the Oak to the Olive. A Plain Record of a Pleasant Journey, Boston: Lee and Shepard, 1868). The Howes were both active in the Union cause during the Civil War, and Julia gained lasting fame as the author of Battle Hymn of the Republic, the unofficial anthem of the Union to this day. In addition to her other activities on behalf of women’s rights and suffrage, it was Julia who first proposed Mothers Day in 1873, which has now become a national celebration.
In the second half of the nineteenth century, Julia Ward Howe and Samuel Gridley Howe were among the most famous Americans as noted authors, philanthropists, humanitarians, and Philhellenes. If confirmed as a portrait of the young Julia Ward Howe, we hope that this beautiful image will continue to keep alive her memory, and the memory of the Howes together.
Editor’s Note (1): Before the construction of the Gennadius Library in 1926, the street that leads up to the Library, was known as “Howe street,” named after Samuel Gridley Howe. Today the street carries the name of the founder of the Library, Johannes Gennadius (Ιωάννου Γενναδίου).
Editor’s Note (2): Curtis asked me if I could add to the post an out-of-frame photo of the miniature for more detail and truer color.
As a young woman, Hazel Dorothy Hansen broke several glass ceilings. From a humble background –her father was a foundryman—she was admitted to Stanford University in 1916, at a time when the institution had severely limited the admission of women. In 1904, Mrs. Stanford became afraid of the increasing number of women enrolling at Stanford (by 1899 reaching almost 40% of the student population) and implemented a quota that restricted their numbers at the undergraduate level: for every woman at Stanford, there had to be three men. (See Sam Scott, “Why Jane Stanford Limited Women’s Enrollment to 500,” Stanford Magazine, Aug. 22, 2018.). Fortunately for a girl of modest means, Stanford remained tuition-free until 1920.
She broke the glass ceiling again when she chose a prehistoric topic for her dissertation (“Early Civilization in Thessaly”) that also required extensive surveying for sites on the Greek periphery. In the 1920’s female graduate students at the American School had limited options when it came to field research. Apart from Alice Leslie Walker, who had been entrusted with the publication of its Neolithic pottery, Corinth remained a male domain, with Bert Hodge Hill and Carl W. Blegen controlling access to, and publication of, archaeological material. Hazel would have needed either to finance her own excavation, as Hetty Goldman and Walker had done in the 1910s, or to write an art history thesis based on material in museums. It was not until David R. Robinson began excavations at Olynthus and Edward Capps spearheaded the Athenian Agora Excavations that women were allowed to participate in the publication of (secondary) excavation material.
Identifying the Elusive “Mr. Welch”
In last month’s essay (“Forgotten Friend of Skyros: Hazel Hansen, Part I”), I explored Hazel’s early years in Greece (1922-1925) and the people she interacted with, especially the ones who contributed to her intellectual growth and academic development. I also examined aspects of her personal life, and I mentioned serendipity in archival research. The letters of her fellow student Natalie Murray Gifford implied that Hazel had some sort of romantic involvement with an older British man, a “Mr. Welch” connected with the British Embassy. Several days after publishing my story, I discovered in the photographic albums of Winifred Lamb, a British archaeologist and contemporary of Hansen (1894-1963), a photo depicting two young women, on either side of a distinguished, older man. Amalia Kakissis, the Archivist of the British School at Athens where Lamb’s papers are kept, identified the woman on the left as Winifred Lamb and the man as Francis Bertram Welch (1876-1949). Looking closer, I recognized Hazel Hansen as the woman to the right of Welch.
Welch was not just a member of the diplomatic corps in Athens, as Gifford’s frequent references to him led me to believe. He was a trained archaeologist who, in 1899, had directed the British Museum’s excavations at Kouklia and Klavdia on Cyprus and was also part of the BSA’s excavations at Phylakopi on Melos. During WW I, he was with the British army in Macedonia, this time serving as an Intelligence Officer. In 1922-1924, when Hazel met him at the BSA, he was stationed in Athens as Vice Consul. We can now add Francis Welch and possibly Winifred Lamb to the people who might have inspired Hansen to work outside the “boundaries” of the American School.
Upon her return to America in 1928, Hansen was hired at Stanford, first as an Instructor and then as an Assistant Professor (1931). After the publication of her dissertation in 1933, she was promoted to Associate Professor (1935). Alan Kaiser, writing about Mary Ross Ellingson in Archaeology, Sexism, and Scandal: The Long-Suppressed Story of One Woman’s Discoveries and the Man Who Stole Credit for Them (Lanham 2015) has included a chapter with charts of the career opportunities available to women in academia before and after WWII. The decade 1930-1940 was the last decade before the 1970s when women occupied 25% of the faculty positions in American universities. Hansen was fortunate to have matured as a scholar within the early years of that decade. By then, the flirtatious girl of the 1920s had also made a personal commitment: to remain unmarried. Apparently, there was no place for married women professors in American academia. After the Depression of 1929, U.S. legislation became increasingly hostile to female employment, especially in academia, where anti-nepotism policies were introduced. If she ever wanted to marry one of her colleagues at Stanford, she would have to resign from her position. Her talented friend from her early years at the American School, Dorothy Burr, and other married women archaeologists of her time, such as Gladys Davidson, chose not to compete with their husbands for academic positions.
It is also surprising that a promising scholar such as Hansen was in the 1930s, did not produce much after the publication of her book (1933), except for a long article in Hesperia 1937 that secured her promotion to full professor in 1940. My search in JSTOR yielded only four papers presented at the annual meetings of the Archaeological Institute of America (AIA): “The Lebes Gamikos in the Stanford Collection” (AIA Meetings, 1929), “The Use of Wings as an Attribute in Greek Art” (AIA Meetings, 1935), “The racial continuity of Prehistoric Thessaly” (AIA Meetings, 1937), and ‘Protogeometric Vases from Skyros” (AIA Meetings 1950). In the meetings of December 28-30, 1937, Hansen, together with Hetty Goldman and Dorothy Kent Hill (another of David Robinson’s students at Johns Hopkins), were the only women speakers among thirty-four participants.
The slow pace of research by an energetic scholar such as Hansen may also reflect sexist attitudes that prevailed in academia before the 1970s. To support the research of male professors, universities were systematically assigning higher teaching loads to female faculty, leaving them little time for research. Margalit Fox in The Riddle of the Labyrinth (New York 2013) makes a strong case that Alice Kober’s research on the decipherment of Linear B suffered from her heavy teaching loads at Brooklyn College. Unlike Kober, Hansen was, however, able to negotiate two sabbaticals, as well as some semesters off (in exchange for summer work), during her career at Stanford.
Geese and Ganders
In 1936-1937, Hansen spent her first sabbatical in Greece. Charles H. Morgan, the new Director of the School, reported that “Professor Hazel D. Hansen of Stanford University continued her researches in the prehistoric pottery of Thessaly and assisted Professor Broneer in the excavation on the North Slope of the Athenian Acropolis” (Annual Report 56, 1936-1937, p.15). At first glance this would appear to have been a good year for Hazel: working on her pottery from Thessaly and participating in Broneer’s excavations (remember, she, Broneer, and Mylonas were old pals after having shared quarters as students at the Palace of Prince George on Academias Street). But it wasn’t actually such a good year for Hazel, at least in part. We would not have known anything about her troubles if it weren’t for a letter she addressed to Verna and Oscar Broneer from the deck of the M.S. Lafayette on Sept. 19, 1937. It starts as a happy enough reminiscence about all the pleasant experiences she had had during the year: “in fact it was such a grand year that I almost wish it were starting over again […]. Even on this fine boat which serves the most delectable food –the choicest French culinary art can produce—I must confess that the appearance of a pilaphi at lunch yesterday really made me feel homesick for Greece.”
Among her pleasant experiences, she probably counted the celebrations for the Centenary of the University of Athens. The American School participated with many of its members representing U.S. universities. “The University celebrations have been quite wearing but the essential Academic business is over now. Peabody [the President of the School’s Board of Trustees] represented the School and most of the School members were there in force to represent various American seats of learning. Priscilla [Capps] did her usual efficient rescue work, and outfitted most of them with gowns and hoods, so that we made a very creditable showing indeed” noted Charles Morgan to Edward Capps, Priscilla’s father and Chair of the School’s Managing Committee on Apr. 20, 1937 (AdmRec 318/4 folder 1).
The happy tone of her letter, however, changes in the second paragraph. As she fondly recalls her last two weeks in Athens where “there was a luncheon or dinner party of some sort for me every day and I was literally snowed under with gifts and mementos,” we read that Oscar and Verna were not part of the festivities. There had been a terrible blow-out between Oscar and her, with Broneer losing his temper. Although we only have her testimony to what happened, it is worth citing parts of her letter because they are very revealing about how little respect even women of high-professional status received from their male peers. In 1936-1937, Hansen was a tenured professor at a competitive university. Broneer, promoted to the rank of associate professor at the American School (without any tenure process, however), was running a small excavation on the North Slope of the Acropolis, where he had discovered the Sanctuary of Aphrodite. Professionally he and she were equals.
In the spring of 1937, Broneer asked Hansen to study the finds from the dig. You would think that mutual respect would have governed their professional relationship. Apparently, not. According to Hazel, Oscar treated her as a servant.
“In all those first weeks of work with you, you did nothing but find fault –never did you speak one word of approval or even thanks for anything I did. You completely forgot that I was generously giving you my time (not being paid as the Agora people, for example) […]. All the Agora people had told me repeatedly during the winter that you were very difficult to work with –that I would regret it- but I thought I knew better” Hazel wrote in her letter (ASCSA Archives, Oscar Broneer Papers, Box 13, folder 1).
She further implied that he was running a messy dig, bawling her and the workmen out “at times badly” for petty reasons. She also reminded him that she had worked with other first-rate excavators, such as Goldman, Heurtley, and Blegen “who never demanded of their staff what they did not do themselves.” She would always give him credit for the opportunity to study the prehistoric pottery from the North Slope, but “the inspiration [for her to write a good paper] was killed that awful day in April…”. She did, however, enclose the draft of a long article, which was published in Hesperia of 1937 (pp. 539-570).
Broneer utterly dismissed her complaints in his reply of Nov. 17, 1937. His short answer acknowledged briefly her “important contribution to the meager knowledge that we have of prehistoric Athens.” In her article, “The Prehistoric Pottery on the North Slope of the Acropolis, 1937,” she established connections with the island of Aegina, especially during the Middle Helladic period.
Hansen and Broneer must have patched up their relationship at some point because on Dec. 6, 1938, she wrote him a long and friendly letter about her future plans. She had finally convinced her department to agree to an arrangement that would allow her “to teach in alternate summers and in exchange, she would take a six months leave every other year.” For the summer of 1939, she was planning to spend most of her time in Thessaly, “running around on a mule, and working on Strabo.”
Honorary Citizen of Skyros
The first time we hear about her association with Skyros (an island to the north of Euboea) is in the Director’s Annual Report for 1939-1940 (p. 20). “Miss Hansen was honored by the Greeks of the island of Skyros. She owns a house there and spends much of her time on the island when she comes to Greece. She was made an honorary citizen of the island, a distinction which brings with it freedom from taxation and exemption from military service.” Moreover, “for the first time in the history of the island the American flag was flown over the City” reported Gorham P. Stevens.
But what was the reason for this high distinction? (Of course, I had to laugh at Stevens’s comment about exemption from military service.) In a note to Stevens, on Sept. 5, 1939, two days after he telegramed her the news about England declaring war on Germany, she explained why she couldn’t leave Skyros: “All our 400 vases and sherds […] are still on the floor, etc. and unless I put them in order no one will and I hate leaving the place in a mess.” In addition the rain had washed down “a part of a cliff and exposed another grave which, if we do not dig immediately, will be ruined,” and, because of the cooler weather, she worked on Skyros better than in Athens.
Note that she uses the first plural in her note: “all our 400 vases” and “if we do not dig immediately.” She must have partnered with somebody in this Skyrian project. Was it her old friend John Papademetriou, a native of Skyros, who undertook a small trial excavation on the island in 1935? Or was it Phoebus Stavropoulos (1904-1972), who in February of 1938 dug four Protogeometric graves which had been exposed to view during the winter rains? She refers to both of them in an essay titled “Prehistoric Skyros,” published in the Studies Presented to David Moore Robinson on his Seventieth Birthday (1951, pp. 54-63). It is unclear, however, what kind of service she rendered in 1939; I suspect that she was honored for her efforts to organize the island’s first museum by putting together a display of the pottery and other objects found in the graves. In “Prehistoric Skyros” she refers to the one-room museum in the town hall, which was damaged during WWII. “When I visited Skyros in 1947 I undertook to make the room and cases repaired and I washed and put together as many of the vases as possible” (p. 59, note 18).
The publication of the pottery from the Skyrian graves and a travel guide for Skyros would become her life-long projects after 1939, both left unfinished, however. Her personal papers in the School’s Archives show that she had made considerable progress on both projects. Her guidebook captures information of ethnographic interest about life on the island before the invasion of tourism.
“One evening at dusk as I passed along the road I counted 47 people coming from various directions- their yellow kerchiefs streaming about their heads, each with a huge stamna, water jar, on their heads, their skirts billowing out in the breeze… The typical woman of Skyros has a water jar on her head –trudging on her way to the fountain. Sometimes she is a smiling, brown-faced girl. Again a ragged urchin, another time an old woman worn with toil, whose bronzed and wrinkled face betrays her hard lot,” she wrote in her chapter about the town’s fountain house.
WW II must have put her Skyrian projects on hold for several years since she was not able to get back to Greece until 1947. In the School’s Annual Report of 1949-1950, Director John L. Caskey noted that Hansen was on the island of Skyros inventorying the objects in the local museum and “writing a catalogue of the prehistoric and Geometric pottery” (p. 28). That same year she received official permission to publish the prehistoric material. “The island’s dependence upon Thessaly” formed the principal idea behind all her work about Skyros in the Bronze and Early Iron Age. Through her pottery studies, she further argued that the island was drawn into the Mycenaean orbit not through contacts with the south but from the north.
With the Office of Strategic Services?
Returning to Stanford after her visit to Greece in 1947, Hansen, together with Wayne S. Wucinich (1913-2005), gave on-campus presentations about their Balkan experience. Wucinich, a historian of Serbian origin, who had worked for the Office of Strategic Services (OSS) during the War, had recently joined the faculty of the history department at Stanford. Hansen spoke about the need for U.S. military and political aid to help terminate the Civil War in Greece (The San Francisco Examiner, May 16, 1948). In May 1951, after a 6-month stay in Greece, she delivered another public talk about the political situation in the country. In “Greece: the Land of Struggle,” she talked about the material aid that America had offered to Greece “from monumental works down to such useful items as nylons, sports, shoes, and bubble gum.” But that wasn’t enough if America wanted to prevent the infiltration of communism in Greece. “The failure to eliminate corruption… to reduce unemployment and to narrow up the gap between wages and soaring prices threatened to perpetuate all the familiar social ills on which Communism thrives” (Times Advocate, Mar. 22, 1952). Hansen’s involvement in the political affairs of Greece and the public talks she delivered after each visit to Greece suggest that: a) she had been recruited by the OSS during the War (her knowledge of Greece’s topography and language would have made her an ideal candidate), and b) her post-WW II trips to Greece may have been partially funded by the U.S. government.
Cold War Realities
After 1950 Hansen did not participate in any more AIA Meetings, and her “Prehistoric Skyros” in David Robinson’s Festschrift was her last publication. She must have put all her efforts into turning her Skyrian field notes into a book. She also continued to work on the restoration of the Cesnola Collection in the archaeological laboratory she had established in the basement of the Stanford Museum. But it is also very possible that she was preoccupied with administration at Stanford.
The university underwent a fundamental change after WW II, especially under Provost Frederick W. Terman (1955-1965). The transformation took place during Terman’s tenure in the Electrical Engineering Department. According to the historian of science and geneticist C. Stewart Gillmor, “as the department grew in stature, so did Fred as an academic administrator.” Terman was also responsible for the cross-fertilization between academic and industrial research, which is “one reason why university scientific discoveries are so rapidly translated into new industries, companies, products, and services” (C. S. Gillmor, Fred Terman at Stanford: Building a Discipline, a University, and Silicon Valley, Stanford 2004, p. viii). On the other hand, during Terman’s tenure as Stanford’s provost, the university ratcheted up its support of hard sciences at the expense of geography, history, and classics. Furthermore, his peers were astounded by how he could “downplay or even eliminate established programs or academic emphases that lacked promise for the future” (N. Cohen, The Know-It-Alls: The Rise of Silicon Valley as a Political Powerhouse and Social Wrecking Ball, New York 2017). According to Cohen, Terman never directly engaged in a dialogue with the professors who objected to his new agenda; instead, he privately undermined their academic status, by challenging their competence and intelligence. Cohen’s archival research in Stanford University’s institutional records revealed dismissive comments, such as “hardworking but not particularly bright biologist… who specializes in fish.” Among these efforts, Terman decided to shrink the department of classics by not replacing two retiring professors. How could the study of classics support business opportunities? And when Hazel Hansen wrote him to express her objections to the departmental cuts, Terman never replied, but privately dismissed her as a “single woman—lonely—frustrated” (Cohen 2017, p. 50). This reduction of teaching positions probably translated into an increased teaching load for Hansen and much less time for research.
Meeting her Match
In 1956-1957 Hansen was the Annual Professor at the American School. Rhys Carpenter was the Visiting Professor. We read in her annual report that she conducted a weekly seminar on prehistoric pottery, where “in the first three sessions the Neolithic pottery of Thessaly was studied in detail for this was new material for all the members of the class” (ASCSA Annual Report 76, 1956-1957, pp. 48-49). She also organized Saturday meetings at which the students sorted, washed, and cataloged sherds. (I am now almost certain that she is responsible for the rich Neolithic collection of sherds from various Thessalian sites in the School’s teaching collection.) In addition, she offered an elementary course on Homer, but the sessions were not rewarding. “And the question still remains why some students come to the School with so little Greek. Why do they think that Greek is divorced from archaeology?” Hansen wondered in her report.
Her early death in 1962 deprived me personally of first-hand information about this dynamic woman. While searching for people who might have known her personally, I realized that Brunilde Sismondo Ridgway, professor of archaeology at Bryn Mawr College for almost forty years (1957-1994), was a student at the School in 1956-1957. Knowing that Bruni (as she is known by her students) reads my blog, I wrote her. She not only responded within a day, but also went hunting for her own letters from Greece to her family. In one of them, she found what she was looking for.
On Feb. 15, 1957, she and Miss Hansen took a trip to Korakou to hunt for sherds. After collecting sherds and having a meal together, they returned to Athens. With Bruni’s permission, I quote: “But I almost ruined the pleasant occasion when Miss Hansen asked me whether I wanted to keep at least one sherd for myself. Since she insisted, I finally selected one with matte-painted traces, which (to my recollection) I had personally found.” However, Miss Hansen was furious with Bruni’s choice because she believed that she had found the sherd and also considered it the most diagnostic sherd of those they had collected. “How dared I select just that very sherd?” “I finally blew my own top: I told her that I was not a prehistorian… [and] at any rate, I was not interested in keeping any sherd at all and she could certainly have it. Rather than ruining our relationship, my outburst seems to have cleared the air, and we continued to be friendly for the rest of her stay in Athens.” Ridgway found Hansen difficult and domineering but also a good teacher. She also asked me to be kind to her, recognizing the difficulties Hansen must have endured as a woman throughout her academic career in a coed, competitive institution. Ridgway pointed out that even in the 1960s, colleges like Bryn Mawr “objected to my being married and having children….”. For the record, Ridgway had four children, published more than eight books and hundreds of articles while supervising 36 dissertations, including my own.
Hansen satisfied her need for a child by informally adopting one from Skyros. In The Stanford Daily Archives, a few days after her death, Stanford’s President Wallace Sterling reminded people that “she also became the sole supporter of a WW II orphan who grew to maturity on the island.”
“Her main contribution was not destined to be in the field of excavation, but in discovering in dark cellars a good number of broken vases still covered with earth, discovered by others over the years in the island of Skyros. There she collected, cleaned, patched, and provided with a shelter transforming into a small Museum a room in the City Hall of Skyros. For this service to archaeology and the island she was made Honorary Citizen of Skyros,” wrote archaeologist George Mylonas about Hazel Hansen in early 1963, a few months after her death, in the Annual Report of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens (ASCSA or the School hereafter).
I asked several archaeologists of my generation and slightly older if her name or her association with the island of Skyros rang a bell. It did not, although she was known well enough in Greece, for her death to be noted at length in Kathimerini (December 22, 1962), one of the most respected Greek newspapers. «Ηγγέλθη χθες στην Αθήνα ο θάνατος της φιλέλληνος αρχαιολόγου καθηγητρίας του Πανεπιστημίου Στάνφορδ, Χέιζελ Χάνσεν, η οποία είναι ιδιαιτέρως γνωστή δια το σύγγραμμά της περί του αρχαιοτέρου πολιτισμού της Θεσσαλίας…”. In addition to her work in Thessaly and Skyros, the note referred to her participation in the excavations at Olynthus and on the North Slope of the Acropolis. The author of Hansen’s Greek obituary knew her well and wanted to capture the accomplishments of a friend and able colleague. It must have been (again) George Mylonas, whose friendship with Hazel started in the 1920s when they were both at the American School.