ABSTRACT

MALDONADO, CHANDRA ANN. Recovering Roosevelt: Memory and the Restoration of American Exceptionalism in Contemporary Visual Culture. (Under the direction of Dr. Victoria Gallagher).

Scholars and historians have long noted that in many of Theodore Roosevelt’s publications notions of masculinity are synonymous with American national character

(Cullinane, 2017; Dorsey, 2007; McCullough, 2003). As such, this dissertation looks at the rhetorical values inscribed in the act of preserving the image of Teddy Roosevelt in contemporary popular culture. Through a rhetorical analysis of multiple case studies, including the American Museum of Natural History’s efforts to restore the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial, my own auto-ethnographic account of the Roosevelt Memorial on Roosevelt Island as a way to illustrate the rhetorical agency of the researcher/visitor, an illumination of the archival work of

Ken Burns in The Roosevelts (2014), and finally an examination of performances in episodes from Comedy Central’s Drunk History and You Tube’s Epic Rap Battles of History, I demonstrate how these texts participate in rhetorical reconstructions of history that serve to restore common “essential” characteristics which lie at the nexus of American national identity and patriarchal rule. Further analysis and explanation is needed in order to determine the extent to which discourses and their visual and material instantiations are visual exemplars of how old ways of thinking become templates for understanding present-day circumstances and events in our current national/political moment. Through these case studies, my overall aim for this project is to understand how and to what extent public memory is used as a lens to articulate contemporary notions of American identity and citizenship. Examining these practices not only helps us to discover the rhetorical interpretations and implications of Roosevelt remerging as an iconic symbol of Americanism, but also potentially provides a greater understanding and awareness of the rhetorical limitations to recovering institutionalized histories. Thus, with this study rhetorical critics may better understand the impact of visual culture through uses which highlight material changes to artifacts/ commemorative sites, and how and to what extent these communication networks act as nodes of memory which work together to circulate specific collective values of identity, rather than just focusing on the rhetorical output of singular texts or issues regarding representation alone. As such, I see this dissertation as a contribution to visual rhetoric not solely because of the performativity of these texts, but because of the extent to which the fluid nature of their material components and composition craft identities along with the audiences that perform them. I refer to this as the flow of memory.

© Copyright 2019 by Chandra Ann Maldonado

All Rights Reserved Recovering Roosevelt: Memory and the Restoration of American Exceptionalism in Contemporary Visual Culture

By Chandra Ann Maldonado

A dissertation submitted to the Graduate Faculty of North Carolina State University in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy

Communication, Rhetoric, and Digital Media

Raleigh, North Carolina

2019

APPROVED BY:

______Dr. Victoria Gallagher Dr. Devin Orgeron Committee Chair

______Dr. Sarah Stein Dr. Kenneth Zagacki ii DEDICATION

For my big brother, Eric. Until I see you again. #bigbrotherlittlesister

iii BIOGRAPHY

Chandra A. Maldonado is a rhetorical scholar whose areas of expertise focus on presidential memory and commemoration and visual rhetoric. Her primary work focuses on the rhetoric of Theodore Roosevelt and American national identity in visual culture. Other projects include the rhetorical functions of contemporary advocacy documentary films, as well as gender and the labor movement. Prior to pursing a doctoral degree in North Carolina State University’s

Communication, Rhetoric, and Digital Media program, she graduated from Florida Atlantic

University with a Bachelor of Arts degree in Film and Multimedia Studies and Master of Arts degree in Communication Studies with a focus in Rhetorical Studies. Chandra’s work has been published in multiple peer-reviewed venues such as Recovering Argument, Networking

Argument, Trespassing Journal, and Rhetoric Society Quarterly.

iv ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

There is not enough space to encompass the love and gratitude that I have for the individuals listed in these acknowledgments. First, I want to thank the team of archivists in the

Special Collections Library at the American Museum of Natural History for their assistance while gathering archival documents for this project. This project would have not been possible without you all. A special thank you to the Naumoff-Burg family for opening up their home to me during my many trips to the Museum over that year.

I want to extent my gratitude to my dissertation committee. To Dr. Kenneth Zagacki, Dr.

Devin Orgeron, and Dr. Sarah Stein, thank you for your words of encouragement not only on this project, but your support and guidance throughout my time at NCSU. The appreciation that I have for my advisor, Dr. Victoria Gallagher goes without measure. The most valuable takeaway that I have learned under your direction is that it all can be done. You are truly a powerhouse.

Next, I thank my support system. To the Graduate School’s Dissertation Completion

Grant team, thank you for the opportunity to be part of your program. To Chris Kohan, Patrick and Kerri Varvel, Tanya Sue Todd, Barbara Howard, Lisa Kruger, Jeannie Bogner, and Sharon

Desjarlais, thank you for your mentorship, friendship, and even a space to write away from home. I could not have asked for a better tribe in life.

Lastly, I want to thank the best in my life. To Juan, words cannot describe the depth of love that I have for you. Your unending love, encouragement, and support not only during this process, but also in life continue to take my breath away. Thank you for grounding me and continuing to be my partner in crime. I am truly grateful for you all.

v TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One: Recovering Roosevelt Where We Are Now ...... 1 National Status: Patriotism and the “reincarnation” of Teddy Roosevelt ...... 4 Visual Rhetoric and Memory and Commemoration Studies ...... 8 Rhetorical Artifacts and Justification ...... 11 Research Questions ...... 19 Proposed Method and Contributions ...... 21 Overview of Chapters ...... 23 Limitations and Outcomes ...... 26 Chapter Two: Visual Memories Where We May Go ...... 28 Visual Rhetoric: A Literature Review ...... 28 Nature, Function, and Scope of Visual Rhetoric ...... 30 Nature ...... 30 Function ...... 32 Scope…………………………………………………………………………………….37 What is Visual Public Address?………………..…………………………..……………39 Memory and Commemoration Studies: A Literature Review ...... 46 Why Do We Preserve the Memory of An Event? ...... 46 Nature, Function, and Scope of Memory and Commemoration Studies ...... 46 Nature ...... 47 Function ...... 50 Scope.………………………………………………………………………………….. 55 Iconicity and Circulation as Methodology ...... 58 Where We Are Now ...... 58 Circulation Methodology ...... 60 Discussion of Literature and Concluding Thoughts ...... 63 Where We May Go ...... 63 Themes and Questions ...... 64 What Can Be Offered: The Flow of Memory ...... 67 Chapter Three: Circulation as Static Preservation and the Flow of Memory ...... 70 Governance vs. Agency: Materiality, Memory and Embodying Nation ...... 75 Building Exceptionalism: Theodore Roosevelt Memorial at the AMNH ...... 77 Controlling Nature and the Model Citizen ...... 77 The Planning and Building of the Memorial ...... 82 The West Entrance ...... 86 Roosevelt Rotunda ...... 91 Material Changes of Display and Technology as Recovery ...... 94 Memory and Masculinity ...... 95 The Roosevelt Murals: Commemorating and Documenting ...... 97 Roosevelt’s African Expedition ...... 98 The Building of the Panama Canal and The Treaty of Portsmouth ...... 101

vi Bernard Family Hall of North American Mammals: Capturing and Restoring Nature ...... 104 Recovering Manifest Masculinity and Shallow Efforts Towards Preserving Nature and Nation…………………………………………………………………………………………. 111 Discussion and Conclusion ...... 111 Chapter Four: Circulation as Flow The Movement of Memory ...... 118 Circulation as Amnesia: Roosevelt Island in Washington D.C...... 123 Amnesia, Experience and the Circulation of Visitors ...... 127 Visitor as Catalyst for the Flow of Memory ...... 131 Inclusion for All? ...... 134 Circulation as Assemblage: Ken Burns and The Roosevelts ...... 138 Circulation as Assemblage and Epideictic Form ...... 140 The Magnitude of the Past in Forming the Present ...... 148 Circulation as Performance: Roosevelt in a Drunk and Rap Battle Generation ...... 152 Performing History: Circulating Identity and Toxic Masculinity ...... 155 The Magnitude of Circulation in Public Memory ...... 171 Chapter Five: The Future of Memory and Commemoration Where We Go From Here ...... 178 Future Research ...... 181 References ...... 187

1 Chapter One

Recovering Roosevelt: Where We Are Now

In December 2017, The Mayoral Advisory Commission on City Art, Monuments, and

Markers held five public hearings so that citizens of New York City could voice their opinions about the removal of various historic colonial and confederate monuments in New York.

Academics and artists were among those who voiced their opinions, asking for the removal of specific monuments. In a joint letter from 120 scholars and artists, three monuments were cited in the letter and among the ones frequently discussed during the public hearings held by the

Commission. The equestrian statue of Theodore Roosevelt in front of the Central Park entrance of the American Museum of Natural History was one of those three monuments frequently cited.

In explaining their reasoning for which monuments should be removed and which should not, the academics and artists argued:

As such, they must remain pertinent to contemporary society, responsive to the

demands, hopes, and visions of ‘the public’ — citizens, visitors, moving populations

alike. These institutions cannot insist on the duty to enshrine and preserve the ethical

values of periods past, if they want to be thriving spaces of encounters for the people

of our time. (Sutton, 2017, par. 5)

Based on the feedback received from citizens, the Commission is compiling a final report with recommendations for Mayor Bill de Blasio regarding how best to approach the situation. While these articles cover only the controversy in New York, there is a larger debate developing across the country regarding memory and commemoration practices related to American history and the extent to which those historical values and narratives impact our contemporary lives.

My dissertation project, Recovering Roosevelt: Memory and the Restoration of American

2 Exceptionalism in Contemporary Visual Culture looks at the rhetorical values inscribed in the act of preserving the image of Teddy Roosevelt in contemporary popular culture. Through a rhetorical analysis of multiple case studies, including the American Museum of Natural History’s efforts to restore the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial, my own auto-ethnographic account of the

Roosevelt Memorial on Roosevelt Island as a way to illustrate the rhetorical agency of the researcher/visitor, an illumination of the archival work of Ken Burns in The Roosevelts (2014), and finally an examination of performances in episodes from Comedy Central’s Drunk History and You Tube’s Epic Rap Battles of History, I demonstrate how these texts participate in rhetorical reconstructions of history that serve to restore common “essential” characteristics which lie at the nexus of American national identity and patriarchal rule. Scholars and historians have long noted that in many of Roosevelt’s publications, notions of masculinity are synonymous with American national character (Cullinane, 2017; Dorsey, 2007; McCullough,

2003). Further analysis and explanation is needed in order to determine how and to what extent discourses and their visual and material instantiations are visual exemplars of how old ways of thinking become templates for understanding present-day circumstances and events in our current national/political moment.

As I will explain in more detail below and in the forthcoming chapters, this project not only provides ways to systematically prioritize materiality as a significant component for the production and circulation of many forms in visual culture, but also centers on the exploration of how those efforts to preserve or modify such materials produce situations for the rhetorical transformation of identities within and between people, cultures and societies. This project also includes a discussion in one of the case studies about the embodiment of the visitor as a material affective/circumstance within the circulation process.

3 To be clear, my overall aim for this project is to study the impact of these sites and visual artifacts in public discourse in order to understand how public memory is used as a lens to articulate contemporary notions of American identity and citizenship. Examining these practices not only helps us to discover the rhetorical interpretations and implications of Roosevelt remerging as an iconic symbol of Americanism, but also potentially provides a greater understanding and awareness of the rhetorical limitations to recovering institutionalized histories. My first move in this project is to build a methodology that makes it possible to track the flow of Roosevelt’s memory and of a unified discourse that encompasses American exceptionalism. This is done through building upon the circulation methodology of Cara

Finnegan (2010) by introducing four additional modes of circulation. As I explain later in this chapter, these additional modes of circulation bring to Finnegan aspects missing from her method, such as, the ability to track generic themes and conventions of more than one artifact/site over a period of time and from a variety of material elements and from different visual rhetorical perspectives.

Thus, this may help rhetorical critics better understand the impact of visual culture through uses which highlight material changes to artifacts/ commemorative sites, and how and to what extent these communication networks act as nodes of memory which work together to circulate specific collective values of identity, rather than just focusing on the rhetorical output of singular texts or issues regarding representation alone. As such, I see this dissertation as a contribution to visual rhetoric not solely because of the performativity of these texts, but because of the extent to which the fluid nature of their material components and composition craft identities along with the audiences that perform them. I refer to this as the flow of memory.

4 National Status: Patriotism and the “reincarnation” of Teddy Roosevelt

Visual culture continues to be an important and effective process in the construction of private, as well as public dialogue. For example, for the larger national unit, visual culture functions as a rhetorical output which helps to mediate and organize certain elements of

American identity as priority over others—especially in times of need. This section amplifies the significance of memory and commemorative practices in our contemporary moment in order to demonstrate how the visual is utilized to communicate remembering in periods of ambiguity— ways that one will not forget “where” they are rooted along with a possible path towards resisting and challenging such ways of being.

In the immediate aftermath of the 9/11 attacks in the U.S., media accounts and representations featured citizens banning together for unity while they waited to determine the next steps. Commonly seen in this news footage, either in the backdrop or on the t-shirts of citizens being filmed, was an American flag, something that everyone recognized as a national symbol but also a symbol of patriotism. Indeed, it was not surprising to see a spike in “patriotic” goods being sold shortly after 9/11 and the announcement of the United States intention to go to war in response.

Soon after the tenth anniversary of the attacks, in a Huffington Post article titled

“Patriotism vs. Nationalism in a Post 9/11 World”, Grant Lyon (2011) recalled the sense of belonging and pride that he felt just days after the attacks: “The intersection between patriotism and nationalism was at a forefront in the days following 9/11. I loved seeing all the flags flying and the spontaneous patriotic singing on 9/12. It made me proud to be American” (para. 5).

While it was moments like this in Lyon’s experience that promoted a sense of national pride when it was needed, Lyon also spoke of the senseless acts of what he calls “blind nationalism ”

5 which were produced at the same time. He notes, “Many in our country practice justified patriotism, but unfortunately, there are also those that ascribe to dumb, blind nationalism”(para.

2), especially those who participate in acts of discrimination, racism and violence and justify their actions as “American pride.” Even so, notions of national pride, Americanism, or those symbols that stand in for them, continue to inspire and unify people, particularly in times of tragedy.

The 2016 U.S. election and campaign demonstrates this reality. Utilizing rhetoric of fear, both political parties called for unification of the country through common rhetorical tropes based in nostalgia and fear of the future. One side laid claim to a lost America of the past—one with financial abundance and security that needed to be restored—while the other promoted a vision of positive growth for an already stable nation. Both sides used fear-based rhetoric to denigrate their opponent—swaying voters to one side because the other would be worse. The candidate, now President, Donald Trump called for voters to “Make America Great Again” during his campaign, promising to “drain the swamp” of the corrupt political system, and articulating the turmoil those voters would face if they were to vote another way, while Hilary

Clinton promised a better version of the present, and at the same time focused on apocalyptic discourse to describe America should Trump take Office.

For some historians, Donald Trump reminded them, through his “rag to riches” story and his stance on war, of the historical figures of Andrew Jackson and Benjamin Franklin (Weeks,

2015). For others, especially in the Republican Party, Trump’s spirit for change brings about comparisons to Theodore Roosevelt. Just days after Trump’s election, Mark J. Stoddard (2016) of a Latter-Day Saints magazine Meridian published a twenty-one point list titled “What Teddy

Roosevelt Can Teach us about a Trump Presidency.” In this article Stoddard lists popular

6 characteristics of both, highlighting their wealthy backgrounds, drive to go against the establishment, and more importantly their “America first” mentality. Another article titled

“Teddy and Trump: Old West Sheriffs in the White House” claims that through the similar stances on law and social order, Trump “was unconsciously channeling Theodore Roosevelt, who is perhaps the greatest “law and order” president in American history” (Ruddy, 2016, para.

3).

Former House Speaker John Boehner commented on these “similarities” stating, “"You look at what Teddy Roosevelt did, he came in to do big things," and “Donald Trump isn’t there to kind of trim around the edges and occupy the White House"(Lima, 2016, para. 5). In response to this claim, Michael Wolraich (2016) of The Daily Beast and a Roosevelt scholar notes:

But Boehner was very wrong about Theodore Roosevelt. When T.R. spoke at Gettysburg,

Pennsylvania more than a century ago, he said something quite different about what it

means to be a great nation. “National greatness is of slow growth,” he said, “for it is

based fundamentally upon national character, and national character is stamped deep in a

people by the lives of many generations…So we, the people, can preserve our liberty and

our greatness in time of peace only by ourselves exercising the virtues of honesty, of self-

restraint, and of fair dealing between man and man.” (para.12)

Others such as Daniel Ruddy (2016) of the National Review state:

At first glance, Theodore Roosevelt and Trump seem comparable because of TR’s 1912

presidential campaign, which, like Trump’s run for the White House this year, was a

political insurgency against the Republican Party’s “establishment.” A brash New Yorker

with an extraordinary talent for self-promotion that makes one think of Trump, TR also

tapped into the public’s anger at politics-as-usual, declaring war on an “invisible

7 government” of special interests. But while it’s true that both men can accurately be

described as populists and nationalists, a gigantic gulf separates them beyond these

labels. (para. 1)

The review of this comparison is not to speculate on any aspect of Donald Trump’s political character (and whether or not it resembles Roosevelt’s), rather it is to illustrate the nexus of its rhetorical inquiry, one that demonstrates the significance of our current political moment. What we are experiencing right now is a regression in progressiveness by preserving, comparing, or recalling the past for comfort in times of uncertainty. In the case of President Trump, voters found comfort in his campaign rhetoric of (un) change.1

This dissertation tracks and illustrates a common rhetoric of permanence as seen in the resurgence of Roosevelt images and narratives in present day American visual culture. With the rising uncertainty of the nation’s post-election fallout, the proclaimed “death” of Neoliberalism, and what some see to be a future rebirth of a new progressive Democratic Party, this newfound popularity can be seen in the restoration of memorials (or their forgotten memory), films and the invoking of Roosevelt’s discourse, as shown above, during the 2016 presidential campaigns. I consider this project as a starting point for understanding the significance of this “Roosevelt moment,” so that through these examples, we can better understand how the circulation and modification of visual and material discourses become rhetorically impactful over time, and the extent to which focusing on preserving or recalling the past helps or hinders our “understanding” of the state of the nation and its citizens in the present moment.

I do not see this project as a celebration of Roosevelt or of a particular legacy, but instead as a potential breaking point within a toxic circular form of American citizenry. Thus, the main

1 The idea of the rhetoric of (un) change is derived from Burke’s notion of “permanence.” See Burke, K. (1954) Permanence and Change: An Anatomy of Purpose.

8 political outcome of this project is to deconstruct the extent to which hegemonic national memories, such as those of national leaders, serve to hinder the collective bargaining of marginalized voices in our new political era of resistance. To be clear, I see this project as providing a way to re-imagine the origins of our collective past, a past that never seems to escape us because of its continual circulation. By bypassing the celebration of collective narratives, especially in our contemporary political moment, this project works to directly challenge our ways of remembering and commemorating in order to change how we approach our present and to provide significant hope for composing our future as equal citizens. What is needed for direct social action today is to transform our understanding of a national collective past in order to redirect what will dictate the wellbeing of our nation and citizens in the future.

Visual Rhetoric and Memory and Commemoration Studies

Because of advances in visual technologies in the 19th and 20th century, academics started to see the value in researching “pictorial records, visual components of messages, and the culturally-shaped practices of viewing them” (Olson, 2007, p. 2). Such technologies also provided new ways of understanding textual artifacts. Speeches, for example, were now recorded and mediated (e.g. film, Internet, etc.) and more accessible for distribution to the general public

(Olson, 2007, p.2). Technological developments have also been an important feature of the changing terrain of visual communication practices (Olson, 2007, p. 8). Some changes include: efforts to develop a path to a more fruitful study of visual perspectives, a renewed focus on

“seeing”, “looking”, “gazing” as rhetorical practice (W.J.T. Mitchell 1994, 2005; Martin Jay,

1993), as well as an examination of the institutions that make the decisions to circulate certain images (Finnegan 2004, 2006, 2010). Another important aspect to consider about the nature of visual rhetoric is how perspectives of vision (or sight) have developed over time. Much of the

9 literature in visual studies focuses on the historical “technologies of vision”— how vision is taught, how it is processed through action, how it is mediated through our social environments, and to what extent visual images rhetorically construct our social reality.

In this project, I will borrow from two sub-fields in rhetorical studies literature: visual rhetoric and memory and commemoration studies. I do so to understand where the intersections between visual rhetorical studies and memory and commemorative studies lie in order to best understand how communities/ societies communicate self and collective identity as modes of epistemology.

Epistemological rhetoric as considered here is influenced by Thomas Farrell’s work on epistemological rhetoric and social knowledge (1976). Farrell’s notion of social knowledge suggests that rhetoric is a central tool for “gaining a specific type of truth” (Farrell, 1999, p.142).

Farrell’s definition considers social knowledge as “comprised of conceptions that are made up of symbolic relationships among problems, persons, interests, and actions, which imply (when accepted) certain notions of preferable public behavior” (Farrell, 1999, p.142). Farrell further explains that social knowledge is something that impacts the community decision-making process, constructing the “norms” and rules practiced by society. How do visual cultural artifacts, such as films and commemoration practices influence these circumstances?

Some scholars provide both broad baselines for studying visual rhetoric, as well as more specific and systematic ways of studying a text or artifact by understanding its nature and function. For the latter, to understand visual rhetoric is to understand the compositional nature

(or components) of an artifact—how elements interact with one another as a whole and the aesthetic purposes of each element on its own terms. For example, Gunther Kress and Theo Van

Leeuwen (1996), seek to understand how design processes work through a semiotics-informed

10 social linguistic approach in their book Reading Images: The Grammar of Visual Design. Here, the authors work through a practical manual of semiotic ‘visual grammatology,’ to understand the ways in which different elements of visual design work within different histories, cultures and other social/economical constraints. In other words, there are limitations to what an image can or cannot represent within certain discursive formations or grammars; this is why visual artifacts are constructed of familiar elements that can be translated into a commonly shared language known to users.

For the scholarship which focuses on memory and commemoration studies, I explore literature on artifacts which relate to public and historical collective memory in order to understand how certain histories are privileged over others and how established histories can be manipulated or forgotten.

For example, Kendall Phillips (2010) in “The Failure of Memory: Reflections on

Rhetoric and Public Remembrance” provides significant insight into how we might approach the study of memory. Phillips suggests that the ways in which memory and rhetoric are joined can be found within the classical works. Through his exploration of classical rhetorical literature,

Phillips looks at differences between how we remember, forget, and misremember (p. 209-212).

Phillips’ thoughts on memory point to how certain elements of an artifact can contribute to the success or failure of memory. This is where I see an important conversation emerging on the persuasive and material consequences of memory.

As noted by J. Donald Ragsdale (2007), “Not to see buildings, and in particular museums, places of worship, and monuments, for their persuasive functions is to miss a crucial dimension of cultural experience”(p. 2). Ragsdale’s statement points to a significant feature of public memory – the effect of the structure or artifact’s material elements when individuals

11 encounter them. Indeed, material elements engage and afford a constant production of multiple histories as illustrated in “Rhetoric, Materiality, and US Western Front Commemoration.” In this essay, Balthrop, et al. (2012) explains that the material production of histories can be multiplied and organized as a discursive “assemblage of commemorative places” that is “always being produced” (p. 93). In other words, the essay calls attention to the material production of multiple histories and how those histories can impact one another. Some authors take up similar approaches in other essays— by suggesting for instance, that the museum space is made up of both the material objects, locations and rhetorical choices of the curator (Dickinson, et al., 2006), and/or by offering a genre-based approach to examine how certain conventions of materiality come to produce meaning (Gallagher, 1999).

Rhetorical Artifacts and Justification

Cultural and rhetorical studies have long worked to further our understanding of how cultural and political ideologies in institutions become forms of collective knowledge. In rhetorical studies some scholars have chosen to study the rhetorical moves of Roosevelt through his time in the presidency (Lucas, 1973; Dorsey, 1995; Dorsey, 1997; Stucky, 2006). Others have highlighted Roosevelt and American national identity through the mythic frames and narratives of the American frontier (Harlow & Dorsey, 2003). Some rhetoricians study the

American frontier for a better understanding of how certain figures became symbols of their time

(Carpenter, 1977; Rushing, 1983; McDaniel, 2002). Collective memory scholars look at the ways in which national character is cultivated through the use of public displays and spaces (Blair et al., 1991; Biesecker, 2002; Dickinson et al., 2006; Ott et al., 2011). To the best of my knowledge, there has yet to be research done on the rhetorical significance of the visual images of Roosevelt in contemporary American culture. Considering this additional contribution, I see

12 this as a key justification for my research. The following section entails justifications for the significance of each case study in this project in relation to their historical context and present- day impact in American visual culture.

The American Museum of Natural History (AMNH) attracts more than 5,000,000 visitors annually (American Museum of Natural History, 2013, p. 4), and has long been a popular historical marker in New York. As a place where conservation education takes priority, it is not surprising that one of the founders of AMNH was Theodore Roosevelt, Sr., a great influence on

Theodore Roosevelt’s interest in exploration and conservation efforts. Shortly after the death of

Roosevelt in January of 1919 AMNH quickly decided to take action towards building an exciting memorial that would commemorate the contributions of the former president and also what he would have considered important life lessons. According to archival documents, donors as well as museum officials desired to relate the purpose of the memorial closely to the original mission statement of the museum—a desire to create a sustainable, strong, and free education system for the citizens of New York.

In 1920 the New York Legislature established a Commission that would help create a memorial “which would for all time stand as a visible recognition of the services of one who had been most active in the welfare and development of our State and Nation”, namely Theodore

Roosevelt (American Museum, 1936, p. 7). It would take a total of fourteen years to finish the construction of the memorial (American Museum, 1930, p. 46).

Fast forward to the present, citing the museum’s role as a “cultural gem” to The City of

New York (Frost, 2012, para. 10), and the need to honor the legacy of Theodore Roosevelt, the

Museum decided to spend $40,000,000 on renovating the Roosevelt Memorial—mainly focusing on the restoration of the Hall of North American Mammals (Zimmer, 2012, para. 6). Following

13 the Museum’s investment, the city contributed $11,500,000 with additional development foundation funds totaling $23,000,000 to remodel the main entryway into the Museum. It is the attention and response to the memorial’s restoration process and results from both museum officials and the media publicity that sparked my interest. 2

My (visual) curiosity is related to the memorial’s design and placement within the museum. There are specific features in the memorial’s rotunda that I am interested in, as well as, the memorial as a whole. First, there are marble slabs on all corners of the rotunda etched with quotations from Roosevelt’s writings pertaining to the themes of youth, manhood, state and nature. I examine to what extent these themes, ones which were frequently written about, still hold value in our contemporary moment through studying the various choices, perspectives, and placements of visual elements and how they (the themes) are articulated through institutional and public dialogue.

I am not the first to write on the Roosevelt Memorial as Donna Haraway’s (1984) work comments on its manifest destiny characteristics. However, more attention is warranted given the increased interest in and circulation of TR-related artifacts and representations, and the affordances and limitations of our contemporary civic and public discourse.

The Roosevelt Memorial Commission Board proposed very direct and specific goals for the memorial. First the memorial was to “ interpret the character of Roosevelt as naturalist,” and to “reflect that character and translate it in unmistakable terms to the generations to follow.” The board also wished to carry out Roosevelt’s wishes by giving the opportunity to anyone,

2 This research is a continuation of a recent publication. See Maldonado, C.A. “Recovering Nature: Memory and Scientific Argument at the American Museum of Natural History” published in the 19th Biennial NCA/AFA Summer Conference on Argumentation Edited Collection (July 2018).

14 regardless of race, class or gender to take part in the study of “nature in all its phases” and

“should be given every facility from every possible angle in order that they may appreciate and be led to emulate the extraordinary knowledge that Roosevelt attained” (American Museum,

1936, p. 7-8). It is clear that the initial intent of the memorial, as seen in the annual reports, was meant to carry across/throughout history. However, my claim is that the restoration of the memorial limits conservation efforts to a dominant hegemonic group—deflecting possibilities of other genders (or even races) having the ability to “connect” to, and preserve (restore) nature.

The broader claim of this argument is that the visual depictions of these restrictions also rhetorically legitimize the idea of American exceptionalism as being gendered in very particular ways.

While this case study may lend insight to those interested in environmental communication, more importantly by analyzing this text, rhetoricians may learn the limits to preserving and “recovering” historical ideologies and perspectives3, through the negotiations of gender politics of the past and present.

The next case study looks at the Roosevelt Memorial on Roosevelt Island in Washington,

D.C. to understand the extent to which the site’s unconventional characteristics circulate specific notions of American exceptionalism. This is done so as to understand how the space’s agency exhibits power (or not) by including the experience of the critic/visitor as a material/affective role in the circulation process. This exploration is necessary because memory and

3 The iconic Roosevelt equestrian statute in front of the Central Park entryway into the memorial has been defaced multiple times in protest of the memorial’s racist undertones. See Oelsner, L. (1971), “Six Indians Accused of Defacing Theodore Roosevelt Statue Here” and Pinto, N. (2016), “ In Dishonor of Columbus Day, Protesters Shroud Obscenely Racist Statue at AMNH.” A recent protest occurred in October 2017. See Moore, T., et al. (2017), “ Teddy Roosevelt attacked at Museum of Natural History.”

15 commemorative discourse is labeled and organized through the material composition of the space. Yet scholarship about sites such as this often fails to examine the material imprints of visitors who circulate through that space and exhibit agency on and with others while dwelling in that space and is therefore not taking a full account of the extent to which these spaces and the visitors which inhabit them are rhetorical material extensions of pre-determined narratives.

For The Roosevelts, I am interested in the ways in which Ken Burns is able to reconstruct a rhetorical history through bringing attention to archival materials and historical reenactments.

For example, Burns’ unique way of reconstructing historical narratives of the Roosevelt family through the use of archival films, photographs, letters written by the Roosevelts, as well as old newspaper clippings highlighting the successes and tragedies of the family, is an interesting example of integrated uses of documentary evidence. Burns utilizes the voices of famous

American actors such as Meryl Streep and Billy Bob Thornton to narrate some of these letters and newspaper articles—an obvious choice of familiar voices, which become a source of identification for the audience.

The aesthetics of documentary realism are also important to consider in relation to historical archival documentaries because of the documentary’s role in educating the public and advocating for specific narratives and perspectives. Because of the techniques associated with

“naturalism” and the choices the documentarian makes to engage in “adequately” representing a subject or issue, it is important to understand these choices as rhetorical modes of presentation.

This includes the documentation (or recording) of information or historical events. From a documentary perspective, following the work of Jamie Baron, this study brings to light the importance of the use of archival documents and offers valuable insight for those interested in the ethos of archival evidence as a rhetorical function of the artifact, and the extent to which

16 those documents (as well as their manipulation during the editing process) plays a powerful role in producing effective narratives for audiences. As such, to the best of my knowledge a comprehensive documentary/film studies or rhetorical study of Burns’ The Roosevelts has not yet been attempted.

What makes Burns’ work an interesting case study is its public impact and reception and the lessons which some believe can be learned from his documentaries. This was underscored when Wisconsin Senator Ron Johnson called to break up the “higher education cartel,” suggesting that history teachers can be replaced by “popping in 14 hours of Ken Burns Civil War tape”(Terkel, 2016, para. 1-7). What is dangerous about this statement is not the potential collapse of an outstanding system of higher education (while this is certainly terrifying in itself); it is the confidence that is placed on a constructed revising of history from the perspective of one person, Ken Burns. This is not to say that his work is not historically accurate, it is only to point to the problematic issue of putting an extensive amount of faith into a constructed work of non- fiction, a text that is made up of rhetorical choices. Even the use of the label “non-fiction” or

“documentary” is rhetorical in itself because with its use comes certain beliefs and expectations of its viewers.

On a more positive note, historical archival documentaries, such as The Roosevelts, can also shed light on present-day social and political issues. For example, Joseph A. Palermo (2014) of The Huffington Post claims that The Roosevelts reveals everything wrong with our current political system by illustrating “the relative rottenness of the hacks, partisans, and plutocrats who make up the political class that rules America today”(para.1). He notes:

By exploring the lives and times of TR, FDR, and ER Burns shows that in our not-so-

distant past the governing institutions of this country were actually responsive to the

17 needs and desires of working-class Americans. This superb and moving portrait is a

perfect fit for our times. The utter failure of our current “leaders” is glaring by

comparison. (Palermo, 2014, para. 2)

Indeed, much of Burns’ work echoes his view of learning from the past to better the future. In response to a recent Stanford graduate’s question, “What to do?” in the face of a Trump presidency, Burns response is to be a citizen and learn from history, “Just go forward. Engage.

Don't despair”(Rosenberg, 2016, para. 35). I want to point out that the issue here is that commemorative practices operate on the assumption of speaking for the nation. However, as this project demonstrates, many of the narratives that continue to circulate in mainstream contemporary culture (Burns’ included) are those which first emerged from the structures of hegemony. If anything, Burns’ work reminds us of how practices of remembering and commemorating are filtered, still, through the ideological privileges and authority of white men who have determined for a long period of time a set of rules and practices to follow in order to stabilize our identities, not only as people but as citizens.

However, these practices, while still problematic, are being challenged through insightful comedic-based genres where performance and embodiment become a focus in the recreation of historical events (e.g. mockery). For example, the next cases explored in this dissertation look at new media forms such as Comedy Central’s Drunk History and the widely successful YouTube sensation Epic Rap Battles of History where viewers get to suggest which two historical figures get to go up against each other in a rap battle. The Channel’s most recent “battle” puts

Roosevelt’s “American muscles” against Winston Churchill.

Drunk History started in 2007 and is intended to be both comical and factual. According to Asawin Suebsaeng (2013) of Mother Jones, “Comedians, writers, and barflies are fed copious

18 amounts of booze and then asked to narrate key scenes from American history.” To be clear, while the narrators are able to say, “whatever they want,” the primary focus of each narrative is to maintain a high level of accuracy. As quoted by Suebsaeng, the show’s creator Derek Waters states, "After all, we're learning history here"(para.1-2).

The Epic Rap Battles of History series is also “reasonably accurate,” yet offensive with its frequent use of profanity and mockery of historical figures (Kaufman, 2013, para. 11). Epic

Rap Battles emerged in 2009 out of a comedy club in Santa Monica, California, owned by one of the series’ stars, Lloyd Ahlquist. After the success of a rap battle in the comedy club, Ahlquist and Peter Shukoff took to YouTube for suggestions as to which historical figures should battle.

In September 2010 their first episode was uploaded—John Lennon vs. Bill O’ Reilly (Kaufman,

2013). To date, the ERB series has over 1.2 billion viewers.

Unlike The Roosevelts, what is interesting about these series in general is that one show utilizes the position of the narrator (even while intoxicated) as a key authority figure, while the other embodies the persona of the historical figure being represented.

With a specific gendered focus, this position dynamic can be seen in episodes of Drunk

History. For Drunk History, the rhetorical potency of the series emerges from the performance of the narrators and the setting for which they narrate, often used as a filter to frame their credibility. To be sure, the rhetorical techniques of narration and voice reenactments used in the series enable the audience to transcend any celebrated notions of American exceptionalism, mostly exhibited as masculinity, through comedic frames. With ERB, through the voting of viewers, and performances where the role of the narrator emerges, the “everyday commoner” too takes part in not only what history is told, but also how that history is reinforced or reimagined (and the values and characteristics which circulate with it). Specifically, Roosevelt’s

19 “American studliness” is illustrated in the rap battle against Winston Churchill where Roosevelt compares the size of England to the United States, along with Roosevelt’s superhuman abilities to “dodge bullets” as if it were a statement of American strength and manliness (i.e. both represent a type of metaphorical phallic symbol). Although important, I am less concerned about how the story of Teddy Roosevelt is told than I am in how, through the illustration of these episodes, a specific historical narrative (something which is often seen as static) is recalled, repurposed and circulated through yet another, but current, visual outlet. What strikes me about

Drunk History and Epic Rap Battles is that the agency of the storyteller and his/her ability to transform historical events with sometimes ridiculous performances and narratives not only lionize Roosevelt through epidictic storytelling, but they too give a necessary rhetorical lesson on the importance of the co-creator position in any rhetorical situation.4

Research Questions

This dissertation is intentionally multi-focused. As a critic, I am concerned with how visual culture rhetorically shapes individuals and their environments through circulated discourses, as well as how visual rhetoricians can expand the methodological scope of the ways in which they analyze such discourses. As a woman and civically engaged citizen, I am concerned with how we can best utilize visual culture for social impact and change—creating opportunities for visibility and meaningful representation of currently marginalized human- beings, and how those identities are discussed. This path forward then, starts with a necessary move to be mindful of what and how we choose to document history and which viewpoints emerge from those documentary narratives. From my perspective, if we are mindful of the

4 I am using the concept of identification in the classical Burkean sense. See Burke, K. (1969). A rhetoric of motives, Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press.

20 dominant narratives which impact the ways in which we see others and ourselves as people and citizens, we are better equipped to destabilize such social orders, making room for a future which is more inclusive of all.

Beyond understanding the contemporary shifts that are occurring in public consciousness and culture, this project addresses the following questions: What can the reemergence of Teddy

Roosevelt as an American symbol in visual culture tell us about national character in our present moment? What identities emerge from the circulation of these narratives? How valuable are these narratives in the stabilization of certain hegemonic identities? How does this visual reemergence help us to rearticulate certain contemporary notions of masculinity and citizenship? How can we understand this articulation in a way that helps us build more inclusive roads to actively engaging with discourses related to gender and race in America?

From a methodological standpoint: How can visual critics utilize methods in circulation studies to understand the extent to which multiple artifacts may act as communication networks which put into motion the circulation of a primary discourse over a period of time?

For the Roosevelt Memorial at the AMNH and the Roosevelt Memorial on Roosevelt

Island I ask: how can static commemorative sites contribute to the circulation of memory when these sites do not necessarily “flow” in comparison to other artifacts? More specifically with the

Roosevelt Memorial at the AMNH, how do actions towards preserving the memorial and diorama displays, function as a way to circulate discourses related to gender and American exceptionalism? More so, how and to what extent can critics account for the agency of visitors as vital to how these discourses circulate at the Roosevelt Memorial on Roosevelt Island?

This project also includes the study of documentary film and new media texts related to

TR. In relation to The Roosevelts, how does the assemblage of archival documents contribute to

21 the coherence and a logical continuity of national identity and its circulation? How can critics better understand the epistemological nature of the archive and its documents as part of the ways in which Burns commemorates TR? In addition to the identifiable themes of American exceptionalism found through the magnitude and manifest-masculinity master tropes, for Drunk

History and Epic Rap Battles I am concerned with the extent to which performances becomes vital factors in the circulation of such discourses to which I ask: To what extent does memory flow through the performance of gender?

Proposed Method and Contributions

For the purposes of this project, I focus on the rhetoric of the image (photography and film/media) and memorials to illustrate how historical institutional knowledge is created, preserved and revitalized within both an historical and contemporary context. I do so to understand the strategies that are utilized to construct and maintain social and national identities, and determine the extent to which they are rhetorically impactful.

Cara Finnegan’s circulation methodology provides a way to merge the “material” gap between how rhetorical scholars study the iconicity of historical visual artifacts and their impact within current political discourses. Furthermore, Finnegan’s methodological framework provides critics with better practices for studying a visual history from the perspective of the text and public interaction. The justification for the use of Finnegan’s circulation methodology is simple; there is not a comparable methodology to identifying iconic artifacts, their processes, or their impact in public discourse. For example, Hariman and Lucaites’ (2008) approach to studying iconic images is mindful of the critic (such as the close textual work in Benson’s (2016) Posters for Peace); however, their approach does not give a clear indication as to what methodologies rhetorical critics should use to “understand how it is that a few images are thought to have great

22 rhetorical power”(p.19). It is also unclear how critics ought to understand the historical period in which these icons emerge and their connection to the current moment. This is where Cara

Finnegan’s circulation methodology is useful with my additional articulations of circulation, which are as follows: circulation as static, circulation as amnesia, circulation as assemblage and finally, circulation as performance. Here, I focus on developing the rhetoric of magnitude

(McDaniel, 2002) and manifest-masculinity master tropes to articulate the extent to which these case studies push forward and circulate a unified narrative regarding the memory of Teddy

Roosevelt and of American exceptionalism throughout generations.

Similar to the conclusions of Kress and Van Leeuwen (1996) in their book on visual design, Gallagher et al. (2011) on the importance of the canons of invention and arrangement, and Kress (2008) on the importance of process and composition of multimodal systems, it is clear that the human experience of participating (and how that is organized) are all part of the rhetorical effectiveness of the visual. I argue that when we study materiality from the point of view of experience—either through the position of the visitor/performer as embodied participant or simply by putting emphasis on the material elements of the artifact to show its construction— rhetoricians are better equipped to understand how those persuasive elements become central to the embodiment of certain histories or support social conceptions of nation and self while challenging others. Thus, through my additional articulations of circulation, from my view, bridges the gap between historical representation and the circulation and consequences of these historical artifacts and sites of commemoration within everyday social and political public discourse.

In addition, my goal for the forthcoming chapters is two fold. With this study, I will contribute to national identity and citizenship studies. Accordingly, the methodological

23 contributions above will contribute to interdisciplinary work in two fields of study: documentary studies and studies in visual rhetoric, something that will benefit both.

Finally, beyond the specific questions that address the commemoration practices of each individual case study are the broader implications about the hegemonic presence found within commemoration practices of American society: Old notions of masculinity, and patriarchal domination are still circulating and being promoted as a vital component of what it means to be

American. The exploration of various texts and mediums through which Roosevelt images are manufactured become essential to a full rendering of those moments in which national identity

(and other related identities) becomes (and stays) gendered. Specifically, this project underscores how and to what extent this memory and image work constructs patriarchy and masculinity values, a critical step that I consider to be an essential and often overlooked component of the effort to dismantle it. As I will detail more fully in the overview of chapters below, this project traces the ways in which the memory and commemoration of Roosevelt becomes synonymous with masculinity projected through visual discourses. For those who seek the dismantling of patriarchy, such a project serves an important role, as by identifying the ways in which patriarchy is constructed and maintained we can better manifest a path which enables us to create practices and methodologies that can inclusively serve a diverse population of citizens rather than a select few.

Overview of Chapters

In Chapter Two, “Visual Memories: Where We May Go” acts as the foundational chapter that justifies the project’s methodological choices. In this chapter, I outline the study of visual rhetoric: Providing a general literature review which defines visual rhetoric; examining the function of mediated artifacts such as photography, film, and others; then, a review of

24 methodologies and justifications which produce specific perceptions, emotional responses, and other consequences. This chapter also explores the emergence of memory and commemoration scholarship through the rhetorical nature, function, and scope of visual artifacts and the methodological choices that rhetorically amplify the significance of those artifacts. Finally towards the end of this chapter, in efforts to advance the work of Cara Finnegan’s circulation methodology, I introduce an argument for the critical application of assemblage theory in the circulation practices of visual discourse to better articulate how and to what extent commemorative sites/artifacts participate as cogs within overarching networks responsible for the making of memory. Here, I introduce two rhetorical master tropes: first is the manifest- masculinity “textual” trope that articulates the case studies as the networks where memory circulates in different forms, while the other master trope is derived from the Aristotelian concept of magnitude to account for the circulation of Roosevelt’s discourse regarding characteristics and practices of an exceptional way of American life.

I start the development of these master tropes in Chapter Three “Circulation as Static:

Preservation and the Flow of Memory,” beginning with the project’s first case study, an exploration of the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial at the American Museum of Natural History

(AMNH). Through the AMNH’s preservation practices, I argue that the museum not only functions as a site that lionizes Roosevelt’s life, but also through multiple renovations and commemoration celebrations, the memorial rhetorically symbolizes a return to a nostalgic notion of masculinity grounded in roles of domination, ingenuity, and savior-ship— characteristics of celebrated men (like Roosevelt) that were believed to be exemplars of American superiority.

These themes are commonly circulated in narratives associated with American exceptionalism, and specifically the relationship between citizenship, masculinity, and nature.

25 In Chapter Four “Circulation as Flow: The Movement of Memory,” I continue to develop the master tropes and their roles through the examination of three additional case studies which also illustrates the extent to which memory circulates in different but connective forms. The first case study illustrates what I call circulation as amnesia with an exploration of the Roosevelt

Memorial on Roosevelt Island in Washington, D.C. Here, I consider the role of the researcher/visitor as a vital rhetorical agent in the material consequences of the space.

Specifically, I argue that the manifest-masculinity narrative is taken up and rearticulated primarily through the embodiment of the visitor.

The next case study articulates circulation as assemblage through the exploration of Ken

Burns’ The Roosevelts (2014) to understand how the historical interpretation of Teddy

Roosevelt, and especially of American exceptionalism, is constructed through Burns’ use of the archive. Specifically, this chapter explores how and to what extent Burns’ manipulation of the archive (the Burns effect) constructs an ‘authentic’ version of the trials and tribulations of

Roosevelt, all while constructing a romantic version of a past America. In the final case study, I explore what I call circulation as performance through a rhetorical analysis of specific episodes in Comedy Central’s Drunk History and You Tube’s Epic Rap Battles of History to argue that the embodiment of TR’s persona through performative reenactments rhetorically enhances the circulation process of the manifest-masculinity narrative threw the authority of the narrator.

Chapter Five “The Future of Memory and Commemoration: Where we go from here” concludes the project with a recap of the case studies and an extension of the methodological findings and arguments in Chapter Two. Here, I provide suggestions for future study and uses of circulation methodologies by looking at how scholars can better approach visual histories with a broader and more interconnective perspective. Ultimately, by expanding Finnegan’s circulation

26 method in this way, memory and commemorative scholars are better equipped to analyze the connections between various mediated forms of pubic memory to focus on the overarching discourse that circulates instead of the impact of singular aspects of public commemoration.

Broadly speaking, such an approach will expand the scope of artifacts that rhetorical scholars and others interested in circulation studies use, as well as provide a more comprehensive approach when studying the (re)emergence of histories in contemporary visual culture.

Limitations and Outcomes

From a positive perspective, on one hand, there is either very little scholarship, or none, which explore the particular texts and spaces featured here. Furthermore, these case studies are necessary showcases that demonstrate how visual discourses effectively produce and repurpose the permanence of identities throughout multiple facets of visual culture through a unified over- arching narrative. However, there are pitfalls that come with exploring very different case studies. One text is a well-known celebrated documentary, two are widely circulated mainstream television and web series, and the other two are rather obscure memorials in a national museum and on a secluded island. Naturally, the ways in which different mediums are analyzed require movement between multiple lenses in order to clearly articulate the connections between those artifacts, how they directly relate to each other as a whole, and how the elements of each text are significant and rhetorically impactful.

While an important part of this dissertation is to understand the significance of Roosevelt images/visual artifacts reemerging in present day American visual culture, our current habits that pay attention to singular texts make the evaluation of outcome incomplete. If we are to make the assessment of outcomes meaningful then we must evaluate a network of the texts, forces, institutions and agents that fashion the more holistic conjuncture I am calling a “unified

27 discourse”. It is only with such an approach that we can feel any confidence that our assessment of outcomes bears a relationship to how that unified discourse impinges in material ways on our political and social practices.

While I am not the first to examine the construction of gender identities which circulate in public discourse (Biesecker, 2002; Mandziuk, 2008), or their material consequences (Schuster,

2006), by continuing the conversation through the examination of visual practices that create and impose these gender specific rules, this project affords a greater understanding of the rhetorical limitations associated with preserving and recovering histories. Thus, I see this dissertation as a contribution to feminist scholarship because it continues to put the problems of patriarchal ideologies at the forefront of the discussion, ones which are usually hidden by the lionization of prominent political leaders in public life, and their celebration in American visual culture.

28 Chapter Two

Visual Memories: Where We May Go

The goal of this chapter is to explore methodological approaches in order to understand the ways in which rhetorical critics define and interrogate/assess visual rhetoric. Thus, this chapter will first explore literature dedicated to defining or delineating visual rhetoric. This chapter will then focus on how different technological roles impact the interpretations, interrogates and assessments of visual artifacts.

Next, I take up the question of how critics approach iconicity and circulation studies by offering additional circulation lenses for articulation. This additional framework is based on the exploration of how and to what extent memory and commemoration scholars have analyzed visual elements to exemplify the extent to which artifacts and commemorative sites are socially and politically impactful.

Finally, based on this review and extension of the literature, I offer research questions that can lead to new perspectives on how visual artifacts and commemorative sites serve as mediated forms of epistemological rhetoric and function as historical records that produce individual and collective identities. Put differently, these questions focus our attention on how the materiality of visual artifacts constructs narratives that rhetorically promote and circulate social and national values and/or alternative historical narratives that may emerge.

Visual Rhetoric: A Literature Review

What is visual rhetoric? In Cara Finnegan’s (2004) essay “Doing Rhetorical History of the Visual: The Photograph and the Archive,” she notes that naming just one definition of visual rhetoric is not particularly useful and may instead undermine the unique qualities of visual discourse. Finnegan explains:

29 A definition of visual rhetoric(s) alone cannot be useful unless it simultaneously suggests

a way of seeing that combines an understanding of the unique qualities of visual

discourse with a rhetorical sensibility that can account for how visual discourse comes to

mean something in the public sphere. (p. 211)

In other words, Finnegan claims that providing a definition for visual rhetoric may put unnecessary limitations on the methodological frameworks that a critic uses to interpret the nature and significance of visual discourse.

Similar to Finnegan’s views on this subject, in his extensive review of visual rhetoric literature, Lester Olson (2007) notes that scholarship over time suggests visual rhetoric can be defined in a variety of ways, produced through many outlets of rhetorical investigation, and should be approached more freely through cross-disciplinary efforts. Indeed, it is important to examine the differences and similarities between how scholars interpret and assess visual artifacts across disciplines in order to determine the nature and scope of visual rhetoric.

Kristie Fleckenstein (2007) notes in Ways of Seeing, Ways of Speaking: The Integration of Rhetoric and Vision in Constructing the Real, all ways of communication, however limited, are rhetorical because of socially mediated signs and symbols (p. 9). Fleckenstein illustrates this mediation through her references to Burke, noting that what we perceive as reality is selective (p.

19). From Fleckenstein’s perspective, we are unable to see beyond the limits of socially constructed environments. Just as we cannot escape language, we cannot escape the visual (p.

17). Of course, Fleckenstein is selective with this move because she fails to highlight Burke’s other key terms within this discussion and how we can understand our own biases when determining the influences of visual discourses. For instance: As all three of these scholars

30 suggest asking questions and exploring artifacts rather than providing a mutable definition is central to the visual rhetoric project.

Thus, in the following sections I explore three specific phases of scholarship that focus on visual rhetoric and memory and commemoration: Nature, Function and Scope. These sections showcase how and to what extent we have come to understand these areas (nature), what methodologies are used to determine that understanding (function), and finally how and to what extent do these areas appear (scope). To be clear, by conceptualizing through these terms, we can identify the literature as such, of discernable modes of analysis where visual rhetoric may be defined, by ironically not defining it. I also want to note the reason for this general overview of visual rhetoric and memory and commemoration scholarship: to fully understand the ways in which visual culture becomes impactful, one must understand how our ways of seeing have developed over the lifetime of our discipline.

Nature, Function, and Scope of Visual Rhetoric

This section reviews literature that focuses on the nature, scope, and function of visual rhetoric.

Nature. One understanding of the nature of visual rhetoric is based on the central premise that visual elements interact as multi-purposeful modes of persuasion. Another important aspect to consider about the nature of visual rhetoric is how perspectives of vision (or sight) have developed over time. Much of the literature in visual studies focuses on the historical

“technologies of vision”— how vision is taught, how it is processed through action, and how it is mediated through our social environments are important factors in understanding how visual images rhetorically construct our social reality.

31 For example, the role of visual technology in terms of how image and perspective have developed can be found in “Hermeneutics and the New Imagining.” In this essay, Don Ihde

(2008) explores the ‘realism’ of imaging technology and provides a historical trajectory that begins with defining what he calls isomorphic images made possible by the new “optical technologies” of the earlier period. These technologies, ones that enable certain perspectives of sight, Ihde notes, have always played a significant role in producing scientific knowledge, because of their ability to represent exact and recognizable images (p. 34).

The creation of the camera obscura technology in the 16th Century, for example, not only became particularly useful for painters who were able to project an image on a wall through the use of light, but also participated in the material manipulation of a space while creating an image

(and a new observer) in the process. While quoting Descartes and Locke, Ihde notes the use of the camera obscura created the opportunity to become “the perfect observer” because it enabled a person to see the “double” perspective of an image—the makings of the image from both inside and outside of the camera (p. 35).

This technology produced possibilities for vision; hermeneutic systems were now capable of translating code, logic and quasi-textual approaches created possible systems for producing images (Ihde, 2008, p. 36), and critical trajectories that included context data (code) processes now also included image interpretation. This image code had to be translated (Ihde calls this technological translation) into a recognizable image that one would be able to read. Other explorations, such as technologies that feature “stethoscopes and probes to ultrasound, MRI diagnostic imaging, and electron microscopes” are also examples of how visual exploration has changed over the years from basic image representation to persuasive scientific argument (Olson,

2007, p. 8).

32 Technologies of vision enable an experience which allows individuals to not only be immersed in visual culture but also creates a space for them to feel as if they are creators within that experience. This experience is why materiality is an important focus for critics who wish to understand how and to what extent visual culture impacts the public. The following paragraphs summarize specific methods used by scholars to understand the benefits and shortcomings of such visual practices in rhetorical studies.

Function. Early on Sonja Foss (1992) in a review essay on the status of visual studies, brought attention to the inadequacies found with scholarly approaches to studying visuals. Not surprisingly, this same sentiment is echoed in many areas of her later essay (1994), along with her view of a contrasting rhetorically based method for studying visual artifacts.

For Foss (1992), “communication scholars lack knowledge of the conventions through which meaning is created in visual images and the processes by which images influence viewers” and calls for a more rigorous study beyond the discovery of “the effects of the special properties of images”(Foss, 1992, p. 85). Foss suggests that by understanding how a visual artifact functions rhetorically, one may be able to understand the way in which the visual can impact viewers.

To be sure, in her later essay, Foss critiques the frameworks offered for assessing aesthetics, and provides an alternative rhetorical tool of evaluation. After discrediting the contributions made to the study of aesthetics by Kant, and the resulting semiotic modes of visual design, Foss (1994) points out that these approaches aren’t helpful to rhetorical critics because they are not concerned with how images give rhetorical perspectives (p. 215). Indeed, with the main focus centered on the critic, Foss is concerned with providing accessible approaches that all would be able to use.

33 Foss provides a schema that is “anti-intentionalist,” and focuses on the image’s function rather than the rhetorician’s purpose. First, Foss notes that the physical dimensions of the object must support the critic’s proposed function. Second, the critic must assess the validity of the function. Revisiting the critic’s initial reasons for studying the image, of course, can provide an adequate assessment (p. 217).

Contrary to what Foss argues, Kress and Van Leeuwen (1996) assert that a semiotic framework may provide a persuasive platform for understanding visual artifacts. Here, they name the following three functions as a framework of Visual Social Semiotics: the ideational, interpersonal, and textual functions (all derived from Hallidayan grammar).

The first, the Ideational function, compares the difference between “what we see in the world” to “how we understand the world.” Kress and Van Leeuwen illustrate this function through the use of vectors and classification systems. Secondly, the Interpersonal function describes how we communicate between one another (e.g. this can be illustrated through different positions/angles of an actor/scene/environment on screen). The interpersonal function can also be illustrated through the use of the eye-line vector that directs a viewer’s sight to a specific object (illustrating importance of a person/ object as well as its involvement or detachment in the process). Lastly, the Textual function refers to how a text responds to its environment (p. 15). Depending on the position of the image in relation to the written text and how the layout is set up, the image may act as the ‘anchor’ for the other. This function pays attention to the compositional value of an artifact.

In a later essay, Kress and Van Leeuwen (2002) discuss how the alterations of an artifact’s elements may produce a drastically different meaning. Using their three step framework approach, the authors focus on applying their ideational, interpersonal, and textual

34 functions to the alteration of color in an artifact. Their analysis effectively demonstrates that color does indeed have a visual grammar, which depends on the way that color is organized, how it is labeled, and how the other textual elements in the artifact work to produce meaning.

If we think back to Ihde’s earlier technological or “scientific” read of images, we may understand how we approach science similarly by using material replicas to reflect accuracy and as a form of documentation. Focusing on the way in which children respond to the production of

“scientific things” in the classroom, Kress (2008) explores the effective ways that children can participate as agents in their own scientific learning process through the utilization of available resources rather than how the design of scientific information is presented.

For Kress, students process information through various modes (writing, visual, etc.).

Specifically, multimodal composition articulates the ways that students read text/image relationships. Kress notes:

The books which they use are already transformed by the joint effects of the use of the

mode of image and the effect on the page of the organizations of the screens of the new

media. The fact that there are now design decisions to be made and that decisions about

genre are now relatively open are both a direct effect of the new media via their effect on

the look of the page. These decisions are also an indirect effect of the new media in that

teachers as much as designers of textbooks know that the young are attuned to a

differently configured communicational world. (p.148-149)

Kress focuses, by contrast, on the importance of participation and composition, claiming that

students would be better equipped to understand the differences between a “school science”

reality and a “real world” reality if they were able to contribute more in the process of designing

those realities rather than participating in a scientific design process already given to them.

35 Visual technology and design has been a substantial force in educational endeavors--especially

in terms of science and how we tend to construct the world we live in.

While some scholars such as Barthes (1978), focus on the textual dependency of visual

artifacts, Kress and Van Leeuwen’s work shows that groups of compositions and individual

elements may be analyzed and understood independently of one another. Their approach

illustrates how specific visual structures and designs generate communicative behavior through

a functional and generic type of framework that can be used to uncover the communicative

responses of single elements, as well as the composition of multiple elements within a visual

artifact. Gallagher et al. (2011) provides an example of how visual composition and elements

may come to promote specific outcomes. Here the authors look at how visuals and

compositional features may promote wellbeing through the exploration of the documentary,

Rivers and Tides (2001) and public art work within newly urbanized Hong Kong housing units.

The visual wellbeing framework is derived from Aristotle’s concept of eudaimonia, defined as an expression of deep virtue, that leads to “wellbeing, pleasure, and happiness”(Gallagher et al., 2011, p. 31), and the concept of enargeia which signifies “visual clarity, immediacy, self-evidential, and strong emotional appeal” and “can evoke contrary emotions of empathy or terror”(Gallagher et al., 2011, p. 30). The authors work through the application of the framework in two cases to answer the question, “how might visuals promote eudaimonia?” The authors claim that such a framework can be useful to both rhetoricians and visual designers as a cross-disciplinary critical tool (Gallagher et al., 2011,p. 32).

The first case study, Rivers and Tides, follows the public sculptures of Andy

Goldsworthy. Gallagher et al. (2011) note:

36 Goldsworthy’s artwork as depicted in almost every scene brings into sight and mind that

which is absent—namely, constructed forms in nature and natural forms in human

experience. All of the art and art-making shown throughout the film evokes elements of

pleasure, an authentic account of the relationship between nature and human beings, and

a sense of wonder. (p. 34)

Towards the end of the analysis, the authors point to how absence (or the feeling of loss) takes part in the viewer’s ultimate feeling of fulfillment (Gallagher et al., 2011, p.35).

In the second case study, “Public Art in Hong Kong Housing Estates”, Gallagher, et al. move away from a singular viewership to focus their attention on a sense of communal visual wellbeing—to understand how a visual design can be used to invoke cultural sustainability among a group of people. Here, the authors focus on the cultural depictions of sculptures around new housing units that merge traditional experiences of the past with cultural significance of a new environment in the present:

For residents who are experiencing instability as the result of dramatic change to their

lived experience, such images may serve both to comfort and to provide models for living

and relating in new spaces and contexts. (Gallagher et al., 2011, p. 39)

With these sculptures, much like those in Rivers and Tides, the environment is transformed by the public art just as much as the sculptures are interpreted and given meaning through their environments.

In both cases, implications about the design of visual wellbeing bring to light the importance of the rhetorical canons of invention (to have something to say) and arrangement

(composition or order). The rhetoric of visual wellbeing not only can “encourage the audience toward a deeper kind of looking” (Gallagher et al., 2011, p. 35), but also complicates the

37 viewer’s desire to look and look away, instead holding their attention and engaging them in the meaning making process.

Scope. This section will review literature that focuses on the scope of visual rhetoric through one or more of these changes and examines how they help critics understand the persuasive visual make-up of artifacts, their role in social and political discourse, and the technologies that promote them.

The emergence of different terms and themes in the general study of rhetoric after the

1950s started to push scholars towards the importance of visual textual meaning. Terms such as

“symbols” and “symbolic” surfaced in the 1970s and 1980s, with a growing focus on “the rhetoric of film and photography” –a focus which remains as a central medium today in understanding a specific historical period (Olson, 2007, p. 5-9). Specifically, the symbolic nature of photography and film is explained in literature that focuses on the use of a photographic or camera perspective and other representational techniques.

Indeed, some of the most fruitful studies in film and rhetorical studies are those where scholars have invested time in trying to understand the symbolic language which emerged from choices made by the composition of camera angles, editing, and other “filmic” elements. These elements visually construct meanings that may speak to the current political or social climate through representation.

In “Blood, Visuality, and the New Multiculturalism” David Palumbo-Liu (2007), for example, looks at the ways in which invisibility of race in the film Blood Work promotes a new way of challenging (through not seeing) socially constructed notions of race and ethnicity.

Ethnicity, the author notes, “is relational: it is produced as one marker of difference between and amongst all of us, albeit unevenly and variously; it is produced laterally across all races and

38 ethnicities, and it is deeply embedded within the social, historical, cultural, and political fabric of our lives” (p. 203).

In this film, Clint Eastwood’s character, after receiving a donor’s heart (different gender and race) is put to the task of getting justice for the donor by capturing and killing her murderer.

As the author notes, while it is possible that Eastwood’s on screen persona as a redeemable white male hero is likely the reason for his success in getting justice for the donor of the heart he is now carrying, the film still promotes what seems to be an anti-racist logic based on the invisibility of Eastwood’s new identity—which is now intertwined with the bodily tissue of a

Mexican woman. Palumbo-Liu argues that the film teaches us that it is not race or ethnicity that brings people together, it is the actual bodily “mode of ‘being together’” which unites them. In this case, Eastwood is one with his donor because he is carrying her heart. The author notes that it challenges the “commodification of the visual” because of this under-the-surface approach to racial representation, and reconsiders the notion of the ‘racialized body.’ This essay rhetorically challenges scholarship that forefronts interpretation of images by focusing on the non-surface features of race (and at times gender) as portrayed in the film through what is not (and cannot be) shown, and raises possibilities about how to create better understandings of our own socially constructed discourses (Palumbo-Liu, 2007, p. 211-222).

Of course, a rhetorical understanding of popularized films is not the only project worthy of investigation. The rhetorical potency of newsreels and historical documentaries of events

(Atkinson, 2011; Finnegan, 2001) is the focus of scholarship examined below. Additionally, films that document places (Bergman 2003, 2008, 2013) will be examined to understand how this work contributes to rhetorical histories, and to understand the material potentialities of documentaries in public culture. The summarized essays below focus on the relationship

39 between film and photography as it relates to conversations about recording history, the aesthetic qualities of “documentary realism”, and all as forms of visual public address.

What is Visual Public Address? In a 2001 essay, Finnegan explores the aesthetic debate between the documentary image as a means to document historical events (a way to inform the public) and the documentary image as art. Here, she explores how the 1939 issue of the U.S.

Camera (a yearly publication of American photography) succeeded at its efforts to display the collection of FSA photographs as aesthetically pleasing pieces of art. This action, in turn, relinquished the social and political importance of the photographs as a documentation of severe poverty during the Depression, which served as “inventional resources for public argument” (p.

40).

Given that U.S. Camera asked its readers to view the photographs in such a way, the new composition of the photographs within this aesthetically driven discourse created a struggle between how an image is presented as a source of documentation within a certain context and as a source of aesthetic technique. This in Finnegan’s words opened a debate about the value and meaning of images in terms of historical documentation and what purposes those images have in historical context. In this essay, Finnegan starts to foreground methodological work that would show up in her later essays focusing on the importance of context within the study of circulation.

Similarly in the essay, “The Naturalistic Enthymeme and Visual Argument: Photographic

Representation in the "skull controversy," Finnegan (2001) explores the aesthetics of realism in the documentary image to understand what the rhetorical output is of “natural” looking images.

She claims that because of the assumption that a photograph represents “reality,” many assume that documentary images do not have “argument potential”(p. 135). In other words, viewers may

40 tend to reason that there is no need to question the authenticity of the photograph because of certain aesthetic qualities that represent “truthful” claims.

In her exploration of the skull controversy, Finnegan concludes that the “naturalistic enthymeme” and assumptions associated with the conventions of realism contributed to public questioning of the authenticity of Arthur Rothstein’s skull photographs, and for the notion that they functioned as a tool for political gain. The claim was that the photograph was “ ‘a fake’ used by the New Dealers to suggest that the drought was worse than it actually was” (Finnegan,

2001, p. 137). While the photographs were indeed staged for illustration, the controversy opened up a debate about photographic practices: Should a photograph be framed as “actual fact” or illustrated as such (p.145)? Finally, Finnegan suggests that the “naturalistic enthymeme” may be a potentially vital argumentative structure to explain how visual images do contribute to public discourse.

Finally in their 2006 essay, Finnegan and Jennifer Jones establish the basis for the concept of visual public address in their examination of how scholars attend to methodologies that may illuminate the extent to which a changing democratic society is constructed by and through visual culture. They review scholarship that covers various degrees and articulations of visual culture and the multiple challenges some faced in approaches to (re) presenting and (re) constructing histories. In their review, Finnegan & Jones note the importance of adequate attention to historical context, rich textual analysis, artifact circulation, and the significance of visuals in public culture (p. 490). As Finnegan demonstrates in her 2004 essay, in order to establish a visual rhetorical history scholars must ask questions such as: (1) “What is the place of rhetorical history in visual rhetoric?” and (2)“How can rhetorical historians engage visuals?” (p.

41 199). Nathan Atkinson also demonstrates how visuals, specifically newsreels, can serve as resources for public argument.

For Atkinson (2011), the mediation of newsreel production files at Universal Studios and

U.S Military conversations about the first public testing of the nuclear bomb at Bikini Atoll worked to rhetorically reconstruct the promotion of the public campaign. Named “Operation

Crossroads,” the testing of the nuclear bomb received major public attention through U.S. and international press. Atkinson claims that the newsreel footage became a vital component in the promotion of the practice testing. He notes:

Understood in this way, they stand at the beginning of a long tradition of using nuclear

test films as key elements in efforts to sell the public on nuclear policy, despite the risks

said policy often posed to its political and existential well being. (p. 91)

Through his examination of studio production files and information of the public campaign,

Atkinson argues that the footage, becomes a form of Cold War “domestic propaganda,” because of the ongoing discourse between the U.S. government and Hollywood movie studios about film technology being an exceptional medium, one which would encourage public confidence.

However, Atkinson argues that the newsreels and campaign information instead shows the military’s willingness to be publicly criticized, as well as the characterization of “nuclear war as survivable.” Indeed, “the footage became, in short, a resource for argument in the public sphere

(Atkinson, 2011, p.71-94).

These essays opened vital conversations within literature in visual rhetoric. Without it being explicitly mentioned in their work, Finnegan and Atkinson merge conversations about the documentary realism of film and photography in a clear way. For Atkinson (2011), the

Crossroads newsreels became a vital piece of rhetoric that extended the Cold War discussion

42 “waged in words and pictures” (p. 90). For Finnegan, the display of FSA photographs helped to de-authenticate the purpose of the documentary image and instead opened a discussion for a debate between the aesthetic conventions of “reality” and the actual recording of historical evidence.

However, scholarly work on the rhetoric of non-fiction film and photography does not stop here. Teresa Bergman (2013) adds another significant component to how orientation documentaries become an element and rhetorical tool for museum and commemorative sites based on the rhetorical argument for “documentary realism”.

Bergman’s work demonstrates that history can be replaced just as easily as it can be represented, and that there is a constant pull between recognizing multiple publics and responding to their needs (p. 21). While monuments and commemorative sites are built in specific ways to promote a specific past, the materiality of the site (more specifically the technologies which represent those sites), may present a specific ideological message that challenges the site’s intended rhetorical meaning.

In her 2013 book, Bergman examines the California State Railroad Museum and Mt.

Rushmore along with additional cases including the Alamo, U.S.S. Arizona Memorial, and the

Lincoln Memorial. Reaching towards a larger audience (beyond academics), Bergman provides an extensive historical analysis of these case studies that illustrate the temporality of public memory as a complicated rhetorical process that is “never complete” (p. 27). The author is concerned with the ideological notions of patriotism, nationalism, and citizenship as represented in these case studies and enacted through the visitor’s “co-creator” experience.

In the case of the California State Railroad Museum, Bergman (2003) examines the discourse of transportation (the history of the railroads) and technological developments through

43 the museum’s orientation films. Bergman notes, “For a case study, orientation films are often overlooked and under-appreciated in terms of their contribution and effects in the production of memory and public history” (p. 428). What is interesting about the orientation films, according to Bergman, is that the museum decided to replace the original film (1981) with new content to account for previously overlooked parallel histories of the railroad system (1991).

This, in Bergman’s view, is exactly why the documentary form as a technological rhetorical tool is vital to how we may modify a history for inclusion, but also “how we get our ideas of history and citizenship.” Bergman argues that the orientation films of this museum location do not place the visitor as agent but instead position viewers within a specific nostalgic ideological position—defining technology as only positive—a biased assumption which “denies voice to those who experienced the railroad's racial and economic inequities.” Bergman does so by examining these films through the lens of two power relationship conditions—location of the museum and the documentary form—in order to understand the museum as an epistemic hegemonic site for public history and memory (Bergman, 2003, p. 428- 429). Bergman explains the unbalanced historical approaches of these films:

A nostalgic viewpoint whitewashes any discrepancies associated with economic class,

race and gender in favor of celebrating progress in the form of railroad technology.

Implications of this interpretive stance are evident in the 1981 Orientation Program and

become more manifest in the 1991 orientation film due to the addition of ethnic minority

representation. (p. 432)

For both films, and even with the additional content, the representation of the California Railroad

System still produce “ simplified and romanticized” versions of the progress of technology and its overall impact on society (Bergman, 2003, p. 435).

44 Because of the museum location and the documentary form, the visitors who enter the space view the films with the assumptions of historical “authenticity” based on certain modes of production: collection and representation, both of which are more likely to be socially agreed upon. While Bergman (2003) does not argue that all museums and orientation films produce one interpretation of content, she does argue that there is a sense of museum authority that is prominent in how public memory is shaped for visitors (p. 429).

Similar to the California State Railroad Museum's Orientation Films, in “Can Patriotism be Carved in Stone? A Critical Analysis of Mt. Rushmore’s Orientation Films” Bergman (2008) works to understand how three different orientation films produced by the Mt. Rushmore

Historical Society and National Park Service of the Mt. Rushmore National Memorial move away from the site’s initial interpretation and representation of patriotism throughout time.

As Bergman lays out the evolution of the memorial as represented in the production and design of its historical narrative in these films, she illustrates the importance of orientation films facilitating the invisibility of contested narratives by promoting the dominant ones or challenging the existing ones with the inclusion of narratives that were once sidelined. These films (in general) she concludes, contribute to the flexible landscape of public memory.

The first film produced in 1965 strongly relates to the preservation efforts of the memorial’s original historical intent. The film produced in 1973 contributed to a “revised” version of history that spoke to the current conditions of the time. The last film produced in 1986 has been used for the last 20 years. All of the films are examined in chronological order to illustrate the evolution of the site’s dominant meaning: patriotism. This is illustrated through the celebrated representation of Borglum in the first film, a look at the individual narratives of the presidents represented on the Mt. Rushmore National Memorial in the second film, and finally

45 the collective idea of nation in the last (and current) film. To be sure, the first film provides a

“hagiographic representation” of Borglum, while ignoring his “imperialist and expansionist definitions of Mt. Rushmore as well as his personal political affiliations.” In the second orientation film all presidents are presented as “saviors” in response to the current moment. The last film describes the nation through the notion of individual manifest destiny “ built on the premise that the United States can “blast” its way to success through skill and technological prowess.” Bergman notes that the final film’s notion of patriotism celebrates the abilities of individual Americans and not those of popular great men or the country’s leaders (Bergman,

2008, p. 95-105). While illustrating the evolution of the memorial’s representation of patriotism and nation, this case study provides insight into the selective processes of public memory.

These artifacts are used as rhetorical tools to promote a specific type of historical past as epistemic. As Bergman notes, “The perception that there is only one way of "knowing" or only one way of remembering derives from a modernist epistemology where the production of

"knowledge" depends upon a stable subject observing a stable object” (Bergman, 2003, p. 439).

If the viewer is not positioned to see an alternative history, they have circumscribed agency and are constituted to take the forms as shared and “authentic.”

The review of the above scholarship on visual rhetoric is significant regarding the trajectory and use of my own methodological framework in this project. In relation to my own line of thinking, visual histories can appear and circulate in various ways and by utilizing and assembling those material elements, understanding the interconnected nature of memory and commemorative practices are more readily attained.

46 Memory and Commemoration Studies: A Literature Review

Why Do We Preserve the Memory of An Event?

Carole Blair argues in her (1992) essay, “Contested Histories of Rhetoric: The Politics of

Preservation, Progress, and Change,” that the treatment of classical texts as “relics” undermine the production of knowledge by the contemporary scholar (p. 405). This mistake, Blair notes, is a product of unacknowledged “presentation choices” that a historian makes to shape our view of historical events, “and our own place in relation to history”(p. 417). This argument helps us to better understand how social and institutional establishments may come to favor one narrative over the other or the “authenticity” or “authority” of one voice over another. Having “historical discipline” as rhetorical practitioners is necessary when trying to make sense of symbolic and social meaning. Such mindfulness makes suitable and rich contributions to understanding the historical and rhetorical significance of visual culture and how it impacts our daily lives.

My own line of thinking revolves around how rhetoricians interested in visual histories can take a more ethical approach to historical representation. This review of literature synthesizes scholarship related to the visual rhetoric of artifacts, as well as places and spaces related to collective memory to understand how histories emerge and are essential to privileging some identities over others. I do so to develop a better understanding of how and to what extent scholarship done within the area of memory and commemorative studies works to complement visual, material and rhetorical history.

Nature, Function, and Scope of Memory and Commemoration Studies

The following section begins the review of literature that focuses on the rhetorical nature, scope, and function of memory and commemoration studies. The section below

47 specifically focuses on public memory and commemorative scholarship that articulates how sites create situations for co-creator collaboration.

Nature. Dickinson et al. (2006), note in “Spaces of Remembering and Forgetting: The

Reverent Eye/I at the Plains Indian Museum” that curators are the authority designating what is and what isn’t “American”, “exotic”, etc. However, the authors also suggest that visitors to the

PIM are “invited” to “listen to and gaze upon the Other as an object of knowledge” (p. 35). By the simple act of flipping through field notes (or by being given the opportunity to do so), it is rhetorically suggested that visitors may come to their own conclusions about their experience at

PIM. This specific site becomes a place of invention—where participation is a vital act for not becoming part of history, but instead, feeling as if we have control over it, when in most cases, these sites produce circumstances where visitors are unknowingly interpellated by the sites form and function.

Similarly, in “Memory and Reconciliation in the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute”,

Victoria Gallagher (1999) focuses on the importance of materiality, genre and social action in the processes of remembering and commemorating. Here, Gallagher explores how to best establish a framework that can help illustrate the material consequences and outcomes related to a site such as the Birmingham Institute. Through a detailed description and analysis of the form, functions, and content of the Birmingham Institute, Gallagher concludes that the visual elements (later to be described as transactional) promote the Institute’s rhetorical character and are based on the premise that the institution promotes social narratives through the functions of education, remembrance, and preservation.

Towards the end of the essay she concludes that while the experience of each visitor may indeed be transformative, “that change becomes socially meaningful when they, in turn, engage

48 in types of social action such as protesting, voting, debating, arguing and so on” (Gallagher,

1999, p. 313). With that said, she adds, the Institute is more concerned with how to promote and teach certain historical narratives about the Civil Rights Movement over others in order to honor and remember a history and heritage which would bring the community together, instead of contesting a specific history. The Birmingham Institute’s narratives, while selective, cultivate an environment where visitors can reconcile with those histories and regenerate the memories of their cultural heritage (Gallagher, 1999, p. 318).

The next set of articles focus on the opposite—co-creation through the lack of the sites’ materiality. In the essay “The Presence of the Present: Hijacking ‘The Good War’?” Balthrop et al. (2010) interrogate other commemorative scholarship that points to the WWII memorial as being a monument that lacks any “signs” of commemorating a past. The authors ask the question, “Can memorials be faceless in terms of representing a past”? Some scholars have commented on the WWII memorial’s lack of “symbols” and “emotionless structure,” because of the generic conventions it adopts. In other words, the criticism of the site is that it invites an open interpretation for not only the past, but also the present. While the site is not articulate in representing a past or in employing a specific genre frame (one which many national sites follow), it does speak to the present moment such as G.W. Bush’s name on the memorial and the parallel of “fictional veterans” (i.e. Tom Hanks) as a comparison for the now former president being known as the “practice” president.

Another example of this can be found in the essay, “Mood of the Material War Memory and Imagining Otherwise,” where Blair et al. (2013) argue that the small village in eastern

France, Fleury-devant-Douaumont, is an exemplar of how memorial sites can depict the destruction of war without glorifying it. The authors examine how Fleury does not explicitly

49 “show” visitors the battle of Verdun, but instead the design invites visitors to imagine the destruction and dangers of war through invisibility. This is unlike the usual examples we see in many American sites, which tend to glorify war and national victory.

The authors examine the material features of the site and conclude that the site functions as a silencer of war. This may invite visitors to assume an alternative position—one that can either cleanse the narratives of violence or cause the visitors to imagine the worst situation possible. The authors argue that visitors do not “ see (but imagine) the horror of war here” nor do visitors “see (but imagine) the placidity of the village before the war”(Blair et al., 2013, p.14).

Indeed, the visitors only see the “bleak, desolate wreckage that is the outcome of war” (Blair et al., 2013, p.14), and an oppositional narrative of peacefulness through the lack of information offered through the site.

When compared and contrasted, these essays provide an interesting overview of how the material nature of a site may produce perceptions of authenticity without specific generic conventions. With this important focus on materiality, instead of (re) presentation, new possibilities and alternative narratives have room to emerge. For example, the Western Front commemoration pays specific attention to how these monuments “properly” represent the United

States (Balthrop et al., 2013, p. 96). Yet, it is unclear what the conventions of “authenticity” are which embody “America,” or how those who do not live up to certain standards (e.g. the bodies of dishonorable soldiers) are separated from the “true” place of Americanism by the U.S.

Government (Balthrop et al., 2013, p.103).

These essays, perhaps, may rhetorically invite visitors to interact within the space more freely, invoking an imaginary supplementation as the co-creator, rather than the loss of visitor agency do to material consequences.

50 In terms of examining the nature of memorials and commemorative practices/sites through aspects of materiality, it is important for the rhetorical critic to have a clear understanding of the elements of the artifact/site and what those elements may (or may not) symbolize, as well as the material consequences which impact the visitors/audiences who experience the space. When doing so, it helps to uncover the potential rhetorical possibilities of the space (or artifact/ text) as well as the experience of the visitors (or viewers) who engage with it. The nature of public memory is fluid and expansive in terms of changes in material elements and the impact of its absence on the viewer/visitor is a significant extension of the ways in which public memory is interpreted.

As the next section will show, when critics utilize a materialist emphasis to explain the function of memory and commemorative texts, such an approach may cause problematic issues when constructing arguments during analysis.

Function. The following essays take an argumentative approach to understanding memorial and commemorative sites. Blair et al. (2011), for example, examine the Tombs of the

Unknown and provides two material enthymemes to illustrate the tombs argument: The minor enthymeme legitimizes a national hero because of their sacrifice, while the major enthymeme acts as the relational enthymeme—which could be a loved one. Those who came to visit the grave are allowed to “take solace in the presence of his grave and in the knowledge that he had been honored as a hero by his country and by other nations as well” (p. 459).

The memorial is examined through the context of “public, press, and government discourses; ceremonial events; symbolic geographies; and cultural allusions and mythoi” (Blair et al., 2011, p.450). The Tombs of the Unknown consist of structures that argue for national legitimacy through the unidentifiable body. Blair et al. state:

51 The Tombs of the Unknown constituted the third influential innovation of the interwar

period; like the other commemorative novelties of WWI, this was an international

phenomenon, but one that focused in each case upon a national ‘‘hero.’’ (p. 452)

In order for that person to be remembered as a national hero, the person’s individual identity may not be recognized or recovered. Indeed, the body of the Unknown must be “truly anonymous, unidentifiable by any marker except nationality.” In other words, individual identity is unacceptable as a national marker. As such, being unmarked allowed for the emergence of a collective national family with a “mythic national status” (Blair et al., 2011, p. 453-461), while providing some sense of closure for those who were never able to bring loved ones home. We can see a similar approach in the following essay, where McGeough et al. (2015) examine contested narratives of memorials.

In this essay the authors ask the question, “How can the challenge of contested memories be reconciled with the promise of effective, enduring memorials that help to democratize public memory?” (McGeough, et al., 2015, p. 232). McGeough, et al. tries to answer this question by exploring how argumentation works in three largely contested sites: Fetterman Battlefield, Little

Bighorn Battlefield National Monument, and Haymarket Square. Through argumentative strategies (dissection, transformation, and substitution) the authors claim that the stabilization of memory and narratives (the initial goal of building the site) can instead be opposed and destabilized—opening “sacred spaces to alternative articula-tions of the past by expanding the lives deemed worthy of remembrance and grief” (p. 232). Here, the authors examine what is negotiable in terms of narratives that initially emerged at the time of the site’s construction and how those narratives change over time with material additions added to the site. The authors try

52 to understand how and to what extent material changes to the site may undo and counter the initial narrative that emerged during the site’s creation.

Both of these essays work to show how we can study memory and commemorative artifacts through argumentation methods and structures which provide straightforward and systematic analysis, dependent not only on the sites material structure, but also on the authors’ interpretations of the discourse. Indeed, while the authors of these essays do address the materiality of the site, their pitfall lies in the focus on methods that may or may not fail in the process of producing an argument. Taking more of a textual approach, the next set of essays explores how genre studies may provide a suitable analysis for studying memorial and commemorative sites and their material effects.

In “Memory as Social Action: Cultural Projections and Generic Form in Civil Rights

Monuments,” Victoria Gallagher (2004) looks at the ways in which “ rhetorical regularities” emerge in four civil rights memorials and museums in the United States. Gallagher’s analysis looks at how “the creation and reproduction of racial identities and ideologies” emerge from the relationship between memory and social action. The author claims that these sites, through different ways of displaying (oral, written and visual discourses), are able to provide generic complementary patterns among one another, while also providing differentiated experiences for viewers (p.150).

Similarly, in “Displaying Race: Cultural Projection and Commemoration,” Gallagher

(2006) develops a framework which emerges from the relationships between literature dedicated to commemoration and displays of cultural identity, in order to analyze and understand the racial identities which emerge from the “symbolic, material, and linguistic elements” of memorials in and of the South (p. 1). Here, Gallagher works to offer a framework derived from a theory of

53 cultural projection in order to understand “the manifestation of racial identities” within the Stone

Mountain and King memorial sites in Georgia.

In some capacity, both essays use or contrast the Merelman (1995) model of cultural projection alongside generic approaches to understand how racial identities emerge from a site’s material elements (Gallagher, 2004, p.153-155). While the “cultural projection model is important because it focuses attention on the extent to which power struggles among dominant white and subordinate nonwhite racial groups, especially blacks” exists, Gallagher argues for a rhetorical perspective through “cultural projection, genre, and public/collective memory” to fill the model’s gaps (Gallagher, 2006, p.3-5). In “Memory as Social Action,” and “Displaying

Race,” Gallagher’s improved genre methodology is framed through specific questions in order to understand the racial identities and power relationships that emerge between memorial structures. For example in “Displaying Race” The questions are as follows:

1) What are the patterns of regularity between the two memorials/parks? What do they

come to mean, and how?; 2) How is the dialectic between stability and instability,

similarity of structure and unique instantiation, played out at the sites? How does this

dialectic relate to the issues of power and access?; 3) What types of relationships between

dominant and subordinate groups are displayed and/or constructed at the sites (syncretic,

hegemonic, counterhegemonic, polarized)?; 4) Are particular visions of social

relationships and civic participation displayed at each site? If so, what are these visions?

(Gallagher, 2006, p. 5).

These questions help to understand how one may make meaning from visual material structural features, while Merelman’s model provides a way to understand the impact of those meanings on racial and political relations (Gallagher, 2006, p. 13).

54 While the conclusions of these essays differ, both are similarly engaged methodologically. In “Memory as Social Action” Gallagher provides a framework to help identify particular generic attributes which contribute to the promotion of social action. While they may promote cultural heritage and how it impacts the ongoing struggle with racial identification, these sites also invite people to be civically engaged in political and social issues as a form of preserving cultural heritage (Gallagher, 2004, p. 153). In the case of “Displaying

Race,” a similar path is taken from a multi-methodological approach. Gallagher’s examination of

Stone Mountain relies on a generic framework and Merelman’s model, which she uses to illuminate the “de-raced” features of the site’s approaches to historical representation while demonstrating, on the other hand, how the King Memorial is understood as a site of ritualistic cultural preservation and social action. As seen in both essays, with assistance from the cultural projection model, genre as a rhetorical methodological tool is useful when examining the

“success or failure of verbal, visual, and/or material images in accomplishing rhetorical ends”

(Gallagher, 2006, p.17).

This generic approach focuses centrally on the importance of the material elements of the site while other methodologies offered in this section limit the potentialities of the sites’ materiality. In other words, we can utilize a space by openly interpreting material features, and keeping those material features at the center of the site’s rhetorical production without depending on a specific method to justify those claims. For example, if war discourse is cleansed through the invisibility of materiality, how possible is it for the visitor to imagine otherwise (Blair et al.,

2013, p. 7)?

What we have learned from this set of literature is that efforts towards understanding the framework of which materiality functions may place limits on the narratives that emerge from

55 those artifacts and/or places. If critics, such as Blair and Gallagher, focus on materiality as the crux of rhetorical investigation in determining the function of an artifact and/or site in public consciousness, such an approach opens possibilities for interpretations and evaluations of sites and artifacts instead of limiting their rhetorical capacities to the success or failure of the methodologies used.

In the following set of essays, authors look towards how memory and commemorative texts emerge as material histories and to what extent those texts become effective outlets for the production of individual and collective identities.

Scope. In a collection of essays found in Kendall Phillips’ (2004) edited volume Framing

Public Memory, commemoration of historical events is broken down into specific categories— those which effect the individual, those which effect a localized group of people, and finally those public events where a shared collective public memory emerges in material forms. The essays reviewed in this section explore different visual texts (commemorative and memorial sites, museums, photography, film, etc.) to show the scope of memory and commemoration studies and how memory emerges from within a group (and what constitutes both).

Greg Dickinson’s essay offers a way to understand contemporary identities of self or collective form through a nostalgic lens alongside a deep analysis of the material makeup of a place. The construct of belonging and the understanding of how one’s own identity is bounded to specific places is interesting and is most apparent in Dickinson’s “The Pleasantville Effect:

Nostalgia and the Visual Framing of (White) Suburbia” (2006). Based on the rhetoric of ethos,

Dickinson explores the ethics of “spatial mapping,” within popular culture representations of suburbia. Through the analysis of a variety of films, Dickinson explains that these artifacts create a place for “dwelling” within suburban narratives for audiences (p. 213). Questioning, “What is

56 the good life?” Dickinson explores the film Pleasantville (1998) and others like it (Edward

Scissorhands (1990), American Beauty (2000), etc.) to understand how the presentation of suburban aesthetics play into the ethos of suburban nostalgia and audience members’ everyday lives. These representational aesthetics are based on fears of “the Other” and change within those environments.

Similarly in “Memories for sale: Nostalgia and the Construction of Identity in

Old Pasadena,” Dickinson (1997) argues through an analysis of Los Angeles and Old Pasadena that memory is linked to the performance or “enactment of the self” (p. 22). In other words,

Dickinson suggests that memory is a “grammar” for performing the self through the repetition of verbal and architectural signs. These uses invoke nostalgic identification with both individual and collective memories (p. 15).

Through his analysis of Old Pasadena, Dickinson argues that its redevelopment recovers a privileged past, which has deteriorated in the present moment. The author notes that nostalgia is evoked by two forms in Old Pasadena, “ first, through the memories encoded by inscriptions, signs and legends; and second, by the landscape's architectural style.” These forms serve as instruction of how to “read the landscape,” so that “all who visit will understand” (Dickinson,

1997, p.7-10). Indeed, he explains:

This spatial and historic privilege urges audience attention and attendance due to its

privileged relation to the past. "Reality happened here, once," the placard implicitly

exclaims, "this place is also real, aren't you glad you are here?" This building, by relating

itself to the past, lifts itself out of the everyday present and into a place of legend.

(Dickinson, 1997, p. 8)

57 Through the road signs used, for example, visitors are assisted with navigating the landscape to “ find their way back to the past. Dickinson uses the example of the old Texaco station near Route

66 at Tanner Market to illustrate how older visitors may connect more so with this landscape because of their recalling of Nat King Cole music. Dickinson also notes that the individual interactions, that a visitor and his or her “dwelling” within a particular building may invoke

“individual nostalgic identities” because each space carries its own history (p. 9-11).

Location is also an important element to consider. While the style of some of the buildings may be from the 1910s, 1920s, and 1930s, nostalgia is invoked through the element’s relation to location. While Old Pasadena may become more “authentic” with this style, an urban setting within the communities of Los Angeles may be considered run-down sites of fear

(Dickinson, 1997, p.10). This essay does not have a specific formal methodology that Dickinson offers as a lens, however, what Dickinson does well here is show the importance of nuanced analysis. It is because of his individual understanding about the placement of each architectural feature within the space that he is able to construct his argument about revitalizing the past in the present. While the above memory and commemorative scholarship, such as Dickinson’s work, focuses on the extent to which places and artifacts create nostalgic experiences for viewers/visitors, in the literature below explores a significant aspect of this dissertation—the extent to which the narratives of memory and commemoration in visual culture become iconic exemplars that circulate through multiple generations (and versions) of collective identity.

58 Iconicity and Circulation as Methodology

Where We Are Now

Notions of “rhetoric iconology” started to appear in the 1980s and early to mid-1990s. A growing body of work dedicated to understanding how an iconic image invokes multiple meanings throughout its circulation has been even more popular among visual rhetoric historians. Scholars such as Finnegan and Kang (2004), Hariman and Lucaites (2002; 2003;

2007; 2008), Olson (1983; 2004), and Catherine Palczewski (2005) have worked to understand how a visual’s initial meaning can change because of context or time.

The literature that speaks to more notable historical, social and political movements/events through the iconicity or commemoration of visual images serves as a rationale for methods which are missing when exploring important historical work. This section primarily focuses on the work of Hariman and Lucaites to demonstrate the lack in methodological frameworks and approaches to analyzing historical texts and how and to what extent those frameworks can be improved through others that explicitly address materiality.

The way that Lester Olson’s (1983) essay “Portraits in Praise of a People: A Rhetorical

Analysis of Norman Rockwell’s Icons in Franklin D. Roosevelt’s “Four Freedoms” Campaign,” argues for icons as epistemic visual arguments of American “values” is similar to how Hariman and Lucaites (2007) approach the generic values inscribed through an “interpretive” methodology when examining the ideological residue of icons on public culture. In their book

No Caption Needed: Iconic Photographs, Public Culture, and Liberal Democracy, Hariman and

Lucaites argue that visual theorists should reject the negative ideological grip of the visual in public culture and instead, embrace the visual as “part of a third way to understand and nurture public life” (p. 20).

59 An example of this can be found in earlier work, where Hariman and Lucaites (2002) look at “iconic photographs as a genre of public address”, to “discern specific problems, anxieties, and attitudes that define public culture in particular historical moments” (p. 366). The authors give credit to the icon because it maintains its position as an “individuated aggregate,” in public life (Hariman and Lucaites, 2007, p. 88-89). The iconicity of an original image and the emergence of those that follow it becomes “a trope whereby the population as a whole is represented solely by specific individuals” (Lucaites and Hariman, 2001, p. 38). In other words, the icon creates an identifiable link between itself and the individual viewer. For example, the

Migrant Mother icon is an emotionally charged piece that still remains a symbol for economic injustice in America. These images set the stage for rhetorical identification across periods of time and also can be a source of material repurposing for (new) future insight.

In “Performing Civic Identity: The Iconic Photograph of the Flag Raising on Iwo Jima” the authors provide an interpretive logic which uncovers three political themes which emerge from the analysis of the photograph. The themes of egalitarianism, nationalism and civic republicanism are not present because the iconic photograph “records an event or fixes a particular meaning” but because the icon “organizes a field of interpretation” (Hariman and

Lucaites, 2002, p. 367). Similarly, “Public Identity and Collective Memory in U.S. Iconic

Photography: The Image of "Accidental Napalm" looks at how the iconic “Accidental Napalm” photograph haunts and maintains public memory about the violence and brutality of the Vietnam

War (Hariman and Lucaites, 2003, p. 62). Both articles approach the iconic photograph as an artifact that is central in “an event-driven process of performance and response” (Hariman and

Lucaites, 2002, p. 387). Hariman and Lucaites’ approach to analyzing images is reliant on the circulation (and perhaps the recreation of the image) over a period of time, without giving a clear

60 indication to what methodologies we as rhetorical critics should use to “understand how it is that a few images are thought to have great rhetorical power”(Hariman and Lucaites, 2008, p.19).

What should critics call an icon and what measures should those critics follow in identifying and assessing images as iconic? In their latest book, Hariman and Lucaites (2016) to an extent, answer this question by drawing about previous work. In Public Image: Photography and Civic

Spectatorship the authors look at the effective ways in which enthymemes, allegories, and even how textual pros subscribe the spectator to specific material conditions. The authors also suggest that critics should be ethically mindful in their critiques of public images but vaguely layout a way to do so.

Hariman and Lucaites’ nuanced approach to studying how images carry symbolic meaning, the extent to which they are able to maintain a shared public collective is still unclear, and there is not a direct link that includes how and to what extent spectators become affective participants in public visual culture. An icon represents a direct link to a time and place, thus by focusing more on the material changes of the image throughout history, there is not a direct link to determining how these icons can currently promote social action through the interaction of the visitor/audience as co-creators/participants of material circumstances. I turn now to a more feasible and systematic approach for examining the rhetorical nature of “iconic” artifacts and their impact by exploring Finnegan’s circulation methodology.

Circulation Methodology

Finnegan’s first step in her methodology is production: to sketch an outline of how and why image(s) have been placed in the present moment. For example, exploring the archives would give the background story (or context) to answer why an image is produced (Finnegan,

2004, p. 203). The next step in the methodology considers the rhetorical choices behind the

61 composition of the image. For example, the use of certain materials over others for processing or the use of specific angles to create a (author’s) signature view would be some of the information that may help critics understand how the image is used or repurposed for the future.

Reproduction, the third step in Finnegan’s methodology, seeks to understand what the composition (layout) of the image can indicate or reveal about the image’s meaning (i.e. what meaning(s) does the composition of the image produce). Finnegan uses Barthes to explain the reproduction process as “the ways that the arrangement of image, text and caption work to create meaning in the contexts of particular rhetorical events” (Finnegan, 2004, p. 204). This is not to speak about the initial production of the image (that is the first step), but a way to understand the choices behind the reproduction of an image within different contexts. This also accounts for the recreation (or copying) of images beyond the “original” text.

The next step in Finnegan’s methodology considers the circulation of the image in order to understand the way in which the image fits into “social, political, and institutional discourses”

(Finnegan, 2004, p.208). For example, recalling the work of Kimble and Olson (2007), by tracking the circulation of the iconic “Rosie the Riveter” image the rhetorical critic can trace the emergence of certain symbolic meanings and narratives throughout its history and also decipher what role the image plays in the present. The last step of this methodology looks at the reception of the image. In the case of the “Rosie the Riveter” image, one can conclude from the image’s documented public reception that today it symbolizes feminism and is a symbol of resistance.

Speaking of current times, in a recent edition of The New Yorker, a new inclusive (re) imagining of the “Rosie the Riveter” image as a black female was released to commemorate the Women’s

March in Washington, D.C. to protest the nomination of President Trump. This (re) imagining

62 can be said to be different from the image’s initial emergence, which was to encourage women to enter the workforce during World War II.

This also connects back to the earlier discussion of Kress and Van Leeuwen’s work that attends to multimodal processes as a form of composition. By understanding the design and

“setup” of a visual and even the material features at work, the critic is best equipped to understanding the artifact’s persuasive visual features individually as well as jointly.

Currently, there is not a clear method for studying historical “iconic” visual artifacts beyond representational elements or understanding the material outcomes of those artifacts on visitors/viewers. Finnegan’s circulation methodology is useful because it offers a means by which we can interpret and evaluate images, allowing the critic to focus on the evolution of an artifact’s material being and consequences within different historical contextual moments and to what extent, its public impact. For example, the material consequences of museum displays may take form in the action of guiding the visitor, because of the order of placement, labels, etc., to be directed or articulating the display’s message in a certain way.

This is not to say that representation studies do not have a place within rhetorical studies, however by using this method when analyzing visual/historical texts, it produces an additional layer that connects the text to its audience/visitor as co-creators without neglecting the important aspects of the text’s material evolution. In other words, the question about how we remember history goes beyond representation to determine how history becomes socially and materially impactful.

63 Discussion of Literature and Concluding Thoughts

Where We May Go

This section serves as a place for concluding thoughts and, hopefully, a few steps forward in the discussion of visual rhetoric and memory and commemorative practices to better articulate how and to what extent methodologies can be utilized across scholarly studies to promote social change.

As Olson (2007) notes there are benefits to having many areas of visual rhetoric to explore. However, he argues having a wide range of areas within the rhetorical studies discipline may also hinder the growth of scholarship:

Certainly one factor that has obscured the half-century-long history of visual rhetoric has

been the number of names, sometimes synonymous but almost always overlapping, such

as: rhetoric of symbolic action, rhetoric of non-oratorical forms, non-verbal rhetoric,

rhetorical dimensions of media or popular culture, symbolic strategies or inducement,

rhetorical iconography or iconology, pictorial or visual persuasion or argument, pictorial

metaphor, electronic or celluloid rhetoric, rhetorical icons or iconic images, material

rhetoric or rhetoric of material culture, rhetoric of visual conventions, and digital rhetoric.

Additional variations featured the rhetoric of a specifically named genre or medium, such

as advertisements, architecture, atlases, cartoons, comics, films, maps, murals, paintings,

photography, posters, prints, quilts, sculpture, symbolic bodies, television, and textiles,

among many, many others. (p.10-11)

Olson also argues that the lack of cross-disciplinary approaches to visual rhetoric has stunted the growth of scholarship. Researchers are less aware of work related to visual rhetoric (or its similar application) from other disciplines. This also includes the lack of interdisciplinary programs that

64 expose students to a variety of scholarship beyond a limited area of work or the promotion of collaborative projects across disciplines to better serve the study of visual rhetoric (Olson, 2007, p.11).

As an interdisciplinary scholar who has an attachment to communication and rhetorical studies and to film and documentary studies, I echo Olson’s call for interdisciplinary action.

Throughout my exploration of visual rhetoric and memory and commemorative scholarship in this literature review, it was evident that many similarities between disciplinary specific literature and opportunities can be observed. For now, I would like to suggest a few additional points of the scholarship visited in this chapter as well as pose a few questions that may help in future discussions of visual rhetoric, materiality and the circulation of commemorative narratives in general.

Themes and Questions

In summation, specific themes about materiality emerge out of the nature, function, and scope of visual rhetoric. One can conclude that a perspective, which focuses on materiality as a shared experience, enables exchange of agency between the artifact and the visitor/audience.

This theme is important because it produces an opportunity for the collective invention of social knowledge and a shared understanding of histories. This makes the education of circulating narratives viable, as subjects are able, to an extent, act as extensions of the narratives they encounter through participation and embodiment.

Lastly, the durability of and artifact’s materiality and its circulation over time signifies the importance of the artifact/site for three reasons: (1) through the act of preservation, elements that “define” the artifact/site become vital to its existence in the present moment; (2) the circulation of material elements of the artifact/site which do not change over time become

65 defining characteristics of the artifact/site as iconic; (3) any changes to material elements of the artifact/site serve dual purposes; preserving the importance of historical narratives and meaning- making while adapting to present-day circumstances.

How does a space materially function as a form of visual public address and how would one articulate that function? Cara Finnegan (2010) explores this question, but more should be done to address it further. In this essay, she provides a critical approach to studying visual forms of public address through her own exploration of Lewis Hine photographs of the National Child

Labor Committee. While not necessarily the same mediated form, the same question about methodology shows up: “How should one proceed when examining non-oratorical modes?” (p.

251). As a critical framework used in other works by Finnegan, analyzing the visual artifact’s production, composition, reproduction, circulation, and reception in public culture, one would be able to understand the rhetorical impact of visuals through different historical moments.

This also includes the study of visual discourses—which can be applied to the examination of multiple mediums that have non-specific images but similar popular discourses.

While there are certain aspects of materiality briefly covered in Finnegan’s method, how would one account for the materiality of circulation of a space that is static? How do we account for the organization of the visuals in that space? Would the supplementary literature (e.g. orientation films) help us look at the ways in which “stone” may circulate and transform throughout time?

Unlike what seems to be the separation of language and the visual in the work of Kress and Van Leeuwen (1996), the ongoing theme in many of these works is that vision (how we learn to see), language (how we are taught to talk about an image and what counts as an image)

66 are all intertwined influences and mutually dependent on one another. Our perception and language comes from what our communities teach us (p. 19).

For example, Bergman (2003) comments on the power of the documentary form (or the form of expository documentary more specifically in one of her works), instead of paying specific attention to the material significance of evidence used for her examination of orientation films. This would call for an exploration of the “archival documentary” and the implications of the form’s material and persuasive purpose not only on its own terms, but also in relation to the film’s display and location in the museum. While not the focus of this project, if critics would start approaching elements of a text/artifact/site as interconnective networks which communicate a unified discourse about a historical event or that of a community, it would help make a greater argument for the epistemological nature of documentary within multiple contexts and situations.

There is also potential here to provide a way to understand the impact of documentary on a circulating audience/visitors through a participatory perspective within the museum.

To be clear, there is plenty of literature on the documentary form and how its rhetorical label as a “truth-telling machine” produces a sense of unquestionable authenticity for an audience, but it is the elements of still and moving images and narratives, along with rhetorical logics, which produce its epistemological form. While the use of interviews in some of these films to “ incorporate a historical context” does not fit the archival documentary genre, it offers a

“contemporary referent” of history that should be examined (Bergman, 2003, p. 438-439).

When looking at Bergman’s work (2003; 2008; 2013), there are interesting intersections between spaces/places, images (both moving and still), and the material features of both. Yet, a focus on materiality is not clearly explored in this work.

67 The orientation films of historical sites, according to Bergman (2003), are “overlooked and underappreciated in terms of their contribution and effects in the production of memory and public history”(p. 428). While I agree with Bergman, I suggest that these films (and other orientation literature) should be looked at as a material component of a site (in other words, as part of the site) rather than as a separate entity. By doing so, a rhetorical critic is better equipped to look at the material consequences of a site (effect on audiences/visitors and positions within the site) as epistemological rhetoric rather than just representations of the site.

Bergman (2008) notes, while memorials and monuments may be “carved in stone, its orientation films are not” and can offer “possibility to redefine and (re) present its meaning” (p.

106). If this is the case, let’s start with examining how static material forms of memory and commemorative sites “circulate” throughout historical periods, which may lead to a better understanding of audience/visitor and social impact in general.

What Can Be Offered: The Flow of Memory

What I begin to do in the following case studies is develop two rhetorical master-tropes: the first is the manifest-masculinity “textual” trope that acts as a network where memory circulates the common roles associated with American national character and American masculinity. The second master-trope utilizes the Aristotelian concept of magnitude put forth by

James McDaniel (2002), who describes the circulation and preservation of national “fantasies” through the “optical-visual” vastness of spatial accounts with “subjectivity as equally enormous or as radically displaced and diminutive” (91-92), in order to account for Roosevelt’s circulating discourse which embodied these traits and characteristics, ones that he frequently wrote about as the staples of American exceptionalism and an American way of life. I find that what works differently from Finnegan’s circulation methodology is that through the development of these

68 master tropes I am able to look at the circulation of these artifacts as one distinct whole for emergent themes and patterns which have circulated over a period of time rather than looking at the changes of a singular artifact. Indeed, I see these master tropes as starting points for articulating the extent to which American exceptionalism discourse is consistently embedded in the notion of manifest-masculinity and is circulates through multiple extensions (or networks) of visual culture, including differences of visual elements, understandings of time, space and audiences (generations).

Indeed, in order to extend Finnegan’s circulation methodology, assemblage theoretical approaches are utilized to illustrate how the extent to which we remember (and forget) history is reliant on the connections between and around the material commemoration and communication networks5 that circulate the discourses which help to rhetorically evolve static sites (such as the ones in the next chapter) through studying the material changes of time, space, and audiences which come and go. Drawing from Deleuze and Guattari’s example of “constellation,” Slack and

Wise (2015) call such (networked) assemblages ones that “territorialize the articulations of heavenly bodies, angles of relationships, space, atmospheric conditions, trajectories of movement, a way of seeing, and a way of experiencing the world and the universe” (p.156).

An examination of such assemblages can be found in Ronald Greene’s 2011 essay where he does necessary historical work by putting into play the film networks of the YMCA. Greene illustrates the critical significance of the institution’s distribution channels in manufacturing

American identity. The critical application of this assemblage theory will not only enhance

5 This methodology was first explored in one of my forthcoming publication regarding national memory and commemoration practices of Teddy Roosevelt for his centennial birthday. Please see “ Remember Roosevelt: Arguing for Memory Through Public and Private Networks” (Forthcoming).

69 Finnegan’s methodological contribution regarding the “life” of a rhetorical artifact, but also put to work those elements and networks that are inherently responsible for memory. While some scholars may water-down this approach to merely historical context at play, from my view understanding the processes of memory and commemorative practices, and even more so the extent to which those networks enable specific historical narratives to take shape and circulate, leaves rhetorical critics better suited to understanding the “politics of memory”, what Confino

(1997) calls a determination of “who wants whom to remember what, and why” of “a subjective experience of a social group that essentially sustains a relationship of power” (p. 1393).

Instead of emphasizing the extent to which meaning emerges from any one particular artifact or site of commemoration, determining how and to what extent the process of memory is generated and negotiated, and the extent to which memory’s final outcome is circulated in multiple forms may help us to avoid silencing narratives which promote the “sheltering of memory” by certain social structures and relationships to power in the future (Crane, 2000, p.

107). As introduced in the previous chapter, the modes of circulation (static, amnesia, assemblage, and performance) open a path for which multiple artifacts/sites may be analyzed and synthesized to understand how the movement of memory builds and sustains these power structures over a period of time.

The following chapter starts the first of four case studies, by examining the materiality and its changes of a memorial housed within a museum as a static material form of circulation. I call this “Circulation as Static.” The Roosevelt Memorial at the American Museum of Nature

History demonstrates the validity of this additional circulation extension through the examination of current preservation and restoration efforts within the memorial as visual forms of public address and as a way to illustrate the continual flow of memory.

70 Chapter Three

Circulation as Static: Preservation and the Flow of Memory6

His Americanism reached in to the very marrow of his bones. His uncompromising character made him many enemies, but without it he would not have been the Roosevelt who stamped himself so deeply upon the hearts and the history of his countrymen.

-John Burroughs on Theodore Roosevelt 7

This chapter argues that the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial at the American Museum of

Natural History performs work that not only commemorates the life of Theodore Roosevelt, but also reminds visitors of a nation’s past built on characteristics that are grounded in the ideas of domination, ingenuity, and savior-ship—masculine roles that continue to emerge and circulate in discourses related to consistent narratives of American exceptionalism and the nation’s relationship to nature.

The latest renovation of the Roosevelt Memorial began in early 2012 in time to celebrate the memorial’s reopening on October 27th, Roosevelt’s 154th birthday. Among many additions, as part of the renovation efforts, the museum spent $40 million to add a new life size statue8 9 of

Theodore Roosevelt in Memorial Hall and to restore the appearance of many of the collections

6 As I have mentioned in chapter one, this project, and mainly this chapter, is an expansion of a published essay titled “Recovering Nature: Memory and Scientific Argument at the American Museum of Natural History,” in Randall Lake (ed.), Recovering Argument (New York: Routledge, July 2018), 57-62.

7 American Museum of Natural History (1936) The New York State Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Dedication, pg. 8. Print.

8 Unknown Author. (2012, November 2). American Museum of Natural History’s Theodore Roosevelt Memorial

9 Stoneback, D. (2012, November 10). Teddy Roosevelt Memorial honors a conservation pioneer.

71 located in the Hall of North American Mammals by “touching up colors of the fur on the taxidermy specimens, dusting off leaves on the greenery and restoring some of the background paintings — and upgraded the building's Central Park West entrance.”10 Those who invested the time and resources to renovating the memorial hoped that for the close to five million tourists a year, it would “serve to inspire students to participate in the "innovation economy" as future scientists and engineers.”11

Indeed, time spent in nature is where most of the “masculine education” of Roosevelt took place (Testi, 1995, p.1517). While some expressed criticism of the memorial’s “pretentious

Roman style” structure and its lack of consistency with the rest of the museum (New York City

Guide, 1939, p. 359) in my analysis, I argue that the nature of the memorial’s structure is symbolic or a material representation of Roosevelt’s masculine persona. My aim throughout this chapter is to draw a point of contrast or oscillation between the rhetorical potentiality of the memorial as a lens for reading our current moment and its function as a resource of historical knowledge and preservation.

As I have mentioned in Chapter Two, Cara Finnegan’s approaches to history and visual studies provide one avenue for visual rhetoricians who are concerned with taking a balanced approach to understanding the historical context behind a visual artifact. In her 2004 essay,

“Doing Rhetorical History of the Visual: The Photograph and the Archive” Finnegan looks at how images “might be the construction of a rhetorical history that accounts systematically for the

10 Forgione, Mary (2012, October 1). NYC museum to reopen Theodore Roosevelt Memorial this month < http://articles.latimes.com/2012/oct/01/news/la-trb-teddy-roosevelt-memorial- 20120928>

11 Frost, Emily. (2012, October 26). Restored Teddy Roosevelt Memorial Opens to Public Saturday

72 ways in which images become inventional resources in the public sphere”(p. 198). Here

Finnegan provides a detailed methodology for analyzing artifacts: production, composition, reproduction, and circulation. As such, this chapter examines the Roosevelt Memorial to illuminate the extent to which public commemorative sites act as networked assemblages of cultural identities (Slack and Wise, 2005) made up of visual histories, histories that flow and are constantly being negotiated and renegotiated. I refer to this flow of memory as a “living archive.” The concept of a “living archive” aligns with the idea that its materiality is dialectically opposed to the notion of the archive being a static form of historical evidence, but instead circulates and moves narratives that contribute to a collective memory.

Finnegan’s methodological framework is inspired by David Zarefsky’s four senses of rhetorical history:“ the history of rhetoric, the rhetoric of history, the historical study of rhetorical events, and the rhetorical study of historical events.” Finnegan develops her methodology by utilizing Zarefsky’s third and fourth senses. While the historical study of rhetorical events may be viewed as the study of the “force in history,” “historical study of rhetorical events” Finnegan notes, may consist of studying “the history of terms relevant to particular instances of rhetorical discourse” and the “attempt to uncover the history of the production of a text, or look for patterns in discourse that “suggest a rhetorical trajectory.” For example, looking at a presidential speech for themes or terms might “tease out the process of composition of the text itself, utilizing archival materials to demonstrate the origins of particular phrases or ideas.” Indeed, taking a rhetorical approach to studying historical events can be used to cultivate “one’s rhetorical sensibility to understand history itself, conceiving of people, events, and situations as rhetorical problems for which responses must continually be formulated, reformulated, and negotiated”

(Finnegan, 2004, p. 200).

73 While the exploration of a rhetorical history through both of these senses is not sufficient,

Finnegan argues, doing so helps the rhetorical historian to pay close attention to details regarding a visual artifacts’ significance. Finnegan claims that by using her method to understand images, those who are researching the visual may have a greater understanding of the history “in and around” those images (Finnegan, 2004, p. 199-200). Recalling Blair (1992), Phillips (2010), and others, one can see how circulation plays an important part in understanding the importance of material circumstances of historical artifacts and their continued role in memory-making. Indeed, this approach allows me to acknowledge the fluidity of memory through various aspects and time periods of visual culture in order to better account for the variety of case studies in this project, their similarities in exhibiting the themes which are at the base of American exceptionalism and manage to continue to circulate, and their differences in how they take part in the circulation of historical discourses.

To be clear, the exploration of the Roosevelt Memorial at AMNH and the later case studies in this project are not necessarily done so to track the extent to which American exceptionalism is defined through masculine roles and endeavors. Instead, it is done so to illustrate a much broader methodological approach to understanding how and to what extent the continual flow of memory moves within, between, and throughout multiple forms of material and digital culture. This also shows how and to what extent the lasting effects of the discourses that are evoked and circulated over nearly a century since Teddy Roosevelt’s passing are made possible.

The chapter begins with an exploration of scholarly work on governance within a controlled environment, the museum space. This theoretical review is important because of the spaces in which the case studies are situated. The first is part of a museum structure that is

74 constantly maintained and regulated for visitors, while the memorial on Roosevelt Island covered in the next chapter is open to the material effects of outside forces such as weather, nature, and the circulation of visitors who are at will to imprint their presence on their surroundings. I then move into an in-depth rhetorical analysis of the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial (AMNH) to understand how and to what extent the preservation and renovation efforts of the Roosevelt

Rotunda and static taxidermy dioramas on display enable the circulation and promotion of efforts related to conservation education and nationhood through gendered concepts traditionally exhibited through characteristics synonymous with specific notions of masculinity.

Blair suggests that scholars should take a critical historical approach to history in order to promote substantial growth and new insights. If the practice of studying and remembering the past (even of national leaders) in a way erases certain narratives from public consciousness, we are then left with problematic (and ethical) issues in regard to how a public forgets vs. how a public remembers (Morris, 2004, p. 101). Thus, my analysis of the Roosevelt Memorial at the

American Museum of Natural History is founded on not only my own experiences visiting the site, but also the circulation of archival photos and images of the memorial’s displays found within the Special Collections Library at the AMNH. Some of these archival documents include a book length document highlighting the memorial’s blueprints, initial plans of the memorial committee, construction and dedication, annual reports, and documents containing board of trustees meeting minutes which discuss various topics about the memorial (such as funding and issues with the memorial’s construction).

Governance vs. Agency: Materiality, Memory, and Embodying Nation

Who exhibits rhetorical agency in memorial and commemorative practices? Shortly after the English translation of Michel Foucault’s work in the 1990s, issues concerning the control of

75 knowledge production became a debatable topic for cultural critics, defining the production of culture as “a set of technologies for governing habits, morals, and ethics for governing subjects”

(Rose et al., 2006, p. 97). Public educational institutions are among the places within which social and cultural identities are formed with specific attention to certain defining characteristics that are promoted as answers to wider social (at times economical) problems for the population.

Scholarship emerged on the 19th and 20th century public educational institution, noting the favoring of state discourses within these institutions in order to maintain relationships for funding purposes. Not surprisingly, these relationships manifested during the same time of colonial expansion. Tony Bennett’s work (1995; 2004), explains this implementation by focusing more specifically on the particular practices and restrictions of the public museum. As part of rhetorically creating historical value, the public museum’s task was to fashion material situations through which the careful organization and labeling of artifacts within the space would produce authoritative narratives and a sense of authenticity for the visitor experience. Museum collections would normally result as evidence of museum expeditions; the display of those artifacts to an extent, positioned the visitor to distinguish their sense of individual and collective identity as a nation from that of the Other (Barrett, 2011, p. 53). As such, it is common for commemoration practices to follow similar patterns, resulting in assemblages of specific characteristics or

“generic strokes” to evoke a particular way of remembering a time, event, or person for others to embody. Identification and the embodiment of national identity, for example, are a result, in part, of the ways in which these practices (or assemblages) are enforced.

In light of recent debates over remembering, embracing or confronting a past celebrated by various public sites, artifacts, and images in popular culture, the fluidity of American national identity is, indeed, negotiated and challenged on a daily basis. Historians, too, have struggled

76 with identifying the value behind preserving the dark side of history, such as slavery and racism in the United States. For David Blight, an American History Professor at Yale University, the question of value depends on where that line between unity and knowledge is drawn. He explains that for some, “the line between what is historically valuable and not is drawn at that which does not promote maximum unity. For others, the line leads to maximum knowledge, and the “troubled wisdom” that comes with it” (Flaherty, 2016, para. 5). Is it the compositional features of such material histories or is it the rhetorical values inscribed in the artifacts that determines or evokes how we see our selves and each other in relation to them?

Public experts, such as Blight, or those in other positions of power (e.g. government), are to an extent responsible for promoting or restricting the same historical narratives that circulate in public. An example of the outcome of these positions of power can be explained through

Foucault’s work on models of classification (Foucault, 1969). Taking on this task, Peter Galison

(2004) looks at the ways in which the classification of nuclear weapons is articulated as wholly closed off from any kind of inquiry:

Nuclear weapons knowledge is born secret. No primal act of classification is needed, no

moment when they pass out of light into darkness, no justification, no term of expiration

is needed to wrap them in the protective blanket of restriction. Nuclear knowledge

becomes classified the instant it is written down—even by someone who has no nuclear

weapons (Q) clearance. (p. 232)

Like the classification of deadly warfare that goes largely unquestioned and without notice, these controlled, classified, and labeled forms of historical knowledge are not just forms of instruction for how a society is to act collectively within a given situation (e.g. a nation at war or how to—or how not to—remember a nation’s dark past), but does not leave room for the

77 questioning of those narratives. The assemblage and composition of those material displays create an imaginary relationship to certain “words, names, and concepts” (Hooper-Greenhill,

1992, p. 4), for visitors. This “natural order,” an envisaged classification system, emerges as

“spaces for representing the space of representation as such” (Lord, 2006, p. 6). Given that a

“national way of being” is already categorized under preset norms and conditions, a citizen, much like the unknowledgeable nuclear weapons person, also to an extent comes into being through the production of other cultural markers within these spaces, including class, race, and gender.

Building Exceptionalism: Theodore Roosevelt Memorial at the AMNH

Controlling Nature and the Model Citizen

In general, the 1920s brought changes in terms of how museums promoted historical material narratives. Curators who incorporated the technology of the diorama, for example, were less concerned with conveying “scientific understanding” than they were with attracting visitors

(Conn, 1998, p. 25). For example, Pennsylvania’s University Museum director, George Byron

Gordon saw a vision of the future through these technologies noting: “Bringing people into direct contact with the visible past [would have] a civilizing and humanizing influence upon our manners and habits of thought” (as quoted in Conn, 1998, p. 100). How do controlled material spaces rhetorically influence power in relation to the construction of individual and collective identities?

The use of dioramas gave museums the opportunity to promote what they saw as the cycle of mankind’s history, and to experience “in detail the essential and salient features of the culture of a very large number of tribes”(Dorsey, 1907, p. 584), and their material conditions in a controlled environment. The diorama, thus, enabled a focus on evoking specific material

78 consequences of that experience not possible in uncontrolled environments. This is not to say that exhibits such as these did not receive criticism. Some public experts, such as naturalist

George A. Dorsey, criticized the ways in which museums used these technologies in their efforts to (re) present indigenous cultures. Dorsey, among others, questioned the authenticity of the displays because of their design and compositional features in relation to tribal cultural artifacts

(Dorsey, 1907, p. 584). The debates over the extent to which these displays were successful has less to do with the tension regarding authentic (re) presentation in exhibits, but rather an illustration of the uses of controlled spaces to manufacture national identity (through the display of its opposite). Indeed, by comparison, much like how American museums represent the histories of indigenous people to demarcate American Identity, the same practices elevate the identity of the American citizen and indicate how he is to be remembered and commemorated.12

Stories about the harsh unsettled wilderness—where one can recreate his own identity— are central to many myths regarding American national identity (Dickinson et al., 2005, p.86), and to an extent the creation of the ideal American who is physically strong, determined, and a man (Aoki et al., 2010). Such narratives in American popular culture have always been connected to the “Great Outdoors.” Even so, if we think about the struggles that Teddy

Roosevelt faced as a child and into his young adulthood as a successful state assemblyman in

New York, not only did his physique matter for health reasons, his public image was perceived by many as weak. Despite his political victories, especially at a young age, and his larger-than- life persona, which overflowed with feelings of self-importance, no one took Roosevelt all that

12 While not directly a complete exploration of the ways in which diorama technology contributes to the governed space, the illustration is nonetheless important and necessary in order to contextualize AMNH (as well as other museums) within the discourse. The research on early AMNH dioramas comes from my master thesis project titled “American National Identity and Discourses of the Frontier in Early 20th Century Visual Culture.”

79 seriously in the political arena. From the degrading comments his political opponents would make, to newspaper coverage characterizing Roosevelt’s high-pitched voice and fancy clothes as

“delicate,” it became exceedingly clear that TR was publicly cast as “effeminate” (Bederman,

1996, p. 170). Of course, such an image would destroy his political ambitions and his desire for power. In Roosevelt’s eyes the only way was in rebranding himself. Roosevelt soon became what we know today as the embodiment of powerful and exceptional American masculinity

(Bederman, 1996, p. 170).

Roosevelt’s ascension to the level of “manifest masculinity” was not a result of his political achievements, but rather it was due to “his masterful use of the discourse of civilization,” capitalizing on his new persona as a willful “civilized white man” –a collective national identity he thought to be in crisis (Bederman, 1996, p. 171). In resistance to such a calamity, Roosevelt thought of himself as a symbol for the American people and especially

American men, constantly projecting these traits into public affairs, “equating his own early struggles with physical debility with his country’s rise to power,” (Slotkin, 1992, p. 37) from global insignificance to power across sectors. In Roosevelt’s mind, the United States would only be able to exhibit power and dominance over other nations through “imperialistic control over races of inferior manhood” (Bederman, 1996, p. 171). This sense of superiority was only claimed through the willingness and ability to live the “strenuous life,” a connection to fictional narratives which demonstrated that the idea that strength was limited to the country’s returning to a way of life where young men killing large deadly animals or fighting indigenous people in unchartered territories became the nexus for manhood and nationhood.

Considering his own experiences dwelling in frontier living, TR not only equated his physical capabilities of “ranching and hunting experience as a model for regenerating the lost

80 manliness and vigor of his class” (Slotkin, 1992, p. 37), but also with achieving a higher sense of individualism. As an effort to promote these masculine skills, Roosevelt soon made strides to assemble like-minded individuals that wanted to promote the conservation of nature. As a co- founder of the 1887 Boone and Crockett Club, Roosevelt desired to create an “organization for gentlemen hunters like himself, a social club and an agency for fostering conservation policies”

(Slotkin, 1992, p. 37). The club sponsored hunting expeditions and lobbied for conservation education programs on hunting skills in order to mold “vigorous and masterful people” who have

“energy, resolution, manliness, self-reliance, and a capacity for self-help”—qualities “without which no race can do its life work well” (Slotkin, 1992, p. 37). In Roosevelt’s mind, the tactical skills necessary to connect with nature are essential to the healthy development of young boys into men and future leaders of America (Haraway, 1984, p.27)—transcendence beyond “the selfishness and sloth of the leisured and moneyed classes” (Slotkin, 1992, p. 37). To put it another way, strength, force, and durability—all characteristics necessary for individuals to survive in the wilderness—were dominant characteristics associated with being masculine and traits necessary to revitalize the country.

For those who explore the Roosevelt Memorial at the American Museum of Natural

History, to an extent the interaction with nature is immersive, yet controlled, where experiencing and being in nature is more at the hands of those who create the museum space. On the other hand, as one of the case studies in the next chapter illustrates, the Roosevelt Memorial on

Roosevelt Island outside of Washington, D.C. itself is surrounded and almost consumed by nature and all of its elements, which still manage to produce similar experiences. This comparison is significant because of the “dead space” of the museum vs. the assemblage features of the “ living archive” on Roosevelt Island and impacts the circulation of visitors and their

81 participation within these spaces.

The Theodore Roosevelt Memorial at the American Museum of Natural History in NY is exemplary of how the governed “body” of the museum space materially functions as a space for identity work to take place through the composition, production, and reproducing of historical values associated with Roosevelt. The Roosevelt Memorial is not just an ideological visual spectacle, but also a site in which memory and commemorative practices become vehicles for the continual circulation of manifest masculinity, a way of being which I argue manifests itself through the continual roles of conquer, innovator, and savior—a nostalgic version of American identity which becomes articulated as vital to the present day survival of self and nation.

As noted by Donna Haraway (1984), the museum’s conservation efforts created a “moral formation, for the achievement of manhood” (p. 55). Similar to how the story of the American hero and his adventures as depicted in The Buffalo Bill Museum demonstrate “what it means to be American” (Dickinson et al., 2005, p. 88), the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial is a site for instruction in (the appropriately intertwined notices of) masculinity and nationhood. While the memorial’s placement in the American Museum of Natural History is fitting because of

Roosevelt’s contributions to the museum, the museum’s commemorative efforts focus on those who utilized naturalist skills, both survival techniques and training, as well as basic knowledge and information about wilderness elements (ex: being able to recognize plants, insects, birds, etc.) as an important point of connection between the memorial and the museum at large. The materiality of the memorial acts as a type of instructional manual that directs visitors as to how to perform the role of exceptional citizen.

Following Burke’s work on permanence (1954), this ensuring analysis illustrates the extent to which the museum functions as rhetoric of (un) change—one which continues to

82 circulate old narratives regardless of growing differences. The current debates about how to go about commemorating the past in the United States and which histories should be commemorated or hidden is significant in that there is a fundamental problem with our relationship to history—individuals “feel the need to “know” or “uncover” their pasts as a way of defining their presents” (Blouin Jr. & Rosenberg, 2011, p.103) but perhaps what is needed is a revaluation of approaches to history, so that we have a better chance to change that narrative for the future.

Indeed, in a time when protests are emerging contesting old celebrated discourses that continue to oppress over half of the nation’s population, one would think that reevaluating the extent to which national commemoration practices are taken up, would result in choices that include inclusivity of all citizens and perhaps new narratives which might take our country down a different path. Reexamine the circulation of Roosevelt’s discourse in our current political moment is not about celebrating the life and legacy of Roosevelt, but instead better understanding the extent to which our own collective and individual identities are tangled up in these practices, and how that effects the ways we understand ourselves and interact with each other.

The Planning and Building of The Memorial. After the death of Theodore Roosevelt in

1919, officials moved to start a conversation regarding building a memorial that would articulate

Roosevelt’s life and commemorate his achievements as a leader, politician, author, and conservationist. The architecture became a primary focus of the memorial’s proposal. As Ruskin has noted, “When we build, let us think that we build forever. Let it not be for present delight nor for present use alone. Let it be such work as our descendants will thank us for” (American

Museum, 1936, p. 8). Indeed, the durability of the materials used to construct it and the

83 architecture to stabilize it, would make it possible to preserve its collections for many generations to come.

The Law of 1924 included a stipulation that Governor Alfred E. Smith would appoint a board of trustees that would oversee the construction of the new memorial building to New York

State’s “first citizen.” New York City’s Mayor Hylan and Governor Smith approved the erection of the memorial with the provision that Henry Osborn (the then president of AMNH) would agree to the position of Chairmanship, which he accepted (American Museum, 1932, p. 16).

While the planning for the Roosevelt Memorial moved forward, and while the AMNH desired the public’s support because of the memorial’s importance to the museum, the officials of the

Roosevelt memorial project board began to worry about the delay of the memorial’s construction caused by disagreements about its location (American Museum, 1932, p. 16).

Unlike the long and contested process of building the TR memorial in Washington, D.C. explored in the next chapter, according to archival documents the nation and the State of New

York were excited to memorialize the late president as quickly as possible. Upon constructing the commission board in 1920 to determine the “appropriateness” of the future monument,

Osborn did not hide his concerns over whether the memorial should or should not be part of the museum. In fact, others on the board thought that the memorial should be part of the State

University in Albany. In 1924 the New York State Legislature decided that the location of the memorial would be part of the city. Unsurprisingly, and much like Roosevelt’s strong “bully” personality, the State desired, with high expectations, to commemorate Roosevelt in a way which could be compared to the extent to which other countries remember their great leaders.

According to archival documents the State determined that the commemoration of Roosevelt

“should compare favorably to the Lord Nelson Monument in Trafalgar Square, London; Les

84 Invalides in Paris (a monument to Napoleon); the Victor Emmanuel II monument in Rome; and the Kaiser Wilhelm monument in Coblenz” (Landmarks Preservation Commission, 1975, p. 2).

After the board of trustees was appointed, one of their first tasks was to invite eight architectural firms from around the state to participate in a competition for the best design of the memorial. The competition was governed by the following criteria:

The design should symbolize the scientific, educational, outdoor and exploration aspects

of Theodore Roosevelt's life rather than the political and literary.

The design should be consistent with the dignity of the Empire State and reflect the

national and international influence of Theodore Roosevelt.

The memorial should be harmonious with and embody the ideals, purposes and plans of

the American Museum of Natural History to which Theodore Roosevelt devoted the early

and closing years of his life.

The memorial should provide not only for visitors from the City and the State but should

be so planned that it would become an integral part of the school and public educational

system of the State, and likewise form an extension to the educational work of the

American Museum of Natural History in the City and in the State.” (Landmarks

Preservation Commission, 1975, p. 2)

After five years, Osborn was able to find a compromise with the city of New York. After many conversations between the governor, mayor, AMNH administration, and board trustees,

Osborn and the committee agreed to terms of the location. The board successfully secured the funds necessary to start preparations for construction to take place:

85 As a tribute to the memory of Theodore Roosevelt there shall be erected, at a cost to the

state of not exceeding three million five hundred thousand dollars ($3,500,000), in the

city of New York upon a site provided by the authorities of such city, adjacent to the

American Museum of Natural History in such city, an education building, chiefly for the

benefit of the youth of the state, which shall hereafter be known as and become the New

York State Roosevelt Memorial. (American Museum, 1930, p. 6)

According to a Landmarks Preservation Commission documents published in 1974, the winning design was announced in June 1925 and went to John Russell Pope, an architect who was already well known for his classical designs around the city. Interestingly enough, Pope also won an additional design contest that same year to build the national Roosevelt Memorial in

Washington, D.C. However, the construction of that memorial was not executed until many years later. While Pope’s design won the competition, according to archival documents, what was executed was very different from the original design submitted for the competition. Likely because of recommendations from the board of trustees Pope later modified the design; however, a decision on the final design was reached in 1928.

While the groundbreaking for the construction took place in October of 1929, the Board of Trustees did not approve the final plans for the memorial until the following year in 1930. The cornerstone of the building was laid by, then, Governor Franklin Delano Roosevelt in front of a crowd of more than 500 people. Pope’s new design called for the display of giant murals on three of the walls, which would end up leading to another competition to choose a muralist. Out of this competition William Andrew Mackay, who was also a pretty established public artist in the city, was commissioned to paint the murals in 1933. The murals would end up representing some of

T.R.’s most important life moments.

86 According to museum reports, the construction of the memorial was delayed because of issues finding the same material, Jonesboro granite, which had already been used on another wing. Instead, it was approved to use Milford pink granite, which under certain weather conditions turned gray (Landmarks Preservation Commission, 1975, p. 1-4).

After fourteen years under construction (American Museum, 1930, p. 46), the memorial was opened to the public. It was located through the new main entrance of the museum, which faces the west side of Central Park (American Museum, 1931, p. 26). Although the goal of the construction team was that the memorial would be finished in time for T.R.’s seventy-seventh birthday on Oct 27, 1935, the memorial was not finished until January 19, 1936. According to archival documents, the ceremony was a “grand affair.” President Franklin D. Roosevelt gave the keynote address during the ceremony. Because of the untimely death of Chairman Osborn, Peter

Kiernan who was the vice-chair of the Board of Trustees at the time headed the dedication

(Landmarks Preservation Commission, 1975, p. 3).

The West Entrance. The Roosevelt Memorial building is a large gray and granite building which faces Central Park West on Main Street—a street that is always filled with busy people, food truck and carts, and at times gray steam emerging from the sewers below. The building encloses what was once called Memorial Hall (but is now called the Roosevelt

Rotunda), multiple diorama exhibits that will be discussed in this chapter in detail later, and the updated Memorial Hall that is located below the Rotunda on the first floor.

The approach to the Roosevelt Memorial was extremely important to Chairman Osborn who spent most of his time seeking approval for a 190-foot wide and almost 500-foot long pathway from Central Park to the memorial’s west entrance (American Museum, 1936, p. 15).

Of course, Central Park is a heavily utilized area with a great deal of traffic moving between the

87 Park and the memorial entrance (American Museum, 1936, p. 11). While historical description and documented accounts are necessary for the frame in which the critic may reason the specific moves and material consequences of a commemorative site, the critic’s own account and experience within that space puts into practice the rhetorical flow of memory, as they too become part of the continual circulation of discourse. Thus, to an extent, I insert my own experience into this account to give perspective to the magnitude of the space and of Teddy’s memory.

As I passed the steps to the entrance of the Roosevelt Memorial for the first time in May of 2017 on my way to the “special” entrance for the museum’s research library, I felt overwhelmingly excited, standing within feet of the large Roosevelt equestrian statue. For the first time, after years of trying to understand the material force of such an iconic artifact located in New York City’s upper side of Manhattan through only the photographs which circulated on

AMNH’s website or through a random Internet search of the statue in general, the experience had an overpowering effect on me. Cast in a deep green bronze, the statue of Roosevelt is positioned authoritatively and confidently on a stallion. Roosevelt’s chest is extended and he is looking outward towards Central Park. The figure of TR is accompanied by figures of an African and Native American on foot both of which are positioned below the figure of Roosevelt. Their gazes, too, are turned towards what seems to be the infinite display of nature in Central Park.

Such a position, according to archival documents, is “suggestive of Roosevelt's interest in the original peoples of these widely separated countries” (American Museum, 1936, p. 11). On the other hand, this gaze is rhetorically suggestive not of his love for the men that are below and at his side, but instead for the love of exploring the environment on display in front of him. This statue is elevated above the ground level (30 feet above) on a pedestal that is made up of the same pink/white-wash stone color granite out of which the building was constructed. These

88 distinct details and features indicate both visually and materially the connection between the exterior of the building and the interior of the Rotunda space beyond the entrance.

The day I visited, excited school children arriving on buses ran directly up to the statue to pose for a photo taken by their chaperons. Many of the children, either individually or with classmates, positioned themselves in ways that modeled the statue that stood behind them. What is interesting about this moment is that the young children did not choose to emulate the African nor the Native American individuals represented, but instead Roosevelt. This observation led to these questions: How do our identities shape how we engage with public displays of commemoration? Especially at such a young age, to what extent are children impressionable subjects for public commemoration of national leaders in terms of gender, race, and class?

While there were a number of proposals suggesting how Roosevelt should be remembered, the museum thought that the symbolization of Roosevelt’s character as naturalist and citizen “would provide a lasting and influential memorial.” One of the most striking features on the outside of the building is what some archival documents have described as a “monumental triumphal arch,” which the Board of Trustees of the Roosevelt Memorial asserted"... not only symbolizes the great spirit of Theodore Roosevelt, but echoes the dignity and majesty of the state and the nation" (Landmarks Preservation Commission, 1975, p. 2-3). The visitor who looks towards the front of this entrance from the sidewalk, or while seated across the street on a bench in Central Park, sees the building ascending from the top of the grand staircase, momentous in its appearance not only because of the building’s classical structure but because of its stone gray color. Some would say that the color gray represents the sadness of the metropolis and of city life, and the unintended consequences of being a civilized nation, but being within feet of one of the most beautiful displays of nature and one of the most beautiful parks in the country

89 throughout the years leads to different enactments and energies. The gray represents the sturdiness of the stone out of which the memorial was built. Much like the rich dark soil that can be found beneath the grass and trees of Central Park, or even the natural gray colored stones found along a path taken in Central Park, the gray color rhetorically exhibits a natural presence as if the memorial had been there for centuries.

The gray color of the building is also fitting because it plays a rhetorical duality of sorts.

On one hand, it blends into the natural landscape that sits before it as if Roosevelt himself and nature were having a face-to-face peaceful meeting—nothing chaotic; however, on the other hand, the building dominates the environment. Indeed, a stark contrast between the earth tone colors of nature with constant fluidity of shapes and sizes of natural growth and that of the building, which is symmetrical, and features clear-cut corners of precision—a feature which makes the building sturdy and lasting.

The Roosevelt equestrian statue which sits just feet away from the stairs leading the visitors under the grand archway into the memorial, rhetorically signals that behind this man lies a sacred space which is in need of a guardian, a symbolic gesturing towards those figures in ancient times and in many cultures that would guard tombs of the gods. However, if we holster the rhetoric that is Teddy Roosevelt, he is the perfect guardian of the museum (and of the subdued natural world) because he is Teddy Roosevelt and even after death he is monumental.

As quoted by the Landmarks Preservation Commission (1975), the Trustee’s report of 1928 has noted, the statue is a marker of Roosevelt’s character—one which “symbolize the fearless leadership, the explorer, benefactor and educator, a creation that should inspire the beholder with a feeling of the truly sublime in art and in history” (p. 3). Supported by tall ionic columns on each side of the archway, three words are inscribed into the off white stone arch; words that

90 represent Roosevelt’s discourse both of nation and self: “ Truth”, “ Knowledge”, and “Vision.”

There are multiple freestanding columns that border the archway leading into the memorial.

Above these utterances and centered over the entrance on each of the four columns are sculptures of Meriwether Lewis, James Rogers Clark, Daniel Boone and John James Audubon, some of the greatest explorers and naturalists of our nation, all of whom are regarded as heroes of early

American History (American Museum, 1936, p. 11). To an extent, it would seem plausible that one would think the alignment of hegemonic narratives preserved through their circulation within these institutions would call into being an ideal exceptional citizen, described by the criteria of a white European male to be emulated. Indeed, one who is a conqueror, an innovator, and a savior of nation and mankind.

Above the archway there are also words dedicated to Roosevelt: "State of New York

Memorial to Theodore Roosevelt. A great leader of the youth of America, in energy and fortitude, in the faith of our fathers, in defense of the rights of the people, in the love and conservation of nature and of the best in life and in man." The magnitude of this visual text- speech and even so, the extent to which those words are engraved into the material permanency of time within this space, suggests that what lies within the walls of the Roosevelt Memorial is more than just a memorial of a man, but instead a monumental display of the “leader of the youth of America” to commemorate and enact the transformation of an ordinary citizenry into that of an exceptional existence.

Eileen Hooper-Greenhill (1992) has argued that such workings of the museum apparatus, promote ideological formations ready for public consumption; indeed, a “new form of population management, targeted at the collective good of the state rather than for the benefit of individual knowledge” (p. 174). Of course, as a rhetorical critic I do not want to automatically claim that

91 institutions such as the public museum or rather any commemorative site exhort a material force on its visitors without a claim to agency, however, the material features of the structure, to an extent, do have material consequences within a given situation, a factor which deserves attention.

Surrounding the space below these sculptures is a nearly immaculate concrete stage

(surprisingly as this space sits in a high traffic area), divided by the equestrian statue into two large spaces which many visitors use to eat lunch or engage in conversation with one another.

The backdrop behind these spaces acts as a continual longitudinal connection between them, surrounding in a sense those who occupy it. The significance of this wall is not just its connection between locations, but also, in the etching of the multiple identities that describe TR:

Historian, Statesman, Soldier, and Patriot, among others. Given that magnitude “articulates a sense of scale and importance, however vague in a given case,” the size of the entrance leading into the Roosevelt Rotunda bears symbolic and material significance for visitors because of their relationship to the size and depth of that space (McDaniel, 2002, p. 92). Indeed, the west entrance grants visitors a monumentalized “cliff notes” version of the important aspects of

Roosevelt’s life (and the roles which he played) even before entering the memorial.

Roosevelt Rotunda. The size of the Roosevelt Rotunda is expansive and represents the

“grandeur and dignity in harmony with the spirit of Roosevelt's lofty ideals and fearless character” (American Museum, 1936, p. 12). James McDaniel (2002) has described the quest for identity origins though the circulation of oral fantasies a big part of early expansionist ideology as well as “a potent mode for collective memory.” McDaniel explains that because of the stylistic ways in which a constructed ideal emerges in the form of a person, place, or thing, these tale tales “condenses tropes that in turn articulate a particular image of the speaking subject, one for whom largeness of scale, enormity of appetite, and a tendency to regard highly combining

92 sociality with unruliness” for the individual and collective consciousness to easily “ recall and revise to the requirements of the moment…” (p. 91).

In the central space of the Rotunda stand two large dinosaur skeletons in a fighting stance. These fossils are one among the most recognizable displays noticed by visitors entering the museum, other than the Roosevelt equestrian statue. The centrality of these fossils within the

Roosevelt Rotunda amplify Roosevelt’s persona as a titan of nature because of the evidence on display—Roosevelt’s personal trophy collection, similar to the ones found just a few feet away in the Bernard Family Hall of North American Mammals. The analysis below illustrates the extent to which the material changes to the battling Barosaurus and Allosaurus, the Roosevelt murals, and the Bernard Family Hall of North American Mammals in the Roosevelt Rotunda help to perpetuate a circulation of discourses related to not only Roosevelt’s “manly” persona but more broadly to his role as an exemplar of the relationship between man and nation and man and nature: a rhetorical trope that I refer to as manifest-masculinity—a gendered framing of a dominant narrative of the exceptional American citizen.

According to archival documents the Rotunda is 67 feet wide and 120 feet long with a ceiling that raises about 100 feet above the floor. The barrel vault ceiling displays a coffered pattern of octagonal shapes that are highlighted by the ceiling’s natural bone hue. Under the archway there is a deep regression of glass and what looks to be bronze-like material, which makes up the windows. These windows take up nearly half of the space between the top of the archway and the doors below it and they are separated into three sections above the entryway by thin bronze framing; however, there is minimum visual obstruction of the space as it allows ample daylight to travel into the space. The natural lighting that seeps into the space between the dinosaurs exhibits almost acts as a spot light for visitors that direct them to move in a specific

93 direction forward between the displays rather than around them. The transitional material features between the exterior and interior of this entryway rhetorically merges both the natural elements of the outside and the man-made structural imaginary of the inside as they collide to enhance a fluid move between environments.

After passing through the entryway, one is met by large columns that are measured at 48 feet high, and is described by Landmarks Preservation Commission Report as recalling the likeness of the great Pantheon. Made from red Alacanti and Verona marble, these columns are of a peach clay-like color that resembles the likeness of the sun-drenched mountains in the Arizona desert. The columns mirror one another on each wall which foregrounds the Rotunda, framing the walls in which each are attached to give the appearance of being a primary support of the fringe-like pattern which borders the space’s barrel vault ceiling. Resting on top of the columns are hand-carved Corinthian capitals—a design that is fitting for this memorial because of its resemblance to the natural shape of leaves and flowers. The base of these strong columns are made of Bottocino marble with a hue that is similar to the stone colored walls and natural-tonal ceiling within the space. Trustees of the memorial described how these materials, designs and structures, "stand as sentinels to the greatness of the man, and lend a note of virility and strength so characteristic of Roosevelt" (Landmarks Preservation Commission, 1975, p. 4).

The Renfrew marble and limestone walls that accompany these classical columns have wainscoting carvings which reach nine feet around quotations from some of Roosevelt’s writings—ones which symbolically seems to support the structure of the building through his words. The words “Nature,” “Manhood,” “Youth,” and “The State” are inscribed on the walls bordered by the classical Corinthian entablature design that can be found surrounding the entire space. What is interesting about the Roosevelt Rotunda is that the warm red and orange stone,

94 offsets the gray and natural colors that ground most of the space. The pink tones of the red

Alacanti and Verona marble of the columns also break up the space.

Material Changes of Display and Technology as Recovery. Found within feet of the triumphed entrance into the Roosevelt Rotunda is the overwhelming presence of the Barosaurus and Allosaurus fossil display which stands around 55-feet-high, “towering” over visitors as they enter the Rotunda. While dramatic in appearance, some expressed disapproval of the life-like display, such as Dr. Edwin H. Colbert, a former museum curator of vertebrate paleontology.

Colbert commented, “I think that when a kid looks at a dinosaur skeleton, he or she wants to know that it's the real thing, not a cast," he said. "If you have to replace some missing bones with casts, that's fine, but something of the real animal should be there." Dr. Michael J. Novacek, a paleontologist and the dean of science at the museum replied, “it would have been impossible to mount so large and heavy a fossil in such a dramatic pose” (Brown, 1990, para. 9-10). The company, who manufactured the initial instillation 19 years before, would then be hired to renovate the Rotunda centerpiece in 2010, because of damage to the mount and noticeable heavy foot traffic within the space.13

Before the separation of the dinosaurs, upon entering the Rotunda, visitors have the choice to either move to the left or to the right of the display. If visitors choose to move to the left of the display, they would be likely to enter the Bernard Family Hall of North American

Mammals due to the noticeable contrasting features of the lighting in the area. From a distance

13 The initial instillation of the Barosaurus and Allosaurus took place during the early 1990s by Research Casting International. See Browne, M. W. (1990, November 29). Dinosaur Displays Closing For Renovation article. The New York Times. Retrieved from https://www.nytimes.com/1990/11/29/arts/dinosaur-displays-closing-for-renovation.html

95 the Alaska Brown Bear in this gallery quickly catches the eye of visitors because of the darkened entrance into the hall and the lusciously colorful real-life diorama display of nature that would appear to be perfectly composed as if it were a photograph in National Geographic Magazine.

Similarly, if the visitors decide to move to the right of the dinosaur display, they would be

“directed” to the expansive murals of Roosevelt which commemorate “notable incidents” during his career including: The Panama Canal, The Treaty of Portsmouth and his African Exploration

(Mackay, 1944, p. 2). Painted by William A. Mackay, the murals cover a total area of “five thousand two hundred and thirty feet” of the Roosevelt Rotunda and “skillfully presented the outstanding achievements rendered by Roosevelt both to our country and the world” (American

Museum, 1936, p. 12).

Memory and Masculinity. Mark Norell, chairman of the paleontology division notes

“We're not a museum of a museum. We've got to change every once in a while" (Suen, 2010, para. 2). This is an interesting statement given that the museum experience is reliant on the preservation and collection of artifacts to promote the circulation of specific historical narratives, as well as the placement of these displays that encourage the visitors to move in specific ways.

What comes to mind, after sitting with this issue regarding authenticity is the notion that we, not just as humans, but as Americans, perceive ourselves as creatures of ingenuity, ones that we can determine the extent to which the materiality of an artifact, space, or place can be restored from a diminishing state of being. Bruce E. Gronbeck, during a presentation at Greenspun Conference on Rhetorical History (1995), calls the act of restoring, or rather recovering the past as inherently rhetorical—a flawed act with arguments continually fueled by the self-interest of individual agendas:

96 The past can be endlessly argued-over and argued-with. It can itself be a battleground or it

can be raided, rebuilt, and perverted for any number of human purposes. In the form of

traditions (Shils, 1981), the past appears to make direct demands upon our hearts and

minds; yet those same traditions can be sites of struggle for contemporary social-political

supremacy...(p. 2)

A museum exhibit developer who goes by the name of “Ben” on his blog “Extinct Monsters” commented on the display’s explicit pedagogical agenda. Upon the initial revealing of the display in 1991, the museum wanted to “showcase what active, hot-blooded dinosaurs might be capable of.” Noting the considerable reproduction process by which the past is brought to life for others to witness, he suggests that it is “still an imaginative reconstruction – one which challenges visitors to consider the evidence behind this and other displays throughout the museum” (Extinct Monsters, 2015, para. 3).

Indeed, a museum display acts as a framing for a specific perception or viewpoint of the world. As the centerpiece of the Roosevelt Rotunda and the world’s tallest freestanding dinosaur mount, the changes to the display were monumental, as the eight foot-wide separations created a path to accommodate movement of large crowds. With the separation of the battling dinosaurs, the visitors no longer passively maneuver around the side of the display to get to their next destination in the museum, but instead are directed to move through the display to experience and become part of the battle, a forceful rhetorical persona to embody and act out as part of a great legacy of humans who exhibit exceptional abilities to win and conquer anything within the confines of the natural world.

The Roosevelt Murals: Commemorating and Documenting. Expansive, yet sturdy in its appearance due to its classical structure, the Roosevelt Rotunda has a warm and inviting

97 presence because of the combination of warm colorful marble materials that make up the walls, columns and floors of the space. On the adjacent walls that recede behind these columns into their own space, ones that prepare visitors for their transition into a different controlled environment are also part of the process of the space’s balancing of strong neutral and bright warm colors. These walls are the bases for which three murals dedicated to commemorating some of Roosevelt’s most prized accomplishments. The events chosen for these murals: on the west panel is Roosevelt’s African Expedition, north panel represents the building of The Panama

Canal, and finally on the south panel the Treaty of Portsmouth is represented, one which

Roosevelt won a Noble Peace Prize.

Over the years, the timeless murals have surely collected dust since their original debut in

1935. The murals are the largest on display in a public building in New York, standing at 34 feet high and 62 feet long. The need for restoration became evident when the murals started to separate from the walls of the Rotunda, which was done so before the memorial reopened after its renovation in 2012. James Gardner (2013) puts it best regarding the criteria for a person or event that qualifies commemoration. When talking about the restoration of the murals he notes in

The Magazine Antiques, those exhibiting traits that speak to the grit of the human spirit, such as a virtuous model of citizenry would be one worth remembering. However, the simplicity of the act of commemorating has changed significantly from simple acts to grandiose displays of worth.

Gardner continues:

One hundred years ago, even fifty years ago, the act of monumental commemoration was

a relatively simple affair. A victory in battle or the founding of an institution was seen, at

least as regarded the monument in question, to be completely good. A massacre or natural

catastrophe was assumed to be completely bad. Anyone deserving of a statue in the first

98 place was implicitly viewed as a model of fortitude, philanthropy, or whatever other

virtue attached to that specific act of commemoration. (para. 1)

To an extent, the museum created a memorial space for which TR’s life would not just be on display, but experienced—as if he were still going on great hunting conquests or leading cavalries to victory. Indeed, Roosevelt was just that person that warranted such a monumental display of exceptional citizenry by comparison.

The following section explores what Gardner has described as “the most stunning element” of the memorial. Mackay’s murals in the rotunda exhibit a rhetorical reinforcement of the manifest-masculinity qualities of American exceptionalism, which were introduced earlier in this chapter. I do so to illustrate how and to what extent visual compositional features of the memorial, much like those of the restoration efforts of the dinosaur exhibit are part of the elements that allow memory to flow.

Roosevelt’s African Expedition. For the west panel that represents Roosevelt’s African

Expedition, there are many symbolic features of the mural that denote a type of exceptionalism related to biblical terms. Another thing that is interesting about this mural is that the documents that were originally created as information booklets to explain what the murals represent, does not expand beyond a simple description of what each figure represents. There is no meaningful thought that goes into the set up or design of the mural but instead just a simple description that describes what the image represents. According to the archival documents14 in the upper right

14 A lot of the information about the representation and symbolism of the murals came from a document by the mural artist, William Andrew Mackay. This archival document provided clear information for who/what is being depicted in the murals for accurate analysis. See Mackay, M. W. (1944). The murals in the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial. Retrieved from http://digitallibrary.amnh.org/handle/2246/6170.

99 hand corner, the African Expedition mural depicts a display of the biblical characters Shem,

Ham, and Japheth (Noah’s sons) and is set sometime after the story of Noah’s Ark. The document explains that after Ham showed disrespect, Noah cursed him and his descendants to slavery. In the center of the mural Ham and his wife are shown with Shem and Japheth as they part ways with ceramic jugs and other bags and tools that are tied to their traveling donkey. On the edge of the upper left hand corner of the mural is a large mountain described as Mount

Kenya. Beyond the “snow-capped” Mount Kenya, in the foreground one can see a light line of bamboo subarea that lightly covers the view of the mountain.

Below this imagery in the left center of the mural Teddy Roosevelt stands above a lion and lioness with other animals surrounding then. Many of the birds that are depicted in this group of animals, according to the same document, are part of the museum’s collections. To

Roosevelt’s right and left backdrop of the image is described as Roosevelt’s gun bearers. Both men appear to be African. What is interesting about the chosen composition of this part of the mural is the placement of Roosevelt directly above the lion with the rifle placed upward and to the right with the handle of the rifle aligned with Roosevelt’s lower pelvic region, with one hand on his hip and the other on the barrel of the rifle. Roosevelt’s gun bearers appear to have less of a forceful grip on the rifles that they hold, ones that are flanked over a shoulder in a subordinate military stance as they appear to be looking to Roosevelt for guidance about what to do next. To the lower right of Roosevelt stands three people, in the front and closest to the lion and Roosevelt are a Boy Scout and what looks to be a male academic to his right. Behind them stands a Girl

Scout looking in the same direction. All three symbols represent significant qualities of our present and future society to Roosevelt: scientific education, independent self-sufficiency, and the importance of learning among American youth.

100 Rhetorically the composition of this section of the mural is probably the most subtle, yet strong visual narrative about the dominance of Roosevelt’s presence and American masculinity in general. The Nubian lion, for example is the king of his environment and to be dominated, as it appears he has been, by Roosevelt is not just about Roosevelt bringing home with him a simple big game trophy but instead to exhibit a forceful (very masculine) characteristic which acts as a demonstration of an exceptional American character. This composition is even more so important with the presence of the Boy and Girl Scout, and the academic in terms of their positions within the framing of this section. Of course the boy and man standing closet to

Roosevelt and the positioning of the woman behind them rhetorically creates a system of visual ranking: both the boy and man are observing front and center the lesson Roosevelt has to teach while the girl behind them takes a secondary seat to her lessons in nature, science, and citizenry.

The right side of the mural includes a sort of authentication in terms of the narrative in which the mural and rather the memorial in general represents: America’s colonial power as tradition. Men conquer and rule over uncharted territory and pass on those lessons and teachings to their lineage, many sons who are said to be as capable of such endeavors. The right panel illustrates multiple indigenous hunters that appear to be hunting a large African elephant with spears. At the bottom of this imagery appears to be another group of indigenous people carrying wrapped goods over their heads. In the foreground and centered on this panel is an indigenous man dressed in leopard skin and with a tribal head dress on top of his head who is supporting what looks to be a seal of some sorts. According to archival documents this man is chief of the

African Kikuyu tribe. To his left stands a young man who resembles that of a young Teddy

Roosevelt. According to the archival documents he is Roosevelt’s son, Kermit.

Indeed, this mural not only represents the rhetorical capabilities of what Kenneth Burke

101 (1954) once called the “permanence,” of visual discourse, but one which circulates without movement through time and space. A man’s relationship with his son, and the preservation of family heritage and tradition is just one way in which the manifest masculinity characteristics emerge, still, through what has been characterized as a more progressive political moment.

The Building of the Panama Canal and The Treaty of Portsmouth. Similarly, The north mural in the Rotunda represents another layer that rhetorically capitalizes on the man concurring nature aspect of American exceptionalism: America’s technological prowess and ingenuity. The north panel represents the building of the Panama Canal, a venture that connected both the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans for effective maritime trade activities, and has just as many details making up its composition, as does the African expedition panel. Of course, the building of the Panama Canal was said to not be beyond the imagination Christopher Columbus but, indeed, could only be done by TR. Some saw the Panama Canal as Roosevelt playing the role of the most powerful nation on the world stage however, others saw it as policies “smacked of imperialism and colonialism.” As Stephen G. Rabe (2011) notes, “Roosevelt was a bully, who used superior US power to force Latin Americans into accepting the US domination of the region. The president justified his seizure of power by disdaining Latin Americans, judging them culturally and racially backward”(p. 274).

It is not surprising given the layout of the murals thus far that the fantastical nature of symbolism in commemorative practices becomes important for the rhetorical potency of the mural’s visual message. Above the north entryway is the image of a seated Buddha, which according to the document authored by Mackay (to give some insight into the thought process behind the murals composition), the Buddha is symbolic of what “ Columbus hoped and expected to find when he set west across to the Atlantic Ocean—India.” To the right is Queen

102 Isabella, and above her, Columbus, with other people listed to the left of them as “an East Indian prince and native” (Mackay, 1944, p. 8).

Some of the most sticking details laid out in the composition of the Panama Canal panel are the imagery of machines that illustrate the groundbreaking of the new passage as well as the imagined “documentation” of this historical event located on the opposite return panel.

Surprisingly, these features are not located on the main panel that frames the entirety of the north wall given that the panels undoubtedly speak volumes in the framing of the manifest-masculinity

(manifest-destiny) roles, which have been laid out earlier in this chapter. On the one panel, the visual presentation of construction machinery over powers and dominates the rest of the images in the layout of the panel besides the central placement of one image of a middle-aged man.

Described by Mackay as a “ typical American construction engineer,” while simpler in his appearance, does resemble the likeness of a younger Teddy.

The opposite returning panel brings what McDaniel (2002) would likely consider to be the fantastical magnitude in memory and commemorative practices framing American national identity with a closely related narrative to Roosevelt’s involvement in the building of the Panama

Canal—the discovery and exploration of Roosevelt River.15 Around the same time the Panama

Canal was in its end stages of construction, TR lost his shot for the chance of a third term in the

White House under a third party. Found at the top of panel is what Mackay describes as the

“Goddess of the River, crowned with orchids, pouring the dew from an ancient water vessel, which she has gathered from the rainbow. Down it falls to become the Unknown River, discovered and explored by Theodore Roosevelt, and named for him Rio Teodoro” (Mackay,

15 This is also known as the River of Doubt. See Millard, C. (2005). The River of Doubt: Theodore Roosevelt’s Darkest Journey. New York, NY: Broadway Books.

103 1944, pg. 8). Towards the bottom of the panel sits Kermit Roosevelt, one of TR’s sons, documenting the event.

What both this panel and the Treaty of Portsmouth mural teaches us, has less to do with the roles associated with American exceptionalism, but more so the extent to which memory circulates within the networks of public and private ideological institutions. For the Treaty of

Portsmouth panel, visitors are reminded of the “savior” role which emerges from the discourse of exceptionalism not only on a national stage but, too, a global one. The “hat tip” gesture towards the Roosevelt River rhetorically positions Kermit with control over the documentation of memory where lineage is vital to bolstering of credibility, in this case, a family name, but also documents such memory work in relation to power.

The murals rhetorically play a dual purpose: those who dwell within and move throughout the Rotunda to not only embrace the dinosaurs, and other displays like them, as a spectacular accomplishment of the natural history museum, but also act as suturing backdrops to any narrative gaps about Roosevelt which may emerge within the space—those natural wonders on display show visitors some of the greatest wonders of our universe, but position them within the space as Roosevelt’s trophies. Hence, the murals bring together all of the elements within the space to illustrate the extent to which the roles that have come to define exceptional citizenry take shape—ones which TR frequently wrote about during his lifetime.

Interestingly enough, the Hall of North American Mammals, which is also a key analysis in this chapter because of the museum’s efforts in restoring the collection, is not found on the 2nd floor with the rest of Roosevelt’s conquests, but instead found on the first floor in Roosevelt’s

Memorial Hall. This perhaps, can be seen as a key rhetorical function of the way in which

Roosevelt’s Memorial building imposes Roosevelt’s memory on visitors—first floor represents

104 identity while the second floor represents the perceived outcome or material consequence of that identity. For the Roosevelt Rotunda, one could imagine that between the combination of the murals and the paths that lead to other museum collections that this floor puts into practice exceptional citizenry through the idea of conquest and ownership, innovation, and savior—roles that seem to be more readily defined throughout the circulation of national exceptionalism discourse over the years. However, this identity has remained remotely the same and the vast majority of the American population secluded from its base.

Bernard Family Hall of North American Mammals: Capturing and Restoring

Nature. The title of this section is not meant to signal or impose a certain type of meaning onto the displays that are found within this hall, but instead act as a starting point for exploring the extent to which these displays manipulate a certain perspective of exceptional national identity: conquering and taking from the environment to sustain needs of survival, while believing that

American exceptionalism gives the ability to save what has been lost, even through artificial innovations in conservation efforts.

Scholars interested in public memory study museums to understand their “complex and conflicting goals due to demands made on them by a range of different parties and their relationship to other institutions and sites of memory” (Young & Trapani, 2011, p. 252). For example, recent scholarship has demonstrated the ways in which museums mediate natural spaces (Zagacki & Gallagher, 2009) and display design (Ott, Aoki, & Dickinson, 2011). Others have considered the selective narratives that these spaces promote (Dickinson, Ott, & Aoki,

2006).

The following section looks at the extent to which the aesthetic revival of the Hall of

North American Mammals during the 2012 renovation of the Roosevelt Memorial serves as an

105 exemplar of the discourses such institutions produce through the commodification of artificial nature as part of conservation education and hunting culture (Paulson, 2014). In the following, I explore the extent to which these discourses act as parallel narratives that rhetorical shape and promote the sensibility that hunting, conservation, and human domination over the environment

(conquering) is a necessary prerequisite for the American exceptionalism that the manifest- masculinity trope promotes. The notion that the environment is repairable without action is not only used to satisfy any guilt we may have about a deteriorating environment, it is also used in a way which fulfills the innovativeness and savior complex which has been a dominating factor in how American masculinity is promoted.

For the Roosevelt Rotunda, the visitor is exposed to natural colors, hues, and highlights which might be understood to illuminate Roosevelt’s essence— light neutral colors which widen the space, creating an expansive view for visitors to experience the persona Roosevelt embodied: a presence which is all encompassing, a citizen of an exceptional nature to represent both our natural world and the depth in which our own human abilities can thrive and be sustained. Upon entering the Hall of North American Mammals, the contrast between the Roosevelt Rotunda and the lighting (or rather the lack of lighting) creates an aesthetic appeal that is starkly different from the space the visitors are just leaving. The taxidermy specimens on display are now the central focus; yet, the exceptional citizen narrative is still prominent through visual comparison to human innovation.

Animals that occupy wild and unchartered territories have long been the focus of fascination with “advanced” civilizations (Berger, 1980; Haraway, 1989; Kalof and Fitzgerald,

2003), where display technologies (dioramas) “seemed the most expedient way” to showcase such fantasies (Rader& Cain, 2014, p. 9). Natural-like habitats of land animals were important

106 dioramas and notably the most popular in natural history museums due to richness in color, authentic representations and educational value—a product of the dioramas “rendering of the

“real”(Desmond, 2002, p. 163). Indeed, this display technology represented animals in such a way that it appeared as if they had never left their environment (Kalof and Fitzgerald, 2003, p.

113); instead, nature’s stillness and beauty could be captured behind clear thick glass and framed by wooden borders.

Not only were these displays enriched with information on the biological features of these specimens, but also with fascinating tales about how the specimens were acquired. Man exhibiting force over nature, whether that is illustrated through hunting animals for survival or game, or the conquering of unknown and wild land has always been an appealing narrative at the center of collective American national identity. Indeed, similar to the trophy animals found in hunting magazines, these displays capture the essence of human exceptionalism, a significant symbolization of man’s domination of nature.

Animal body parts are similarly employed to represent and memorialize the essence of a prized animal prey” (Kalof and Fitzgerald, 2003, p. 114); an action, many naturalists would claim, is done in the name of conservation and science education but often has unintended consequences leading to the reverse. As noted by Nels Paulson (2014) in his study on the

International Wildlife Museum collection of animal trophies, there are overwhelming themes behind the museum’s set up concluding that “species, ecosystems, and human livelihoods would all be destroyed if not for careful management of nature, specifically through protecting the right to hunt by particular people” (p. 106). While Paulson only speaks of the commoditized version of trophy hunting in specific institutions, we can come to the same conclusions for many

107 institutions that support conservation and science education such as the American Museum of

Nature History.

While dioramas may have presaged today’s more interactive museums, they also have their fair share of critics, who charge that such displays symbolize humanity’s domination of nature (Kalof & Fitzgerald, 2003). Unsurprisingly, the AMNH is sensitive to and seeks to insulate itself from such charges, even as it maintains the specimens’ educational value. As one

AMNH educator put it:

When classes visit the classic diorama halls, we (museum educators and explainers) are

quick to point out that the stuffed animals (taxidermy) displayed were collected at a time

when it was acceptable to kill and collect animals for sport. Theodore Roosevelt was

known for his fondness of hunting. We explain that while random collecting is no longer

practiced, we were able to gain a wealth of knowledge about the diversity of life on Earth

from this past practice. (Adams, 2007, p. 395)

This sentiment—that any sins of the exhibitionary practice are redeemed by their productive outcome—is shared throughout the natural history museum industry as a whole. While some may suggest that the displays are out of step with the cultural and technological zeitgeist, the

Museum shows no sign of moving away from them. Museum provost Michael J. Novacek, for example, has called dioramas the “apotheosis of art and science in terms of craftsmanship” (as quoted in Fountain, 2011, para. 6). Similarly, in an interview with Ross MacPhee one journalist wrote, “updating them allows the museum to stay up to speed with science” (Moseman, 2012, para. 6).

Time and time again, Museum officials have reiterated their belief that dioramas best facilitate environmental awareness and conservation. That is, of course, when the dioramas are

108 not otherwise tattered and tired. The 2012 renovation was undertaken on the grounds that the dioramas were in need of cosmetic facelifts. Senior project manager Stephen C. Quinn, for example, noted, “It’s sort of dull” (as quoted in Fountain, 2011, para. 3), and in his numerous interviews MacPhee often pointed to the wear and tear on the installations, suggesting that they had become “a faded version of their former selves” (as quoted in Moseman, 2012, para. 2).

Paradoxically, the renovation was justified, in part, in order to correct deterioration caused by museological display and the museum environment itself.

A common thematic runs throughout such press: Restoration efforts were heroic because dioramas, being the best way to encounter nature, demanded it. Illustrating this logic, MacPhee summed up the efforts by arguing that the specimens “now look like Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt for their particular species. They are beautiful to contemplate. And that's what we want—we want people to have that kind of reaction to wildlife"(as quoted in Harmon, 2012, para. 28).

These restoration efforts were promoted aggressively in popular national newspapers and magazines, such as the New York Times, Popular Mechanics, and Scientific American, and in regional venues, such as New York State Conservation magazine. Indeed, the Museum took great pains to celebrate the restoration, using a grand reopening to kick off a year of special public programming, tours, and workshops (Leschenamnh, 2012, para. 3). The Museum specifically targeted children during these tours, reacquainting them with the wildlife on display in the Hall of North American Mammals (Magill, 2012, para. 6). In sum, both prior to their visit and in the special events they would have found upon arriving, patrons were inundated with these jubilant messages of restoration and human ingenuity.

The undertaking of the renovation was seen as correcting deterioration caused by the artificial nature of the museum displays itself. For example, fluorescent lighting had discolored

109 the coats of many animals and led, curators argued, to a general worn out vision of what it once was. Quinn underscored that the renovation did not go far from the structure of past work because the museum wanted to “honor the work that was done before”(qtd in Fountain, 2011).

Press coverage of the renovation consistently emphasized the Museum’s Herculean and pain-staking recovery efforts (Stoneback, 2012, para. 4). These accounts emphasized that the museum’s techniques and efforts towards the aesthetic recovery of the hall were not complex but were meticulous, simply by demonstrating the replacement of the time-warped animal body, such as with a new eye for a mountain goat or a nose job for one of the bears. Often, stories detail the intricacy and artistry associated with the specialized work. The repair of animal hide and hair receives particular attention. Stories explained, in great detail, how specific pigments were mixed in order to achieve exacting hues, and hailed specialists such as George Dante, of

Wildlife Preservations, who was credited with creating a UV–stable pigment that overcame the degradation caused by overexposure to fluorescent light (Moseman, 2012, para. 3). The taxidermy specimens were not the only pieces that artists worked to restore to their natural state.

The yellow tinted snow found within the wintery dioramas was particularly challenging, yet

Quinn still, regardless of challenges, remained confident in the project teams ability to restore the artificial landscape.

Another example, the restoration of the diorama of wolves, presented a particular challenge because of the multiple shadows that the artificial lights would cast within the display case. Given that the diorama scene is set at night, in actual nature only a single shadow should be casted by the wolves from the moon. The accurate replica of this environment was of particular importance to Quinn, who spent hours spreading marble dust to eliminate the shadows. In order to meet such accuracy, the museum also used outside consultants to make sure that every

110 scientific detail was correctly replicated. This included the swapping of grass with “proper native grasses” to accurately represent the bison habitat during the 1800s (qtd. in Moseman, 2012).

Indeed, human creativity was at the center of these displays and a prime factor of AMNH’s attempt to represent an environment that is authentic and natural. As noted by MacPhee, these dioramas have always signified “actual sites, actual specimens and actual scientific observation”

(qtd. in Stoneback, 2012).

Taken together, these discourses celebrate the ingenuity and dedication of human agents and their role in preserving environments (however simulated these environments might be). A nearly univocal chorus suggests that humans can wield their scientific and creative acumen in order to properly pinpoint, intervene in, and manage environmental degradation. These discourses follow a clear and consistent logic: Human action is the key to a properly managed ecosystem, which can be returned to pristine conditions even when human action (such as unstable pigments and fluorescent lighting) caused the degradation in the first place. Simply, the restoration of these dioramas signifies that human involvement restores the ruins of time, natural corrosion, and human callousness, obviating human causality for the deterioration of the environment.

The environment is considered to be a social construct in that the only issues we consider important are those that suit us. This is, from what will be explained in the discussion section, a shallow ecology approach that may hinder any actions that promote environmental sustainability. More than likely, our understanding of nature is not at maximum potential because we are always under the assumption that we can control its outcome. As part of taxidermy culture, the animals in the dioramas remain at the center of an on going controversy related to the significance of human dominance and control.

111 Recovering Manifest Masculinity and Shallow Efforts Towards Preserving Nature and Nation

Discussion and Conclusion. Our interactions with these objects produce multiple meanings of interpretation and experience. Kevin Moore (1997) notes, “Objects are only dumb if we do not know how to ‘let them speak’; they only lie if we willfully misinterpret them” (p. 52).

Long concerned with discourses of environmental crisis (Campbell, 1974), communication scholars in recent years have studied environmental decision-making, participation, and civic engagement (Delicath, 2004; Endres, 2009; 2012); the protest tactics of environmental groups

(Delicath & DeLuca, 2003); the ideological conditions necessary for significant environmental change (DeLuca, 2010); and the importance of voice(s) in environmental advocacy (Endres,

2014). Given a variety of names, including deep ecology, ecophilosophy, and biophilia, a central thesis of much of this work is that attempts to develop environmental consciousness through

“shallow” efforts—efforts that are incremental, largely symbolic, or centered on addressing singular problems—will not trigger the more holistic “deep” approach that is essential for the planet’s survival (Smith, Lopes, & Carrejo, 2011, p. 71-72). Indeed, by appearing to have addressed problems, such efforts can slow momentum toward a broader environmental ethic

(Bender, 2003, p. 336).

In its effort to engineer a perfect balance in its own micro-ecosystem and in its implication that human ingenuity always will repair the environment, the Museum misses the opportunity to stage patron experiences in ways that might catalyze the deeper consciousness essential for holistic action. Indeed, without experiencing a crisis, the environmentally conscious are less motivated to act for, and participate in, a deep environmental change (Corrêa d’Almeida,

2014). Bill Devall (2001) has argued that deep ecological change requires “a 'paradigm shift' from the dominant modern paradigm of industrial civilization to a ‘new environmental paradigm’

112 or ‘new ecological paradigm’” (p. 22). Similarly, in his work on greenhouse gases and the carbon footprint, Guy Pearse warns, “we need to be angry and active” (as quoted in Green, 2012, para. 19). Shallow approaches teach us that, “we fail to moderate our environmental impact at our own peril” (Lehmer-Chang, 2013, para. 5). Although it is “no less ideological to seek the maintenance of a system than it is to seek to change it” (Broadhead, 2002, p. 9), there are better strategies for recognizing and limiting human impacts on the environment than the “humans come first” strategies (Bender, 2003, p. 337). How does our preserved (ideological) relationship with nature impact the extent to which American exceptionalism is constructed?

Regarding the relationship between communication and collective memory, Blair describes six senses for how communication may be connected to collective memory. Borrowing from Friedrich Nietzsche, of those senses the common understanding of a “truth” emerges from the assumption that collective groups of people understand the same language, set of social symbols and codes, and a shared background of assumptions (Blair, 2006, p. 3). These two senses of collective memory suggest that communication is vital to understanding how and to what extent a specific national discourse or exceptionalism is taken up and framed through specific generic codes of commemoration. For example, if we look at the depth in which the materials, architecture, and layout of the Rotunda, a magnitude of sublimity is created for visitor through the elements of Roosevelt (exceptionalism) and nature combine. To be sure, because of the sensation of being “overwhelmed by the sheer weight and scale of things,” the magnitude of the Roosevelt Rotunda “enables a sensation of being taken over” since visitors that encounter the

Rotunda “have no control” over it (Farrell, 2008, p. 486). While the Rotunda’s classical Roman structures evoke knowledge, indeed, as part of the innovator’s role within the manifest- masculinity dynamic, the natural colors and earthy tones of the Rotunda prepare visitors to enter

113 other areas of the memorial, such as the specific halls with various dioramas. In a sense, a form of trespassing boarders through museum/memory display (a white Eurocentric privilege) takes place, where the material consequence of display evokes a space where hegemonic power becomes the clear agent which creates and controls the identity and framing of American exceptionalism, along with the construction of the binary opposite Other. As a way to “display the public to itself” (Barrett, 2011, p. 53), museum sites such as these acted as a much needed

“manual” for citizenship and social etiquette “to transform the inner lives of the population” into what was seen as a model citizen (Bennett, 1995, p. 20).

Indeed, this appearance is no surprise, as the museum wanted a unique blend between a natural and grand classical appearance:

The nature lover should be stressed by monumental architecture, sculpture and mural

paintings. The design should symbolize the scientific, educational, out-door and

exploration aspects of Theodore Roosevelt's life rather than the political or literary. In

Mr. Pope's plan these features are blended most harmoniously. A monumental structure,

graceful in every line and inspired by the stately designs of the old Roman architecture, it

conveys to the beholder an impression of spaciousness and enduring strength (American

Museum, 1936, p. 11).

Not only do the Rotunda’s high ceilings magnify its size, but also because of the very simplistic suns carved in each square foot of the ceiling, a sophisticated elegance is met with a naturalist landscape. In the center of some of these suns are small holes that allow slight beams of light to shine through. While the natural sunlight helps to highlight some of the Memorial’s displays, it also shields some of the displays from direct sunlight (American Museum, 1936, p.

12).

114 The grand appearance of the Roosevelt Rotunda is pulled together not only by these elements, but also by the very characteristics that Roosevelt’s achievements suggest—nature and strength are key tropes with defining the ideal American. On the walls of the Rotunda are some of Roosevelt’s values—each having a title and excerpt from Roosevelt’s writings: Manhood,

Nation, Nature and State. Engraved into soft grayish white stone colored walls, Roosevelt’s rhetoric, a representation, perhaps, of categories for how citizenship is to be performed tie together the space

Beyond the overpowering spectacle of the battling Barosaurus and Allosaurus, upon entering the Rotunda in the backdrop of the space, the visitor comes into contact with the symmetrical placement of murals associated with Roosevelt’s adventures across from opposing walls which have Roosevelt’s teachings engraved in them. While not as powerful as walking through what one would imagine to be a clash of natural forces for its prehistoric time, what is significant about these murals is that they document the legacy of some of Roosevelt’s greatest achievements.

For the murals, they represent what one document describes of “various mythical and historic events” associated with the places depicted in these murals. These murals also act as entryways that lead to adjacent wings that hold other museum collections from around the world.

Interestingly enough, the murals act as markers for the exact exhibit in which the visitor enters.

For example, the Roosevelt’s African Expedition panel is above the Hall of African Mammals, while The Treaty of Portsmouth mural frames the entrance into the exhibit of Asian Mammals that then leads into the Stout Hall of Asian Peoples. For the restoration of these dioramas, the act signifies that human involvement with nature is a solution that restores the ruins of time and natural corrosion. As an example of human innovation and accuracy, it is clear that the

115 interventions of human and science can pinpoint exactly what needs to be done to manage the environment.

Rhetorically, it is not the literal connection to nature that frames exceptionalism, but instead the source of power symbolically gained from our interactions with it. The techniques and discourses associated with the inception of the Roosevelt Memorial and the restoration process suggests that the museum has a mindset of which the recovery of Roosevelt’s memory as exceptional (represented through nature) is possible through simple aesthetics rather than participating in a discourse which actively promotes positive change in the circulation of memory and the identities it preserves, or in this case, the possibilities and outcomes associated with actual environmental actions. These acts of preservation contribute to a larger set of debates, which centralize human agency in creation, and the maintenance of the artifacts and sites that circulate public memory.

Public memory, in some cases, creates a situation for which national character is negotiated and “invites, enables, and even insists on public dialogue and interchange of ideas” through the publicness of its construction (Greer & Grobman, 2015, p. 8). As Escobar (1996) describes the innovation and implementation of the artificial “environment” ends nature, I keep this point in mind thinking about the ways in which discourses about environmental sustainability have become a social construct of human exceptionalism, management, and the production of capital. For example, even within recent years if we look at the debates surrounding the Dakota Access Pipeline protests, we can see the commonalities and consequences of American national character emerging from the situation: to conquer, control, and build on unchartered land (or in this case land that is desired), is a product stemmed from a constructed sense of superior entitlement, a residue left over from imperial and colonial history

116 which is still deeply ingrained in American consciousness. Indeed, the relationship between shallow ecology, deep ecology, and human management is one that is exceedingly important within the discourses of American exceptionalism because manifest destiny characteristics emerge from and inform such conversations that still impact us today.

As such, what I have done in this chapter is argued that the Roosevelt Memorial at

AMNH exhibits deeply rooted traits and themes of a national collective—one where divinely sanctioned privileges of manifest-masculinity (destiny) become synonymous with (hu)man centered approaches to ecological action. To be clear, because the preservation of such discourses centralize the exceptional American as the solution to the deterioration of nature, including the resources in which we are dependent on to survive, the Museum’s efforts to remember Roosevelt and celebrate his wilderness skills and conservation efforts presses this memory into the service of environmental action. However, I have argued that the restoration discourse of the memorial, and even so the dioramas, problematically gives the impression that the exceptionalism of Americans can perform shallow ecological patchwork to repair environmental decline. Indeed, in its very embrace of “restoration,” and its accompanying discourses, the Museum turned an opportunity for productive meditation on the limits of human innovation into a celebration of American exceptionalism through the capacity to restore nature to a pristine state at any time.

While in this chapter I explore how and to what extent Roosevelt’s conservation discourse and the Museum’s preservation efforts are linked to a common understanding of masculinity and American exceptionalism, what is significant is to an extent the start of an articulation which works to understand how memory flows through multiple material assemblages and within the controlled museum space. In the next chapter, I continue this

117 developing endeavor by exploring the large expansive space of Roosevelt Island—what has been thought to be the “living memorial16,” but what I consider to be the siloed storing of national memory—the forgotten memorial of Washington, D.C. In the next case study, I explore similar notions of American exceptionalism framed through documentary film and other contemporary media examples of visual culture. Through the examination of Ken Burn’s The Roosevelts,

Comedy Central’s Drunk History and You Tube’s Epic Rap Battles of History, I study multiple reiterations of Roosevelt’s discourse on American exceptionalism to understand how and to what extent such ideas of national memory are circulated and created openly and collectively.

This does not only happen through emotional residence with historical narratives (Aoki,

Dickinson, and Ott), or the sense making of history through governing structures or systems which mediate us (Finnegan), but the co-collaboration of the historical narrative, helping us to identify with and embrace individual/collective self in both the private and public spaces for democratic action. While “public memory forms and (re) forms collective and national identities, demonstrating the unequal relations of power that privilege some memories over others” (Greer

& Grobman, 2015, p. 9), in the next chapter the notion of memory flows through undefined spaces of discourse (both material and digital), ones where communication networks collectively engage one another, giving us the opportunity to actively take part in the discourses that emerge.

16 Please see the official site of Theodore Roosevelt Island (National Park Services): https://www.nps.gov/this/index.htm

118 Chapter Four Circulation as Flow: The Movement of Memory

“Memory is absolute, while history can only conceive the relative….”

- Pierre Nora17

"Friends, I shall ask you to be as quiet as possible. I don't know whether you fully understand that I have just been shot; but it takes more than that to kill a Bull Moose. But fortunately I had my manuscript, so you see I was going to make a long speech, and there is a bullet — there is where the bullet went through — and it probably saved me from it going into my heart. The bullet is in me now, so that I cannot make a very long speech, but I will try my best." 18

When invoking Pierre Nora (1989), Carole Blair has claimed that history is a product of the basic research norms of historians “while memory is a performance of social collectives.”

She points out that “Collective memory, by contrast, is an overtly political and emotionally invested phenomenon” (Blair, 2006, p. 3). This phenomenon was apparent for me at a conference this past year.

After receiving a research grant in 2017, the following year I was asked to report back to the membership of the association about how the funds were used, which is where I met a

Theodore Roosevelt enthusiast and political memorabilia collector. He was very excited about my work on Roosevelt and proceeded to tell me about his collection as he reminisced about old news stories he had heard as a child—mainly the famous story about Roosevelt getting shot during an address to audiences on the campaign trail for his third presidential term and refusing to go to the hospital until after he had finished his speech. As seen in the quote above, as

17 See: Nora, P. (1989). Between Memory and History: Les Lieux de Memoire. Representations, No. 26, p.7-24.

18 Cain, A. (2017, June 21). US President Theodore Roosevelt Once Delivered an 84-minute Speech after Getting Shot in the Chest. Business. Retrieved from: https://www.businessinsider.com/teddy-roosevelt-assassination-attempt-2017-6.

119 “legend” has it, Roosevelt’s life was saved due to the slowing and lodging of the bullet, just mere inches away from his heart, in his folded up speech and eyeglass case. The sharing of this short moment is to illustrate the extent to which memory circulates through not only various forms of material visual culture but also through the stories shared among people, stories that frame and contextualize the outcomes of those experiences. Of course, this narrativization assumes a level of iconicity that is rhetorically defined not by the material components of an image/monument/visual artifact such as the production, composition, and the artifact’s reproduction but instead by how that image, regardless of its material form, visually manifests through the assemblages of past agents responsible for the articulation of the commemorative form and those viewers and visitors who become involved individually or collectively with the present uptake of the images’/artifacts’ rhetoric.

As I have mentioned during the introduction of this project, these Roosevelt artifacts, images, and sites of commemoration exemplify the recalling of a historical past that continues to circulate, even still, through contemporary culture as a way to directly relate to and make sense of current events and situations, ones that call for (at least by our standards) answers to the very questions that we hold dear to ourselves as a collective society and especially as individuals— understanding who we are. As illustrated throughout the previous chapter, I have shown the extent to which memories are histories that are rhetorical manifestations of movement that build upon one another across time. This is where the figurative image of Roosevelt in various forms and materials continues to be undergirded by the same nostalgic discourse of American vitality and exceptionalism. However, in this chapter the flow of memory is extended to include the audience/visitor/performer as the networked agent, one that generates circulation and movement.

120 Some scholars associate the outcomes of public memory with commemoration practices that are not accidental; indeed, they are strategically used to mobilize and “to serve partisan purposes” (Romano & Raiford, 2006, p. xxi), ones that usually fit the parameters of social/cultural/political norms and standards. As Romano and Raiford (2006) note, these strategic uses can “shape a nation’s sense of identity, build hegemony, or serve to shore up the political interests of the state; and they can certainly influence the ways in which people understand their world’’ (p. xxi). Blair calls this move a partiality to history (Blair, 1992, p. 403) made up of strategic maneuvers through often invisible (at least to viewers) selective processes of manufacturing and circulation. So, in this chapter I articulate the importance of three additional forms of circulation in order to identify and consider the extent to which memory moves beyond the specific “thingy-ness” of the artifact or commemorative site and depends on the situational features through which communication networks form and circulate the

“eventfulness” of the moment.

As such, the purpose of saturating this project with multiple case studies is not to generate evidence that TR exhibited a masculine persona and characteristics that have continued to define American national identity for decades or to articulate the extent to which he is commemorated. Instead, these case studies are used to articulate the circularity functions of commemorative practices outside of specific and more traditional texts and artifacts in order to illustrate that they are all connected. Instead of tracking the circulation of one particular image to understand its rhetorical impact in visual culture, it is more productive to understand the movement of a group of images, artifacts, and sites of commemoration and how their similarities or differences may produce or challenge a unifying discourse, ones that have transcended time, space, and for several generations. From my view, the multiple case studies act as one

121 overarching example of the different ways memory can still circulate a unified narrative and illustrate how and to what extent we (the public) take up and participate in those discourses. It is the people who become a vital part of movement in the circulation process.

Thus, the following chapter provides an examination of three additional studies to illustrate the ways in which Roosevelt’s memory is similarly articulated but through different processes of circulation. The first examines the Roosevelt Memorial on Roosevelt Island in

Washington D.C. to understand the ways in which the site commemorates TR and articulates

American exceptionalism as part of a forgotten past. Here, I introduce the concept of

“Circulation as Amnesia” because of the site’s display of unusual conversations regarding the building of the memorial and its delayed erection, as well as the site’s strange visual features, of which some are unconventional for memorials and commemoration sites in the United States. As a function of amnesia, I consider the role of the visitor’s experience and embodiment as a vital aspect of rhetorical agency in the circulation of the manifest masculinity narrative not through the material features of the memorial itself but instead through the participation of the visitor.

In the next case study I consider Ken Burns’ documentary series The Roosevelts to address Burns’ archival assemblages of Roosevelt’s life as a form of circulatory movement. I call this movement of discourse “Circulation as Assemblage.” In the last case studies of this chapter and dissertation, I examine performance as a form of circulation demonstrated through a rhetorical analysis of specific episodes of Drunk History and Epic Rap Battles of History that reimagine Roosevelt’s life in order to understand how specific “action” oriented accounts of history can rhetorically manipulate or dismantle a message through embodied performance.

In the last chapter, I began to develop two main master tropes that for the purposes of the

Roosevelt Memorial at the AMNH put into motion a uniformed discourse about American

122 exceptionalism emerging from the processes of preservation and restoration. I called these rhetorical framings the magnitude of manifest masculinity; ones that articulate the extent to which specific modes of American national character have been framed and preserved through multiple networks of circulation within the AMNH. Now, I put to task the same efforts in this chapter, through further development of these master tropes and the roles that emerge from them.

Specifically, I focus on the extent to which memory flows continuously through different modes

(and their networks) of public commemoration, and how and to what extent the roles of conqueror, innovator, and savior act as the antidote in the discourses of Teddy Roosevelt’s memory, as well as TR’s discourse regarding American exceptionalism as gendered and, to an extent, how these roles have produced a collective understanding of American national identity.

Through the following case studies I attempt to answer three specific questions related to the circulation of historical national narratives in visual culture: How and to what extent do the different material features of these texts and artifacts circulate in similar or different ways? Do they articulate similar messages or through their material differences, do they invoke difference?

What do these cases reveal about commemoration and it’s consequences? What I hope to show throughout these case studies is that historical memory and commemoration is not situated or fixed within the limited parameters of representation studies, but instead is fluid and can shift throughout time, providing alternative insight into the making and impact of memory and commemoration practices.

123 Case Studies

Circulation as Amnesia: Roosevelt Island in Washington D.C.

Memory is associated not merely with life but with individuals’ and communities’ assured transcendence of life, with their desires for lasting fame, even immortality.

-Bradford Vivian19

The quote above speaks highly to what I thought I would find while visiting Roosevelt

Memorial on Roosevelt Island. From the “tall tales” that I had read about TR for years, multiple visits to AMNH, and even so, my own experiences visiting national monuments in D.C., the generic codes that I had come accustomed to for so long were no longer adding up. The monumentality of my experience visiting the Roosevelt Memorial on Roosevelt Island was unexpected to say the least.

I arrived in Washington, D.C. early one evening in November 2017 on the way back from my last research visit in the archives at the American Museum of Natural History in New York.

My prior experience visiting D.C. was likely that of any tourist; if you go to D.C. you must visit the memorials and monuments in the area because it is a piece of your history and the

“American” thing to do. I likely had the same response as anyone else going into a memorial or monument for the first time—all are usually well lite, well populated, and grouped closely together. However, this was not the case for the TR memorial on Roosevelt Island.

After taking the wrong exit a few times, the glare from the highway streetlights faded behind me as I approached the island. Because of the lack of lighting surrounding the small parking lot, I managed to drive down a bike path before realizing that I was, indeed, not on a

19 Vivian, Bradford (2010). Public Forgetting: The Rhetoric and Politics of Beginning Again. University Park, PA: Penn State University Press, (p. 3).

124 road. Once I managed to find my way back to the very dark parking lot, I rushed to grab my thin jacket and camera to document everything. As soon as I stepped outside of my car I froze. I had become so engrossed in my driving in hopes of arriving at the island at a reasonable hour that I failed to notice the significant drop in temperature when I arrived. So, I quickly went to the trunk of my car, opened my suitcase, and started putting layers of clothing on—regardless if they were clean or dirty. After traveling so much that year, I had come to the conclusion that one should pack only what is needed and extra changes of clothing outside of the 4-5 day trip did not make the list of necessities. Finally, I was warm and I would only be exploring the island for a few short hours before heading back to North Carolina.

I quickly rushed from my car to a very long wooden pedestrian bridge (later I would find out the bridge extends over a portion of the Potomac River) with my camera in hand.

Surprisingly, there were no lights to illuminate the bridge, which acted as the only pathway to the island. I found this strange not only because this lack of lighting went against the commemorative “genre” with which I had become so familiar, but also because it was, from my view, a safety hazard. I figured that as I got closer to the island’s entrance lights would appear to ease my way. As I proceeded towards the entrance of the island, the cold wind took my breath away. Without a scarf or gloves, I tried my best to snap a few shots of the bridge as I proceeded forward but my hands shook from the cold, debilitating my capacity within that moment to take a steady photo. As I got closer to the entrance I noticed that there were still no lights.

Being very cold and in the dark was not how I pictured my first visit to this memorial site, however, I gave the natural material elements which surrounded me another chance and proceeded towards the entrance. As my hands were still shivering from the cold, I struggled to grip my phone in an attempt to find the flashlight feature. I refused to give up on my first

125 Roosevelt Island experience and thought if I could just find a flashlight I would be able to light my own path to and around the memorial. It wasn’t until a few feet from entering what a city girl would describe as a large overgrown forest that I stopped dead in my tracks. At this point I was so determined to get to the memorial that I failed to realize that I was entering what could be a dangerous situation: a secluded environment with no lighting nor a soul in sight—a setting similar to what I have seen in horror films right before the murder of the lead female character. I had hoped that on the other side of the overgrown forest was a safe and well lite environment but now I was too terrified to proceed any further. While I was at the point of barely feeling my face or hands, I still attempted to run back to my car to avoid being exposed further to the freezing temperatures. As soon as feeling came back into my fingertips, I started searching Google for nearby hotels to stay in for the night. In the end, it was not only the material forces of nature, which resulted in the extension of my stay in D.C., but also the rhetorical force of the island’s absence that produced those material consequences (e.g. fear), ones which impacted my decision.

The next morning, with a newly purchased set of gloves and a hat from the local convenience store, I made my way back to Roosevelt Island to take stock of what was lying beyond the wooden pedestrian bridge I had encountered the night before.

To an extent in the previous chapter, my observations of the Roosevelt Memorial and the diorama displays (AMNH) enhanced my own experience within that rhetorical space, making me consider the potentiality of taking a critical approach to understanding the extent to which we

(the public) participate as rhetorical agents within and impact the flow of memory. It is with those same nuanced approaches in mind that I approach my exploration of the Roosevelt

Memorial on Roosevelt Island, but by trying to bridge a gap between a forgotten, or what

126 Michael Kammen (1991) has called an amnesic state of memory, with a material extension of the visitor/participant in the circulation of memory.

To say the least, as Endres et al. (2016) puts it, while the push towards developing and understanding fieldwork approaches are fairly recent in rhetorical studies, “the notion that rhetoric is a practical art with everyday discursive outcomes and therefore should be studied in

“real world” settings can be traced back to its ancient roots” (p. 513). This approach does not necessarily fall into lines with the ways in which I approached studying the Roosevelt Memorial at the AMNH in Chapter Three, how I approach the other case studies in this chapter, or even, how texts/ artifacts are traditionally studied in circulation studies. Because, I include myself as part of the rhetoric that is in situ—naturally I become part of the process for which invention is made possible as rhetoric happens in real time (p. 516). In the grand skim of the texts/artifacts/sites explored in this dissertation, this case study is considerably unique because it places the visitor (myself) at the nexus of rhetorical creation.

The experience and embodiment of the people who circulate through the space of the memorial are important elements to consider because of the material imprint they, too, leave on the space through their movement and actions. This phenomenon becomes central to what I discuss as the circulation of amnesia, a move in which the rhetorical magnitude of the memorial and that of Roosevelt to an extent becomes displaced, buried under new memories and interpretations of those who inhabit the space. As such, this case study makes two moves: 1) It puts the rhetoric of magnitude to task to determine the extent to which the memorial exhibits the same logics associated with the manifest-masculinity master narrative from the material features of the memorial and the island itself, and 2) it considers the role of the visitor in the movement of public memory as they circulate through the space. Thus, I share my own experiences in this case

127 study with doing “field research,” because as a participant, I too, become part of (or embody) the material circumstances of the memorial and even the outside influences (e.g. uncontrolled environment) of its placement on Roosevelt Island.

Amnesia, Experience and the Circulation of Visitors. According to Steve Markos’

National Park Planner20 the history of Roosevelt Island and that of Memorial Plaza is one that does not follow the progression of other commemorative sites that have been characterized as necessary by strong public support, funding, and the expediency to move forward with construction. Unlike the support behind the building of the memorial in AMNH, shortly after

Congress approved the initial location for a memorial commemorating Teddy Roosevelt to be at the Tidal Basin in D.C., the decision was reversed due to public disapproval. Later in 1931, the

Roosevelt Memorial Association (RMA) moved to purchase an island that was owned by the

Washington Gas Light Company in hopes to find a home for the envisioned memorial. Even so, the somewhat chaotic nature of the memorial’s history to an extent speaks to my own unsettling accounts of the memorial that day.

While still fairly cold for my taste, the light of day and the absence of a chill wind made the walk on the bridge invitingly pleasant. Given that the time of my arrival was nearly midday and during the week, I was surprised to see a large number of groups with small children walking towards the memorial. Many stopped midway on the bridge to take selfies together, with the glistening surface of the Potomac River as a backdrop. The pace at which many crossed the bridge (including myself) was slow and steady—a motion that allowed one to experience the peace in which the non-threatening natural elements of being in the calmness of nature can bring.

20 Markos, S. (n.d.) Theodore Roosevelt Island-Roosevelt Memorial. National Park Planner. Retrieved from: http://npplan.com/parks-by-state/washington-d-c-national-parks/theodore- roosevelt-island-park-at-a-glance/theodore-roosevelt-island-roosevelt-memorial/

128 John Russell Pope, the same architect who imagined the TR commemorative site in New

York, conceived this “living memorial,” however the memorial would not be approved nor ground broken until decades later. After the end of World War II the funds for the memorial had finally come through and it was not until the early 1950’s that the National Park Service made the island available to the public for the first time. In 1956 RMA commissioned Eric Gugler to design the memorial in time for the centennial commemoration year of TR, however funding of nearly $2.5 million fell through leading to the dedication of the island without a memorial. In

1960 the National Capital Planning Commission approved the memorial, however the Senate vetoed the bill until it met the approval of the Roosevelt family.

The layout of the memorial was finally approved after many changes to the design; the plans for electric lighting and a massive parking lot were removed for the granite plaza and replaced with a seventeen foot tall bronze statue of Roosevelt in a declarative position; with a backdrop of four panels with the same topics and quotes that are engraved on the panels in the

Roosevelt Rotunda of AMNH; and a moat filled with running water from fountains placed in the center of the plaza (National Park Planner, Memorial History).

The highlight of this memorial design has visitors accessing the plaza by one of two bridges that extend over the moat—a site truly symbolic of a powerful emperor and his domain.

At least, this was the experience for me. As I walked towards the statue, I quickly noticed the texture of the ground abruptly change beneath me. First, I felt the softness of the autumn leaves, but then I nearly tripped over the point where those leaves met concrete. I had reached Memorial

Plaza. Similarly imposing in its appearance, the majestic structure resembled, to a certain extent, the design and layout of the memorial in AMNH. The similarities between the two memorials were surprising. This is not to say that visually the material elements of the memorials’ design

129 and layout were replicas of one another, but instead symbolically they worked rhetorically as two sides of the same coin: a man can gain strength from his domination of nature and show strength in his conservation of it, but also can be at least somewhat forgotten in the process.

Indeed, the overwhelming feeling once experienced after locking eyes with the monumental Roosevelt statue faded after I entered the plaza. The conditions of the plaza were not as pristine as I had imagined—not managed, and to an extent forgotten, or at least the memorial had failed at remembering (Phillips, 2010). Similarly, the implications of forgetting histories, such as what Bradford Vivian (2004) explores in Gypsy communities is another important set of issues to consider in terms of the ways in which selective narratives are chosen

(or not) to sustain the institutional memory of a group, or even a specific public identity. For example, the footbridges located on the opposite ends of the space, while grand in their size and form, appeared to be worn down and discolored from nature’s natural corrosion and weather conditions. The same could be said of the extravagant but waterless moat that surrounded the perimeter of the memorial. The once imagined water-filled moat was at the time of my visit partially filled instead, with dead leaves and standing water as brown as sewage. The moat resembled the foot bridges in its discoloration—various shades of brown and green were found along the edges as if algae had grown there for years. The fountains that stood in the center of the plaza were not functioning in any case, discolored from the spreading algae and cracked so deeply that it would be surprising if water would hold. It is obvious that the upkeep of the plaza is not a prime concern, especially compared to the apparent upkeep of the memorials on the

National Mall or Tidal Basin. Indeed, out of the generic mode of memory there are implicit limitations associated with preserving historical narratives and their identities.

130 Breaking the traditional modes of how (western) memory functions, Gypsy cultures

“claim to be unburdened by the past,” because of the lack of consistency between individual

Gypsy communities. Instead of focusing on a controlled (institutionalized) collective memory,

Gypsy communities remember by forgetting, as those communities work to repeatedly modify histories in order to live in the ever-changing present (Vivian, 2004, p. 196-197). For myself, I came to the conclusion that the plaza may have not represented or embodied what has been characterized as vital points and characteristics of the life and legacy of Roosevelt, which led me to explore the rest of the island for more signs, symbols, and manifestations of TR. The absence of a material history and its circulation may be just as important as its presence in building communal and individual identities.

The two main paths that lead visitors out of the plaza split into multiple hiking trails with posts marking the number of each trail. Logically, I started walking on trail number one with the expectation that I would be led to trail number two and so on, but I was always led to a new trail and a new number which was chronologically out of order. I also did not have a direction leading back to the plaza; I had to trust that one of these trails would take me there. While navigating the trails that would eventually lead back to Memorial Plaza, I was instantly overtaken by the extent to which the landscape seemed to be endless and never changing, regardless of the trail I encountered. While to an extent similar to the museum (in the case of uniformity), being in such a vast and uncontrollable environment invoked fears of being lost, or perhaps forgotten. I was very concerned about getting back to Memorial Plaza before the sun went down, because at that time I knew of only one area that would lead me to an exit off the island.

While the memorial is only one part of the island, the island itself is about two miles long with multiple trails and paths leading visitors to different areas of the island. Unknowingly, on

131 my way back to Memorial Plaza I started to notice a significant change in my surroundings— many trees had fallen over or were cut down. The noticeable change went from what had seemed to be uniform in its appearance now seemed unpredictable (like the night before) and chaotic.

For the trees that were still standing within the area, many exhibited a type of imprint or trace of past visitors.

Visitor as Catalyst for the Flow of Memory. So far in this case study, I have noted the extent to which the amnesic state of memory jars the experience of the visitor because of its continues flow in change. As Vivian puts it, “Memory is unavoidable, sometimes maddeningly, inconstant” (Vivian, 2010, p.1); indeed, a causality of this disruption is the lack of permanence that facilitates safety, certainty, and comfort, especially when it comes to identity formation because if there is no past to anchor, then there is no foundation to build upon. While I have noted the uncomfortable and uncertain nature of national exceptionalism within a forgotten state of memory, in this section I explore the extent to which the visitor/participant creates a material extension for the evocation of memory through self-embodiment and action, creation.

As I proceeded down one of the paths, on different occasions I noticed large trees with initials carved into (and all over) the trunks of trees. Some engravings were simple initials, while others had symbols such as a “+” equals “heart” or the usual initials and “wuz here,” a marker for a moment within a visitor’s experience which they not only wanted to document but also leave for others to find. Through these material changes the island is transformed into a living space that collects, performs, and shifts one’s memory space—a result of visitors manipulating their individual experiences as collective co-creators.

Once I arrived back at Memorial Plaza, a young black mother noticed my failed attempts to take a selfie with the large Roosevelt statue and offered to help me document my own

132 memory. Her two young sons were off in the distance, throwing stones and play fighting with two large sticks as if they were swords. After the mother yelled a bit for the boys to drop the stones, they met her in front of the Roosevelt statue. She began to direct the two boys, ordering them to stand still while she took a photo to create and document their own memory on the island. The mother wanted a memory of their family visit because the last time they visited the island five years ago, the boys were about three inches shorter with a lot less energy.

As the youngest son grew impatient of the mother’s habitual photographic activities, the mother reminded her youngest that taking that photo was extremely important because it was going in the family album. With that, the young boy with a large stick in his hand (he picked it up while exploring one of the trails along the way) raised his other arm, mimicking a similar stance of the Roosevelt statue behind him for the documentation of their experience and for the family photo. His mother turned to me a commented, “He is the comedian in the family.”

On a separate visit the following year in October 2018 (not to mention a much warmer and manageable weather experience), the forgotten state of the Roosevelt Memorial did not change. Leaves still filled the surrounding dirty moat, instead of running water) that framed the magnitude of Roosevelt’s (forgotten) presence, and visitors still went about their day—some locals sat and talked in groups, while others jogged on the trails. Much like the experience I had with the young boy and mother the year earlier, during the visit in October I observed an interesting conversation between a father and his son. From a stone bench across the memorial plaza, I sat and observed a young white family walking towards the Roosevelt statue. A woman pushing a baby stroller and kept to herself, while a father and son walked hand and hand a short distance behind her. As they walked towards Roosevelt the young boy turned to his father and asked, “Dad who is Teddy Roosevelt?” With that question the father responded happily from the

133 beginning, with a narrativized account of Roosevelt’s life starting with “Teddy Roosevelt was president when they first invented cars21.” “ Cool, dad! ”, the little boy replied. After a few minutes of the father and son exchange, the little boy ran off to play with a near by stick that found its way back from one of the trails. The point here is not so much about displaying the extent to which both parties communicated Roosevelt’s memory or that of national exceptionalism (while it is an important point), but instead to illustrate the extent to which beyond the material components of a static site, visitors (and even critics) participate within and become part of the sites production and circulation of discourse.

First, the extension of my own experience in the circulation of Roosevelt’s memory and of American exceptionalism is situated within concerns related to the production of masculine identities and how they are performed, and even so, the racial implications associated with those distinctions in our current political moment. My passive and also interactive experience with both of these families and young boys on different occasions showed the extent to which masculine identities circulate through the rhetorical transference of embodiment and the oral transmission of certain national mythologies within the traditional family unit (Albanese, 2010, p. 893-894; Baron, 2007, p. 53-55). This also speaks to the problematic material consequences of even the amnestic state of memory in relation to racial politics. While the process of the oral history tradition is commonplace within American [white] families, the embodiment of

Roosevelt through the youngest black child unconsciously embraces a whitewashed circulation of American exceptionalism, as TR is an icon of American exceptionalism embodied by whiteness. Thus, this child’s interaction within the memorial space rhetorically implies a rejection of his individual [black] identity for an exceptional [white] one.

21 This was likely referring to the start of the mass production of automobiles in the United States during the early 20th century.

134 Within weeks of my first trip to Roosevelt Island in 2017, the Roosevelt equestrian statue in front of the Central Park entrance of the American Museum of Natural History was defaced with the splattering of bright red paint. As mentioned in the beginning of this project, in the wake of the confederate monument protests the equestrian statue stood as a highly contested marker in

Manhattan because of its blatant “patriarchy, white supremacy and settler-colonialism” characteristics (Moynihan, 2017, para. 1). So, to go from one act that protests the racial tones of the equestrian statue to the young black child’s “acceptance” of TR through the use of his body, speaks volumes for how memory is constantly changing through multiple inter-connective material networks of negotiation. The actions (or rather performance) of the little boy, and the dialogue exchange between the father and son impacted my experience of the memorial by creating an extension of my own memory space, and that of Roosevelt’s commemoration.

Inclusion for All? Looking back thus far at my experiences both at the American

Museum of Natural History and now at the memorial on Roosevelt Island, I am troubled about the extent to which that even through a lack of similar codes or conventions that construct a specific story, absence or “amnesia” still manages to leave behind and circulate residues that may trigger embedded ideological traces about ourselves or others within us. We call these socially constructed identities; indeed, manifestations which are built on selective narratives which circulate to sustain a specific public identity within and to the outside world, or those that contest narratives because they do not align with what is already defined as the status quo.

Indeed, memory is a continuous flow of rhetorical logics, even as we become a participant in it, and create additional layers to sustain it, or in some cases attempt to erase a past that was once there.

135 Barbara Biesecker (2002) once argued that the notion of “Americaness” might be achieved through the representation of community and togetherness as a unified collective. In her essay, she argues through an exploration of a variety of rhetorical artifacts, similar to those in this dissertation, that as a response to the current status of national character these artifacts show how to be “good” American citizens through neglecting specific narratives. One example of this is illustrated through a vivid description of the opening scene to Saving Private Ryan—a prompt of the gruesomeness of war— but also as an end result that while Americans are built on an identity that is individualized, the scene is a reminder that our necessary core lies at a collective understanding of self and nation. This opening war scene is an interesting rhetorical dynamic, because it helps viewers to identify with the role of all who are fighting as a collective whole, rather than the lives of individual characters. So, one can conclude, as Biesecker does, that these texts are representations of our current moment (and how we should be as citizens) more so than a representation of a past event (or past in general). The point here is not to articulate how and to what extent a popular film (or any aspect of visual culture) represents national identity, but instead, the extent to which those artifacts and their narratives leave ideological traces of awareness, even in absence, on future generations. Here is where ethics and the circulation of a material history collide and are important considerations in examining how historical memory is constructed, as well as how multiple narratives emerge.

For example, in Charles E. Morris III’s (2004) essay “My Old Kentucky Homo: Lincoln and the Politics of Queer Public Memory” circulation of specific narratives play a vital role in how history may be repressed. In Morris’s essay, he looks at the discontent among Lincoln historians when the work of Larry Kramer presented material evidence—letters that document

Lincoln’s possible homosexuality—contradicting their work. This resulted in the public’s

136 response of a “homosexual panic” that acts as an extension of Lincoln’s memory (an alternate history) but also questions our own national heritage and the dominant heterosexual narratives in which our collective identity (and presidential identity) and nation are built (Morris, 2004, p. 99).

While the contesting of dominant American national identities is significant in Morris’ essay, his most compelling point is about the place of the rhetorical historian as an ideological component

(participant) when constructing history. What does this mean then, in terms of our approaches to memory as both participants and critics? What of the memory of Roosevelt and the magnitude of manifest masculinity?

What participatory critical rhetoric gives to the critic and participant, both as roles that collide within the rhetorical space, is a chance to experience the extent to which memory, still, occurs and flows through not as much the materialization of the memorial on Roosevelt Island but more through the actions of the visitors who circulate through and act upon that space, resulting in the experience of “spontaneous and strategic (inter)actions of material bodies as rhetoric unfolds” (Middleton et al.,2015, p. 62). My concerns in this case study lie with the ethical ramifications associated with not only what or whom hierarchies choose to memorialize or commemorate, but also how the effects of these power structures continue to impact public consciousness and dialogue even still with an erasure (or closure) of memory within an amnesiac state. In the case of the little boy and mother on a family outing, the father and son teaching lesson of a past American president, and even so, for the couple(s) who carve their initials to commemorate the memories of their love and time spent on Roosevelt Island, we still emulate a rhetorical past even without its materialization because we are functioning as an additional layer, one that is constantly changing as a product of us participating within the flow of memory. So, yes, the magnitude of which manifest masculinity is exhibited functions and circulates, still,

137 through the material amnesia of the site because of the extent to which visitors’ own bodies experience and interact with others—actively bridging the gap between seen and unseen discourses of American exceptionalism.

While I cannot speak for the active and passive exchange for each family within their unit or how they, too, experienced the memorial and the island those days, I can speak for the extent to which their actions impacted my own take away of the site’s “visual dormancy” in its promotion of national identity. The site did, to an extent, exhibit the roles for which manifest- masculinity is performed (conquer, innovator, savior), however, the more important rhetorical lesson here is learned from the uptake of these narratives not necessarily by the site, but by the extent to which visitors perform and narrate those roles through embodied performance and traditional story-telling of “nationhood” as a form of circulation. To an extent, here, I echo

Morris with my own concerns extending to the ways in which critics approach the study of memory—as mere sites or artifacts of representation rather than focusing on the processes in which such narratives are produced and circulate without the consideration of themselves or others as participants within that flow. While the forgotten state of the Roosevelt Memorial on

Roosevelt Island was likely not intentional, the point here is to illustrate that regardless of intention the underlining features of the initial history adopted and put into practice through the naming and building of the island and memorial still circulates within and affects public discourse no matter the state of its (visual) presence.

While here I explore the extent to which circulation of memory is rhetorically present, even through a forgotten state, in the following case study I move to a new artifact (in a new material form), with a focused attention towards an additional form of circulation: Circulation as

Assemblage. In the next case study I explore Ken Burns’ The Roosevelts in order to understand

138 the extent to which Burns’ assemblage of archival materials establish a network for which TR’s memory and those same values associated with American exceptionalism circulates through the historical documentary genre.

For a moment I want to digress by acknowledging that, yes, a significant focus of this project thus far has centralized the extent to which the roles of American exceptionalism have emerged and developed from man’s relationship with nature as a way to exhibit control and dominance, and have resulted in the development of “civil” characteristics such as exceptionalism in ingenuity and the rescuer of the nation’s global contemporaries. While the tracking of this dynamic is important in the development of exceptional national character, in the preceding case studies I instead turn my attention to understanding how and to what extent they began to play out in forming and circulating gendered binary standards of American national character through the rhetorical framing of the manifest-masculinity and magnitude master- tropes.

Circulation as Assemblage: Ken Burns and The Roosevelts

“So you know, as much as we embrace the steam locomotive in trousers that Theodore Roosevelt was, you have the sort of balance it out with this other side of him that is so in some ways unstable and yet, you love him - he's the guy you want to go out and have a beer with.”

-Ken Burns22

The Ken Burns phenomenon has long been known as a form of archival documentary that evokes what has often been thought of as part of a nostalgic imagery of a collective consciousness. For example, the circulation of Burns’ documentary epic on PBS, The Civil War

22 Unknown author. (2014, September 10). Ken Burns’ ‘The Roosevelts’ Explores An American Family’s Demons. KUOW. Retrieved from http://archive.kuow.org/post/ken-burns- roosevelts-explores-american-familys-demons.

139 (1990) not only showed a renewed sense of hope for a growing audience and a viable revenue stream, but it also introduced a new sense of style, changing “the way the public thought about documentary, and it changed the way television executives thought about historical documentary” (McLane, 2012, p. 312).23 The same is true of The Roosevelts (2014), as Todd

Aaron Jensen (2014) points out in an interview with Burns, the documentary series’ visual style,

“…slowly sweeping across and almost into vintage photographs feels simmering and alive …” is a major part of Burns’ visual efforts in recovering history. 24 This project continues then, once more, with the exploration of how and to what extent American national identity discourse is circulated as a gendered concept within the memory and commemorative displays of Teddy

Roosevelt in contemporary visual culture.

Related to the nostalgic effect of “unchange” mentioned earlier in this project, the

“archive effect,” a phenomenon coined by Jamie Baron (2012), situates the archive not within its formal label and authoritative prestige, but instead opens the label to include the “re-assemblage” of archival documents within new texts and contexts and the audience experience. Here, she argues “that the “found” document becomes “archival” precisely as it is recontextualized within a new film, is recognized by the viewer as “found,” and is thereby endowed with some form of evidentiary authority” (Baron, 2012, p. 104). As such, specifically through his efforts to memorialize the Roosevelt family, and mainly TR, I suggest that Burns’ use and assemblage of

23 According to Variety, Brian Steinberg notes that on average 9.2 million viewers tuned into all seven episodes of “The Roosevelts,” the third highest-rated Ken Burns program on PBS. See Steinberg, Brian. (2014, October 22). PBS Binge-Watches Experiment Boosts Ken Burns ‘Roosevelts’. Variety. Retrieved from https://variety.com/2014/tv/news/pbs-binge-watching- experiment-boosts-ratings-for-ken-burns-roosevelts-1201335881/.

24 Jensen, T. A. (2014, September 11). The Doc Is In: Ken Burns on ‘The Roosevelts’ & Resurrecting History (INTERVIEW). BIOGRAPHY. Retrieved from https://www.biography.com/news/the-roosevelts-an-intimate-history-ken-burns-interview

140 visual archival documents in The Roosevelts, creates the means for a sustainable network that continues to circulate and celebrate those roles that persist in discourses related to American exceptionalism—bolstering the credibility of the hegemonic narrative (mainly white and male) of exceptional citizenship. I also want to acknowledge that for the purposes of this project I am only concerned with analyzing the first three episodes of The Roosevelts for Burns’ textual authority over the memory and commemoration of TR’s life and accomplishments in relation to discourses concerning American exceptionalism and national character. Of course this does not mean that the remaining episodes in the series are not rhetorically significant in the commemoration of the Roosevelt name, however, the narrative that is constructed is beyond the scope of this chapter and project.

While The Roosevelts celebrates the Roosevelt family, Burns especially praises the relationship between man and nature through the depiction of TR. To be clear, here, I am also referring to the symbolic relationship between willpower and determination, and the “underdog” overcoming uncertainty. When analyzing the reconstruction of historical events through visual context, as a product of these tropes I also argue that through the illumination of epidictic rhetoric Burns effectively “reinforces adherence to certain values” in the audience’s understanding of an American way of being (Jasinski, 2001, p. 210). While I use Aristotle’s definition of the epideictic oration to highlight the series’ promotion of popular values, I am also influenced by the work of Kenneth Burke in The Rhetoric of Motives (1950), because Burke discusses how these moments of identification are created within and serve to establish and maintain structures of knowledge.

Circulation as Assemblage and Epideictic Form. The use of archival photographs along with other forms of archival evidence in the historical documentary genre does not necessarily

141 argue for the truthfulness of the evidence presented (although those archives, for example, are part of the ways in which the text praises Teddy Roosevelt), but instead works towards a

“historical authenticity fixed to the documentary residues of the past” (Blouin & Rosenberg,

2011, p. 15). Of course, the term archive in itself is used loosely in this chapter because of the differences between the commemorative case studies explored and the nature of memory. To be sure, the flow and function of memory manifest similar discourses, yet, through different forms to be “better understood less as a reflection of where the particular document has been stored than as an experience of the viewer watching a film that includes or appropriates documents that appear to come from another text or context of use” (Baron, 2014, p. 17). In Baron’s work, she contributes more to opening the classification of the term “archival,” suggesting that “found” footage/documents should be held with the same authoritative significance by including the effects of its contextualization on viewer recognition.

For Ken Burns work, as he reconstructs a rhetorical history with attention to archival use through camera panning and zooming techniques to visually emphasize information, voiceovers to narrate and bring those documents to life, and even the interviews of known historians is even more so persuasive as a product of the documentary series’ visual epidictic form. Epideictic rhetoric, as cited by Jasinski, Schiappa and Timmerman (1996), comes from epideixis and used to “designate a quality or characteristic of discourse rather than a genre of discourse” (Jasinski,

2001, p. 210). Douglas Walton (1999) cites Perelman and Olberchts-Tyteca’s (1969) work to highlight the strengths and significance of the epideictic form:

…the argumentation in epideictic discourse sets out to increase the intensity of adherence

to certain values, which might not be contested when considered on their own but may

nevertheless not prevail against other values that might come into conflict with them. The

142 speaker tries to establish a sense of communion centered around particular values

recognized by the audience, and to this end he uses the whole range of means available to

the rhetorician for purpose of amplification and enhancement… (p.218)

By continuing to explore the rhetorical tropes that I start to develop earlier in this project as an epideictic form, offers the opportunity to understand specific ideological patterns which emerge within the construction of the master-narrative of exceptionalism, and how and to what extent they are preserved, circulated, and continue to function as primary exemplars of American national character.

The introduction of the series is fairly well organized in terms of setting the viewer up with a clear distinctive narrative about the American dream, or at least the hopes of one.

Emerging from the opening credits and leading into the opening “scene,” the music heard as the camera zooms in on an old black and white photo of downtown Manhattan is reminiscent of the

Ragtime melodies of the early 20th century. This is not surprising though, as the narrator (who we later find out to be Peter Coyote) clarifies the time period to be 1908. This is also a significant year in American politics as it is the last year of Theodore Roosevelt’s second presidential term. The photo transitions into another black and white image within what looks to be an office space that perhaps one would describe as haunting without the help of Coyote, who within seconds tells the viewer that the space is the 5th floor offices of the law firm Carter,

Ledyard, and Milburn.

The stark contrast between the darkened framing of the shadows that seem to emerge from outside of the archival image with its fading into the bright sunlight that creeps through the office windows gives the sense that the space may be abandoned, while not physically, those who dwell within the space may have their hopes set on being somewhere else. The camera

143 upwardly zooms in, framing the steel spiral staircase in the middle of the photo as Coyote explains while many of the junior clerks were discussing their hopes of making partner one day, another “had far bigger dreams” beyond the practice of law and would become the president of the United States. This junior clerk was no other than Franklin Delano Roosevelt. The visual motion upward, along with Coyote’s narration, signals a change in perspective by comparison—

FDR was a dreamer much like his fifth cousin, Theodore Roosevelt, and to stay idle for too long did not match the high expectations associated with the Roosevelt name. However, this path was unlikely, as FDR did not excel in his studies and was an “indifferent” lawyer.

Following the upward panning across a portrait of FDR, the scene transitions to black and white film footage that puts the narrative of the episode into motion in a different way.

Surrounded by an unending sea of people at an overwhelming packed event, TR can be seen standing while waving, hat in hand, from a vehicle in a procession line. While Coyote did not indicate to the viewer the type of event that took place during the filming, one could imagine that it was a celebration of sorts where Theodore, like in many of the public images of him, was front and center of them all. Even to experience such a visual presence speaks immensely of the language that has described Roosevelt as a larger than life persona, who even his daughter Alice has noted, “My father always has to be the bride at every wedding, the corpse at every funeral,

25 and the baby at every christening.” Indeed, Theodore’s image on screen, both in still photographs and film footage, captured a larger than life presence.

Preceding the procession footage is a portrait of TR that within seconds quickly fades into the same portrait of FDR introduced to viewers a few minutes prior to the procession

25 Alice’s remarks about TR were cited in a Huffington Post article presented by PBS before the airing of The Roosevelts. See Unknown Author (2014, September 2). After Reading This, You’ll Never Look At The Roosevelts The Same Way Again. Huffington Post. Retrieved from https://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/09/02/roosevelts-facts_n_5564216.html.

144 footage. With Coyote’s voice of direction, he explains that even the larger than life persona of

TR, too, faced the unlikely certainty of occupying the White House. What is interesting about the juxtaposition between FDR and TR within this introduction is not necessarily how different they appeared to be in terms of the “strength” that they exhibit, but instead their parallel paths of sameness towards personal and political success.

The logic produced from this rhetorical construction (and what will be seen in upcoming episodes), mirrors both TR and FDR as examples of the bootstrap myth—pushing ones self up the ladder of success through hard work and dedication has continually been a central narrative of American national identity. Some examples of prominent narratives that have circulated in public discourse focus on Teddy as a sickly child and his efforts to overcome both physical and emotional ailments in his life, while the concept of strength is constructed differently through

FDR. Both notions of strength produce the same narrative (the boot strap myth), but the relationship between these different approaches to Americanism, on the other hand, challenges the characteristics of the manifest-masculinity master trope introduced in the previous case studies and revisited below. This is not surprising, however, because identity construction can be ambiguous due to its constant flow/shifts during different periods throughout time.

From a contemporary perspective, archival photos visually embrace the aesthetics of history, an authentic capturing of a place or moment that once was and produces a “need to know” desire within the viewer, signaling to them to keep on looking in order to understand the story that unfolds. Bazin (1960) calls this desire an attachment to artificial perspective that the

“plastic arts” produces the sensation of stopping time in its tracks, or rather outsmarting time. I use the term archive here and in the previous case study as a way to classify the continual circulation of specific discourses within different visual contextualization and through the

145 circulation of different audiences. As a part of The Roosevelts epideictic form, the master trope of magnitude explains the ornamental and grandiose fashion of the photographs used to highlight

Teddy’s romance with the wilderness and in part, resulting in the identification of the manifest- masculinity master trope.

The relationship between conquering and overcoming is central to the first episode of the series as it plays out starting with the narrative about TR’s issues as a sickly child on the verge of death. The episode moves between the voices of famed historian David McCullough, American actor Paul Giamatti as Roosevelt, and Coyote to assist in the overall flow of the narrative. As photographs of TR as a child cycle through creating a montage, McCullough primes the viewer by explaining the medical issues TR’s younger self faced with battling asthma and especially his fearfulness. The scene then transitions into a reading of journal excerpts from Roosevelt’s journals by Giamatti—a first hand look into TR’s memories of himself as a sickly child and the love and care he received from his family during that time, especially from his father. Coyote picks up the narrative from here, helping the viewer to effortlessly transition into his fondness for exploration and taxidermy practices.

As one of the founders of the American Museum of Natural History in Manhattan, it was clear that TR’s love for nature came from his father, Theodore Roosevelt Sr., and his deep commitment to exposing his children to worldly travel. As part of the rhetorical potency of the manifest-masculinity master trope, nature has always played a dual purpose in TR’s life: Teddy is able to claim it (as we see in archival photographs of the building of the Panama Canal), control it (a product of TR’s big game hunting and taxidermy hobbies), all while recovering himself whenever faced with physical weaknesses, doubt, or tragedy in his life.

146 As part of TR’s upbringing, his rhetoric regarding exceptionalism emerged from

Roosevelt Sr.’s no tolerance policy for anything other than extraordinary presence and actions as essential to the Roosevelt family. For example, in response to his father’s rhetoric, Teddy worked to overcome his physical ailments, and made it a point to “get active and do things”— always participating in physical sports and competitions, even if he was not a natural athlete and did not often win. 26 If McDaniel were alive today, I suspect that his basis for the rhetorical effects of magnitude in Burns’ assemblage of American exceptionalism would conclude for viewers, the magnitude of Roosevelt’s presence through both the visual epideictic form and epideictic oration of the “great American experience,” that the vastness of these commemorative effects bring about an extraordinary experience with new possibilities “as they are freshly imagined” (McDaniel, 2002, p. 92). Like many of the generic codes associated with the lionization of people, places, and events in American history, the extent to which Burns’ constructs the story of TR’s life and accomplishments is all too familiar to an overall national narrative that recalls aspects of an underdog’s struggle and a quality American characteristic of perseverance to overcome.

As such, the text connects to the collective understanding of American national exceptionalism with recalling the “You must make your body and always try to overcome” mentality. This evoking of family values (or tradition) as part of the “becoming of Teddy” is an important symbolic move to consider in terms of Roosevelt’s rhetoric on exceptional

26 As noted by David McCullough (2003), TR was not a natural athlete, nor was he good at any sport he played (this includes boxing and lawn tennis). McCullough notes: “He was, to be sure, a rabid competitor in anything he attempted. He was constantly measuring his performance, measuring himself against others. Everybody was a rival, every activity a contest, a personal challenge” (p.211). See: McCullough, D. (2003) Mornings on Horseback: The Story of an Extraordinary Family, a Vanished Way of Life and the Unique Child Who Became Theodore Roosevelt. New York, New York: Simon & Schuster.

147 Americanism. Here, Burns establishes a point of identification within the context of Roosevelt’s family to also account for Teddy Roosevelt’s concerns with nature and environmental conservation as part of national values; in this case, one which TR frequently wrote about as every (male) American citizen needing to be concerned with upholding. Not only is the passing down of this rhetoric telling because of its emergence in the social institution of the American family (i.e. the family unit was of particular importance because of the continuation of institutional memory and family name), it is an important lesson on how the circulation of narratives embed into one’s consciousness become a learned practice. This is how memory forms and circulates in public culture.

While recalling the work of Derrida’s Archive Fever and Margins of Philosophy, Barbara

Biesecker publishes an essay which calls archival documents mere traces of the past “whose sustained mediation on difference would serve as a rigorous explication of why the archive as instituted trace anchors nothing absolutely, and to summarily state that it is in this sense that history is what is not in the archive…” (Biesecker, 2016, p.127). It is clear that as a expression of man’s relationship to the idea of the American sublime, these archival photographs, films, documents, and all of the elements which connect them, produce a narrative not necessarily about TR’s romanticization of nature, but instead of TR’s rough physicality and larger than life persona, which at times is central to the audience’s accountability for the symbolic significance of the text. These elements, narrators, and how they connect and flow through one another thus illustrate the magnitude of TR, one that is intertwined with the audience as part of the archival effect, and indeed, part of the impalpable and unsettling nature of the unfamiliar wilderness that he explored, managed, and conquered.

148 The Magnitude of the Past in Forming the Present. There are a few things so far that we can learn in terms of the movement and nature of memory within and between these case studies: memorial and commemorative narratives can take the shape of different visual/ material forms with multiple elements, perspectives, and still circulate a unifying collective narrative over a period of time. For example, if we look back at the last few moments of the series’ introduction where the film footage of a 1936 speech by FDR commemorating the unveiling of Thomas

Jefferson’s face on Mount Rushmore, his words do not necessarily commemorate Jefferson, but instead focuses on the preservation for generations of the future:

… I think that we can perhaps meditate a little on those Americans 10,000 years from

now, we can wonder about our descendants, because I think they will still be here, will

they think about us. Let us hope at least they will give us the benefit of the doubt –that

they will believe we have honestly striven every day and generation to preserve for our

descendants a decent land to live in and a decent form of government to operate under.27

These words are not focused on remembering one man, but instead a hope that remembering takes place years beyond the present moment, and the hope that it is from that same perspective.

These in-between narratives and networks put into practice the need to recover the dead in order for us to claim mortality so that we too have a permanent place in time. Ghosts of the past tend to satisfy our need to understand who we are individually and collectively, saving us from what uncertainty may come with changing that narrative. As for the dedication of Jefferson on Mount

Rushmore, FDR validates the need to remember him because it is necessary to sustain the nation’s legacy for future generations (that those of the past did what they could for those of the future). Burns use of this footage as archival documentation within the first few minutes of the

27 This speech is transcribed as it is represented in the series. FDR’s speech in its entirety can be read here: http://www.fdrlibrary.marist.edu/daybyday/resource/august-1936-3/

149 series signals to the viewer that the action of remembering (through Burn’s perspective) is important for situating us in a state of historical permanence.

Kenneth Burke (1954) would say to this that changing a state of permanence is not possible through radical action against a hierarchical system, but instead, utilizing the same language to offer a new translation for how we talk about the system, is what is necessary to produce that change. For The Roosevelts, it is not only the force of the archival document that takes part in producing the magnitude of exceptional American rhetoric with the exemplar of TR, or of the ways in which Burns utilizes the camera for panning and zooming effects, but also the narratives of “us” and how we take up, interpret, and put into practice these narratives on a global, national, and even individual scale. To be clear, when I say the narratives of “us,” I am also including, too, the agency put forth by Burns as the director, the historians that are interviewed, and even the famed voice of Coyote as the narrator throughout the duration of the series, as they all participate as vital components associated with how American exceptionalism is evoked as the memory of Roosevelt, and of a nostalgic sense of America that has long escaped us.

The use of archives in the documentary series brings to light the importance of rhetorical investigation through archival evidence and offers valuable insight for those interested in the ethos of still images and how they come to play a powerful role in producing effective rhetorical histories for an audience. The issue here is not with what historical narratives are told, because that action would assume a ranking of narratives that circulate in public culture, something that is beyond the scope of this chapter and project. The real issue is the extent to which those narratives dominate public memory and continually re-define national character through a perceived constricted, hegemonic authority authorized by the very society that defines it. What I

150 mean by an authoritative presence is the construction of TR’s exceptionalism through the visual assemblage and storytelling of mainly notable white European males instead of perspectives from various viewpoints.

For example, the exhibiting of authoritative agency, such as by famed historians like

McCullough in the early minutes of the series, creates a rhetorical lens for which viewers perceive the information presented to them. McCullough exclaims, “ …and you can’t expect people like that to happen all the time. The exceptional presidents are the exception and these two Roosevelts were exceptional with a capital “E” underscored” (“The Roosevelts” 5:15-5:23).

Here, McCullough’s authority as an expert historian immediately preauthorizes a frame for which exceptionalism is authenticated.

What this case study does differently from the rhetorical moves of the Roosevelt memorials in New York and in Washington, D.C. is that it explores not what characteristics emerge from the manifest-masculinity master tropes, but instead the extent to which the assemblage and flow of memory (in this case archival documents) is framed simply through editing style, narrative choices, and contextualized in the historical documentary form. This assemblage creates and enables an additional network of circulation for which recalling and

“being” an exceptional American is made possible.

Indeed, as “the art of memory is like an inner writing,” the archives of memory in The

Roosevelts “depend on visual impressions of almost incredible intensity”(Yates, 1966, p. 6). The output of this network resituates itself with “evidentiary authority” not because of the archival documents used (while still part of its authority), but because of the recontextualization of Burns’ narrative about Roosevelt and American exceptionalism, and the audience who may extract and experience those discourses within contemporary social and political circumstances. Thus,

151 memory flows and offers not necessarily different perspectives of Roosevelt or of America, but instead shows how identities and ways of being develop, circulate, and are repurposed also through the agency of the visitor/audience and creator as part of the process for which discourse is recontexualized, but with the same means. Like the archival document that falls within the scope of a new assemblage, the agency of the creator and the visitor/audience emerges as an additional element/network that, too, simulates memory’s flow. Yates (1966) reminds us

“images are forms, marks or simulacra [formae, notae, simulacra] of what we wish to remember”

(p. 6). If we re-center the canons of arrangement and memory at the heart of rhetorical discovery, we are better equipped to understand the force behind an archive of images and what rhetorical histories may emerge from their construction and reconstruction.

The final case study below explores the circulation of memory within the context of authoritative embodiment and performance to underscore the extent to which the agency of the performer functions as part of rearticulating the permanence of historical memory. The endnote to this chapter is the parallels between what I identify as “circulation as performance” and the remaining elements associated with the rhetorical canons of delivery and style. Here, critics ought to note that even in a contemporary world with new terms and ways of seeing, the basis of understanding the rhetorical potency of our surroundings, still, brings us back to the corner stones/foundations/bases of rhetoric.

152 Circulation as Performance: Roosevelt in a Drunk and Rap Battle Generation28

“Not bad for a man who, despite his undeniable bravery and public spirit, spent much of his life behaving like a bully, drunk on his own self-regard. How does one account for the contemporary adulation of this man?

- Edmund Morris29

The final case studies in this section move to articulate performance as an additional function of circulation. If we consider the ways in which the common roles, themes, and characteristics of American national values emerged and circulated through the forms of preservation, amnesia, and assemblage as I have in the previous case studies, what is missing from this project is a move towards the literal rhetorical study of movement—the act of performance as a circulated rearticulation of history.

Beyond the circulation of the previous case studies, memory and commemorative practices of TR are engaging with more contemporary examples of visual mediations of collective and social identities. The point here is not necessarily to understand the extent to which a specific text, artifact, or image’s “staying-power” becomes impactful through circulation, but instead to understand how and to what extent national narratives, ideas, characteristics, or perhaps, ideological formations emerge and become rhetorically impactful through the utterances of various multi-differential material networks and outlets of communication. As such, through an analysis of various Drunk History and Epic Rap Battles of

History episodes reinterpreting Roosevelt’s persona, family, and specific events in history, I

28 This case study has been expanded into a forthcoming publication: Maldonado, C.A. (Forthcoming). “Recovering Teddy, Recovering Trump: The Rhetoric of Manifest-Masculinity in a Drunk and Rap Battle Generation.” In. Montalbano, L.L (ed.) Gender, Race and Social Identity in American Politics (Maryland: Lexington, 2019).

29 Lears, J. (2011, April 7). A Boy’s Own Story. The New Republic. Retrieved from: https://newrepublic.com/article/86343/theodore-roosevelt-reagan-wilson-progressive.

153 argue that the idea of America as a nation which is built on the concept of manifest-masculinity continues, as we see here, to circulate through the themes of conquest as a means of dominance and control, the savior of nation and rescuer of all, and finally the innovator through problem solving skills and technological ingenuity.

The first webisode of Drunk History aired on YouTube in August 2007. It was created by

Derek Waters and Jeremy Konner, and featured a debut that reenacted the story of Alexander

Hamilton and Aaron’s Burr’s death duel. The series had an initial brief run on “Funny or Die” online and then, on HBO through 2010, and was finally picked up by Comedy Central in 2013.30

In 2010 another series emerged, devoting to showcasing short, but epic, historical showdowns of some of history’s most commemorated people and events through rap battles.

Created by Peter Shukoff and Lloyd Ahlquist, Epic Rap Battles of History first showcased a rap battle between John Lennon and Bill O’Reilly, and followed up with a battle between Darth Vader vs. Adolf Hitler. The Epic Rap Battles of History channel on You Tube now has an overall view count of more than 2.9 billion31 and more than 14.2 million subscribers.

What is interesting about the Drunk History series is not only the fact that those who act as narrators are incredibility drunk, or the narrators are well prepared by producers with historical facts by studying research packets, the lead roles in these historical reenactments are all silent- film performances. This makes the stance and movement of an actor and setting even more

30 Monroe, J. (2015, August 31). The Sober Reality of ‘Drunk History’. Complex. Retrieved from: https://www.complex.com/pop-culture/2015/08/drunk-history-season-3.

31 Field, H. (2018, August 1,). Meet the Two YouTubers Behind Epic Rap Battles of History, Which Has Racked Up More Than 2.9 Billion Views. Entrepreneur. Retrieved from: https://www.entrepreneur.com/article/317706.

154 rhetorically impactful. On the other hand, the rhetorical force of Epic Rap Battles of History32 does not come from the lip-syncing techniques of seasoned (and famous) actors, but instead the erythematic maneuvers of voice from pre-recorded raps by actors, which are then acted out in video performance. As such, in this section I explore these series to track the performative elements which exhibit a rhetoric of delivery and style: movement of body, rhythm and lyrical flow, costume, and setting imagery to understand the ways in which Teddy Roosevelt is commemorated through embodiment and the rhetorical style of performance.

By understanding performance as a fluid and rhetorical construct of elements, the performance’s composition permits a circulation or transmitting of “social knowledge, memory, and a sense of identity” through acts of reiteration (Taylor, 2003, p. 2). Keeping a broader theoretical note in mind, I am also interested in the ways in which these texts illustrate a necessary relationship, a rhetorical composition that connects visual and speech performances and their importance.

Overall, if we consider both the case study in the previous chapter and those explored throughout this chapter, it is clear that to an extent multiple agents and networks act as active prescriptions during the circulation processes of collective public discourse, regardless of the form in which those commemorative outcomes take shape. With this observation in mind, below

I explore how and to what extent the three roles developed over the course of this project

(conquer, savior, innovator,) emerge from both series through the magnitude of manifest- masculinity master trope in order to understand the rhetorical production of Roosevelt’s memory in relation to our ways of taking up and implementing (or performing) American national

32 Francisco, E. (2017, November 29). The Dudes Behind ‘Epic Rap Battles of History’ Eye an Uncertain Future. Inverse, Retrieved from: https://www.inverse.com/article/38430-epic-rap- battles-season-6-youtube-trump-nazis.

155 identity. To examine this it may be helpful to consider the way performance is played with, and is authorized by the Derridian concept of “citationality” and expectation in order to understand how and to what extent citationality in the circulation process of public discourses (and in particular those associated with the memory and commemoration of TR) are produced, reproduced, taken up, and embodied. Lastly, I offer up general questions related to agency and our own impact on memory and circulation practices and our place in the processes of circulation to help move into the last chapter of this project.

Performing History: Circulating Identity and Toxic Masculinity. The notion of performance or performativity can be meaningful from different areas of study. Peggy Phelan

(1993) claims that the power of performance lies within present action without trace while others, such as J.L. Austin (1975), claim that the issuing of the utterance is the performative.

Jacques Derrida (1988) develops this point though the argument that the performative’s iterability is legitimized through citationality. For example, national narratives develop staying- power and are legitimized through circulation throughout time and generations. For Judith Butler

(1990; 2013), however, it is cultural discourses that articulate and determine the direction of the performance. Here, Butler is referring to the formation of gender and sexuality identities that form through the framing of political, cultural and social practices.

For the purposes of this case study, I align with Diana Taylor’s (2003) notion that performance takes on a duality of form; indeed, the act of performance “travels” (or circulates), yet to an extent in situ, because the performance produces an experiential identity within the time and place of its emergence. Taylor notes:

Performances travel, challenging and influencing other performances. Yet they are, in a

sense, always in situ: intelligible in the frame- work of the immediate environment and

156 issues surrounding them. The is/as underlines the understanding of performance as

simultaneously ‘‘real’’ and ‘‘constructed,’’ as practices that bring together what have

historically been kept separate as discrete, supposedly free-standing, ontological and

epistemological discourses. (p. 3)

Yet, as Taylor continues, performance can also produce negative connotations because of its

“constructedness ” which “signals its artificiality—it is ‘‘put on,’’ antithetical to the ‘‘real’’ and

‘‘true’’ (p. 4). I want to acknowledge here that Taylor’s framing of performative actions are not far from the conceptions of Phelan, Austin, Derrida, and Butler. In fact, there are elements of each perspective within her work in terms of the fluidity of performance and the extent to which it shifts throughout time periods. Here, I am concerned with that circulation and how these narratives emerge, and may articulate themselves differently, through various multiple rhetorical forms.

Released in December 2016, the 69th rap battle of the Epic Rap Battles of History channel on YouTube featured Theodore Roosevelt vs. Winston Churchill. To date this short three-minute battle has been viewed more than 24 million times. The battle begins after the appearance of the series’ title—a very visually “loud” symmetric block letter design that is incredibly difficult to miss. A clean and quick cut to the next scene takes the viewer to a title card, which introduces one of the historic “rappers.” Winston Churchill, played by Dan Bull, YouTuber33 and successful

British actor and rapper, appears on the screen. The location of Churchill’s character is no other than Elizabeth Tower, one of the most recognizable icon’s in London, England today. With the use of a green screen to create a digitally enhanced immersive environment, in his introductory

33 Bull’s YouTube channel alone has received more than 200 million views and 1 million subscribers.

157 title card Churchill’s character can be seen pacing to the right of the frame, between the graphics of his first name—located in the back of the image, and behind his last name in the foreground on a superimposed dark gray street—similar to the usual description one would hear about the dark and gloomy streets of London—with a transparent graphic of the clock face of Elizabeth

Tower. To highlight the details that are commonly associated with the weather in a typical

London environment, are accompanying graphics of flickering lights in the background to represent lightening among the thick fog and generated raindrops in the foreground and middle ground to give visual depth to Churchill and his environment.

After the “VS” image appears, the title card that introduces Teddy Roosevelt visually represents a culmination of all the elements of American exceptionalism that have been traced throughout this project: physical strength and durability as a performativity, superiority in technology and innovation, and intellectual sophistication and dominance. What is interesting about the introductory title cards for Roosevelt in the ERBH episode is that in comparison to

Burns’ introduction of TR in The Roosevelts, both artifacts produce two different forms of the conquer role. For The Roosevelts, TR is introduced as a sickly child who concurred his own shortcomings through physical action and interaction with nature (which also includes domination of territory). In the ERBH episode the Roosevelt character is introduced, but the viewer is left to assume the position of interpreting Roosevelt not for what is told about him through narration but only through the visual composition and performance of the shot. Dressed in a clean-cut suit exposing the chain of a pocket watch, TR’s stance is illustrated as confident, with his head held high and chest extended much like his positioning of the equestrian statue in front of the American Museum of Natural History in New York, and much like the force behind the archival photographs used by Burns in The Roosevelts. The background of Roosevelt’s title

158 card can be described as the motion of American industrialism, with what looks to be the movement of rusty mechanical clockwork gears, or perhaps parts of larger factory-like machines.

Moving like a well-oiled machine, this stage sets up a rhetorical translucent screen, one that to an extent may remind viewers who are familiar with the second phase of the industrial

(technological) revolution of America’s technological superiority. This imagery rhetorically acts as an anchor for a nostalgic America, an era which established much of the narratives associated with American power not only as a collective national identity, but also a leader on the world’s stage.

As for Drunk History, there are a variety of episodes that uphold this idea of American exceptionalism as being defined through the workings of the masculine physical body (strength) in relation to the role of the savior. The first emergence of TR in the Drunk History’s series aired in 2013 with a reclaiming of his masculine persona in his adventures with the Rough Riders in the episode titled “Wild West.” A different side of Roosevelt emerges in Drunk History’s 2016 release of “The Roosevelts.” Here, viewers are reminded of an intellectual problem-solving

Teddy as he attempts to save the classical manly sport of football with more rules deescalating the amount of physical contact players have with one another. More recently the episode “Teddy

Roosevelt vs. Christmas Tree” in 2017 showed a softer side of America’s cowboy as his children spent the segment changing their father’s mind about banning Christmas trees from the White

House.

What we know about the Drunk History episodes are that they all to an extent exhibit a form of dominance over others who are present within the narrative. However, this dominance is showcased in a variety of ways that make up a multifaceted gendered identification point for the concept of American exceptionalism. What is important about these episodes is how they

159 showcase American masculinity in multiple ways and as connected to anything that makes up the

“exceptional” identity of national character. Indeed, to be exceptional is to be all. Even if we look at the opening credits of the episode, the viewers are taken back to where men appeared to be exhausted from fighting a war that seemed to be hopeless. Yet, juxtaposed to that scene is

Roosevelt, steadfast on his horse commanding his cavalry to continue to fight. Charging up San

Juan Hill with fist raised, the viewers are not introduced to a Roosevelt who is defeated easily, but instead one who overcomes failure to persevere and succeed.

Indeed, Drunk History’s “Wild West” episode showcases the bona fide version of

American masculinity that we are accustomed to seeing throughout popular culture. The episode opens with Derek Waters, the series creator and show’s frequent onscreen drunken accomplice, getting first hand experience with a symbol of the American West, backstory and training about how cowboys used their guns back in the days. Before the scene cuts to the first drunken narration, the onscreen experts tell Waters that the history of the Wild West was to an extent fabricated with stories of deadly and serious gun fights in the middle of a town when the truth is, that may have only happened a few times and the dueling participants were likely drunk—a curious way to introduce a period in time where the “real” American cowboy emerged.

The next scene takes viewers inside what looks to be a private den or library of sorts— shelves full of books are visible in the background with a small table lamp off to the distance that dimly shines, setting a mood which visually gives the sense of a studious and knowledge based environment. Sitting surprisingly upright and centered within the camera’s frame is a middle- aged white man in western-urbanized attire sitting back, legs crossed, looking directly into the camera while drinking a gin on the rocks. The opening narrator of the featured episode, drunken actor Mark Guagliardi, to his delight, joyfully looks directly at viewers and says, “ Hello, today

160 we are going to talk about my favorite president, Teddy Roosevelt” (“Teddy Roosevelt Leads”

0:01-0:07). As Guagliardi begins to tell the story of Roosevelt’s roundup of the Rough Riders for the charge up San Juan Hill he, no sooner than when he started, begins to stumble over his own words when trying to remember the date of Roosevelt’s triumphant victory during the

Spanish-American War.

What is interesting about this display of masculinity is the stark contrast at play between

Guagliardi and his interpretation of Roosevelt, one that makes us question if comedic frames can rhetorically produce an image of an exceptional character and still exhibit authority in narration.

Almost instantly, the episode is set up to frame Roosevelt, and the tale of the Rough Riders, as one of the main catalyst for the rhetorical formation of the manifest-masculinity master-trope; indeed, one’s manhood is associated with a “to take is to conquer” type of individualistic mentality. The episode’s opening compositional grouping of key “manly” profiles associated with the concurring of the “Wild West” is significant framing of the TR segment of the episode.

Roosevelt’s placement in the narrative acts as a vital crossing point of where the master-trope emerges and weighs in as he sets the stage for the rest of the personas to follow. Towards the end of the segment and following the Calvary’s success, Guagliardi recalls through his narration/ reenactment the thoughts of a younger Roosevelt through first person narration “If I am going to become anything, the thing I am going to be is a bad [obscenity]” (“Teddy Roosevelt Leads”

4:01-4:25). Through drunken stupors Guagliardi continues, only this time through third person narration, “…and that day he fulfilled that promise to his young self and he became a [obscenity] rock star” (“Teddy Roosevelt Leads” 4:25-4:34). The segment about Roosevelt then comes to an end with Guagliardi finishing his reimagining of Roosevelt and the charge up San Juan Hill from the floor where he eventually passes out.

161 On November 27th, 2017 the segment titled, “A Very Teddy Roosevelt Christmas” was released just in time for the holiday season rush for Christmas tree purchases. The segment begins with a very intoxicated Rich Fulcher and Waters as they attempt to sing the song “ Joy to the World,” while pressing randomly on the keys of an old piano next to them. The scene then cuts to an introductory moment between Fulcher and the viewer as he introduces the topic of the segment—how TR’s children saved Christmas. Before the scene transitions to the reenactment of

Roosevelt’s presidential inauguration in 1901, Fulcher, a middle aged white American comedian dressed in a button up shirt and tie (a different wardrobe from what we see with Guagliardi and

Nelson (who will be introduced later in this chapter) begins to perform the narrator’s role as he takes the viewers through the story of TR banning Christmas trees from the White House and the determined children who changed his mind. Fulcher motions to the audience the importance of this story and says “pretty cool” as he tips his alcoholic beverage before he takes another drink

(“A Very Teddy” 0:38-0:40). .

The reenactment of Roosevelt’s presidential inauguration of 1901 was nothing short of comical; indeed, through the performance of Rob Riggle playing Roosevelt with the voiceover of

Fulcher’s (mostly drunken) speech, the segment commemorates Roosevelt more for his masculine qualities instead of his contributions to the US. At the podium of the inaugural reenactment, this was even more so apparent as Fulcher performs a play on one of Roosevelt’s famous “manly” mottos “Speak softly and carry a big stick,” by instead using the motto, “Speak softly and carry a big [obscenity]” (“A Very Teddy” 0:52-0:56). Through these play on words, this speech act rhetorically redirects viewers to associate part of Roosevelt’s individual and presidential identity with the size of his manhood—a literal phallic symbol aligned with the

American presidency and national character. The following scene, too, relates Roosevelt’s

162 “power” to his accomplishments as a conservationist (again, different from what viewers see in

ERBH). An animated map appears with multiple icons that signify national parks (represented with arrowheads), monuments (represented with mountains), and national forests (represented with pine trees) with Fulcher exclaiming, “ He loved those trees so [obscenity] much” (“A Very

Teddy” 1:14-1:16). Roosevelt’s character then appears in the next scene kissing and hugging a tree explaining that he didn’t want trees to be cut down—as a result, he did not want Christmas trees in “his” White House.

What is rhetorically significant about this moment is the juxtaposition between Roosevelt

(with fists in the air) declaring his territory with the subtleties of being a family man who loved his six children. Here, Fulcher reminds us of this significance with his additional commentary on

Roosevelt’s large family: “ So he had all these kids, and he was just brimming with, like, semen”

(“A Very Teddy” 1:48-1:51). This is a quick but noticeable rhetorical bolster of the conquer role that highlights Roosevelt’s manifest-masculinity persona—the role of conquer emerges in the private sphere through the ability to procreate and to carry on the family name and traditions.

What is also found in the memory and commemorative scholarship is work associated with networks which determine institutional lineage (Biesecker, 2002; Vivian, 2004)— individual and collective identities which are to an extent pre-determined by families, institutions and other social structures. For the Roosevelt children (Archie) who ventured out into the front lawn of

TR’s White House and despite his father’s disapproval, the children’s act of rescue commends and preserves part of family and national identity through the circulation of specific but generic morals and values (Gallagher, 2004).

The take away from both segments in these Drunk History episodes is that over multiple reiterations of different events associated with rearticulating Roosevelt’s memory and in some

163 cases important events in American culture, viewers are exposed to the circulation of standards in which conquering by force, and even to an extent through satiric (and at times ridiculous) performance, becomes part of a rhetorical tactic which reinforces the very node that is at the center of the manifest-masculinity trope and action embedded in our own collective memory as a nation—fight and claim what is “yours”. Of course, the performance of “conquering” as part of the manifest-masculinity master trope emerges as part of the “savior” role in these segments.

For the ERBH episode dominance is displayed thorough the ability to compete is to win and to be a winner amongst others. The rap battle begins, first, with Roosevelt’s famously coined term, “Bully!” 34as the character exclaims that he loves a competition when referring to the impending rap battle against Churchill (“Theodore Roosevelt vs.” 00:12-00:15). The significance of this speech acts with dual purpose. First, the initial utterance rhetorically establishes a type of context/situation for which to view the duration of the performance. This is done so not only through word choice and it’s citational meaning, but also through how that word is performed. For example, in terms of the circularity of Roosevelt’s memory, the use of the word “Bully” in this performance acts as a reminder that the American presidency is an agent that is commanding and can manipulate situations to best fit the needs of the office to win.

The following lyrics, too, reinforce the idea that conquering, or in this case, to kill is to win, is part of the role that one takes up as an exceptional American. Roosevelt’s character asks,

“ Now, where would I mount the stuffed head of a Winston” to exhibit not only the confidence of forthcoming success, but to show the force in which he acts upon to achieve that success

(“Theodore Roosevelt vs.” 00:15-00:18). Throughout TR’s lifetime his association with big

34 Coined by Roosevelt, the bully pulpit is used to describe the power of the American presidency and use of it as a political platform.

164 game hunting has been a prime element of his persona, one that perpetuated itself as a significant example of how Americans, or rather young boys and adult men, ought to act as citizens both for the good of themselves as individuals and the good of the nation.

As Butler (2013) notes, our present moment is what determines the direction for which a speech act is taken. For example, when referring to hate speech acts, Butler claims that it is the doctrine of meaning that we give to these speech actions that define them as hateful, a label that can change from moment to moment:

For the threat, for instance, to have a future it never intended, for it to be returned to its

speaker in a different form, and defused through that return, the meanings the speech act

acquires and the effects it performs must exceed those by which it was intended, and the

contexts it assumes must not be quite the same as the ones in which it originates (if such

an origin is to be found). (p. 15)

Of course, Butler does not claim that such forms of speech do not hurt, but instead she questions to what degree should we ascribe agency to speech, even more so that it has power over us and consumes us. While it is true that TR commanded much of his individual identity through the many roles he played in the public sphere such as a politician, hunter, and the intellectual citizen, it was through the performance of these different public roles that made up a collective understanding of how American exceptionalism was defined then, and through specific reiterations of speech, or rather the “circulation” of specific narratives that we have come to identify with, as a present definition Americanism.

What is clear thus far about this media is that they articulate clear distinctions between how American viewership remembers and embodies this exceptional form of masculinity and how our collective narrative creates an othering of the rest of the world. Visually, for example,

165 ERBH viewers are already situated within these identities through scene/setting affiliation. The gloomy streets of London and what appears to be a feeble and grumpy old man juxtaposed the hard mechanical workings of the rugged industrial frontier with what appears to be a happy-go- lucky, well built (to use a very American-like label) man’s man, who’s presence exhibits strength, agility, and the sometimes catastrophic demeanor to crush anything in the way of his path towards success. While on the other hand, in TR’s segment of the Drunk History episode where he comes up with not “a” but “the” solution to save the sport of football from being band because of player injuries, the rough persona transforms into a Roosevelt who represents intellectual refinement—a performance of diplomatic character of sorts which is much different from the “to take is to dominate” conquer performative of American masculinity.

Through this binary opposition in the ERBH episode, Churchill’s character appears to represent a different type of masculinity outside of the common framework used to describe the

American populace. Perhaps, because of the comparison to his upcoming rap rival, Churchill appears worn-out and feeble as he paces across the screen with his cane in one hand as he makes a peace sign with the other. Represented through a split-screen motion, a dual image of Churchill appears as he is seen placing a cigar in his mouth, while the other image of Churchill staggers backwards in the foreground of the image. Churchill’s movement in this initial foregrounding of his persona creates an appearance of what K. Kippola (2012) describes as the performance of

“intellectual manliness,” a model that has circulated in cultures of white masculinity for over a century. Unsurprisingly, Kippola notes that this strain of manliness emerged from an assimilation of the elements of “English refinement,” something that was commonly seen during the early

20th century as values that matched the aspirations of a dominate group in American society— middle class white men, where “gentility and politeness, rather than coarseness and belligerence”

166 were seen as part of a multiplicity of performatives in the conception of American manhood (p.

145). Churchill’s character, on one hand, visually represents only one part of American

(masculine) exceptionalism, which rhetorical sets up the argument for the entrance of a totalizing exceptional form of manliness—the tough and rugged with the intellectual refinement of gentleness of Theodore Roosevelt.

Similar to Churchill’s title card, the split screen of Roosevelt’s character provides a dual image of Roosevelt in the foreground and the background, both movements important to the rhetorical construction of his performance. From the back he turns around and to the left, facing the audience with admiration. Smiling, with one hand on his suit jacket, he raises his other hand and firmly waves around as if he is in the middle of a large crowd listening to his every word.

His extended wave turns into a forcible motion through the extension of his index finger signaling a message, he, or perhaps America, is number one. The secondary image of Roosevelt in the background suggests a commandment of his environment through his positioning on a floor, which reflects the same image of mechanical clockwork gears. Here, like many photos capturing the real-life Roosevelt, the floor beneath TR’s character rhetorically centers his performance, advanced in his capabilities and control over the technological frontier. The image of the Roosevelt’s character in the foreground of the title card shot is significant because it reinforces the rhetorical proof of the images composition— even though slightly off center from the other elements in motion, a stance and position, through the placement of his hands on his hips, represents confidence and power, setting the stage for the upcoming rap battle. This also includes the placement of Roosevelt’s famous Pince-Nez glasses; ones that he acquired after he nearly went blind from a boxing match in 1908.

167 This action is significant not only because of the staying-power the action rhetorically produces through motion, but also of the ways in which the action acts as a way of commemorating Roosevelt’s real-life identity—particularly placing importance on the type of

“manliness” he exhibits. As a secondary measure to authenticate this performance, Roosevelt’s name, in large letter typeface and centered, pulls together the dual image of Roosevelt through its compositional balancing of the split images. Now, what was once seen visually as separate performances is sutured as one. What becomes rhetorically interesting as we move into the battle is the editorial choices of the series’ creators. The order of each performance does not match up to the initial order of the characters’ introductions. This chronological mismatch creates an opposition to Churchill’s character, giving Roosevelt a natural win before the battle even starts.

Because of these rhetorical choices, Roosevelt becomes the main identification point for viewers before they experience the linguistical power behind his lyrics.

If we look back to the Drunk History series, we can see a shift, too, in how the memory of TR is being embodied. For example, in the TR segment of “The Roosevelts”, the segment embraces a few different rhetorical tactics to reinforce the manifest-masculinity master trope of

American exceptionalism—a duality of the conquering spirit (in other words what has been described previously as a rough and tough persona) mixed with intellectualism and superior innovation. What is different about this Drunk History episode is that the memory of TR is being circulated through another dominant narrative that has been part of the American consciousness for quite some time—the history of American football.

168 In his book, The Big Scrum: How Teddy Roosevelt Saved Football, John J. Miller notes following the concerns of the original generation of Muscular Christians, 35 and given the rise of sports in American culture, Roosevelt especially looked favorably on sports that taught qualities that would boost moral judgment and physical endurance. Roosevelt claimed, “ Of all these sports there is no better sport than football”, as many, including Roosevelt, strongly believed that the sport turned boys into men (Miller, 2011, p.121-123).

The segment begins with the introduction of Katie Nolan, who if viewers do not know, is a talented sports commentator on ESPN. Unlike the setting of a studious and intellectual environment that the appearance of an office library may bring as a backdrop for Guagliardi’s

Wild West story time, Nolan’s setting can only be described as homely. Both Nolan and Waters are sitting comfortably on living room furniture, with a single white orchid out of focus on a table behind Nolan and a bright white candle lite to the right of the frame. Nolan’s cheery disposition accompanied by her warm and inviting feminine voice is disrupted by her sudden use of the “F word” when responding to Waters about the possibility of viewers mistaking Football for the popular European sport, Soccer. She response with “ [obscenity] them if that’s what they think!” (“Teddy Roosevelt Saves” 00:14-00:16).

As the scene cuts to black and white footage of a football game, Nolan begins her narration of the event that has been documented in history as the bloodbath at Hampden Park36, with great (and sarcastic) detail about the extent to which the annual Harvard and Yale faceoff

35 Also See McKay, B. & McKay K. “ When Christianity Was Muscular.” The Art of Manliness. Retrieve https://www.artofmanliness.com/articles/when-christianity-was-muscular/.

36 Spohn, L. (2017, November 17). Notes on the Harvard-Yale Cockfight. The Harvard Crimson. Retrieved from: https://www.thecrimson.com/column/the-far- side/article/2017/11/17/spohn-notes-on-the-harvard-yale-cockfight/.

169 became bloody and brutal and the breaking point for an on going debate regarding the moral teachings and physical safety of football under the sport’s current rules. Of course while dramatized in this segment, historians, too, have accounted for the violence of the event per- established regulations. For example, according to Mark F. Bernstein (2001), “At least a third of the players that afternoon suffered some sort of injury - a casualty rate, the Nation pointed out, considerably higher that that of Napoleon's army at Waterloo” (p. 58). Two years went by before the two Universities would meet on the field again in 1897.

The threat of banishing the sport was even more so apparent now, as even the president of Harvard University questioned what type of character playing football produced. As quoted by

Miller, President Eliot suggested “ no football should be played until the rules are so amended as to diminish the number and the violence of the collisions between the players, and to provide for the enforce of the rules.” If football and other intercollegiate sports failed to change, they should be “abolished altogether” (Miller, 2011, p. 139-140). Among the general concern about the decline in “ways to become a man” and the brutal violence that the game exhibited, Roosevelt’s concerns were also personal, as his oldest son, Theodore Roosevelt III, desired to try out for

Harvard’s football team his first year. As a result, Roosevelt was so determined to save football that as president he invited the coaches of Harvard, Princeton, and Yale to the White House so they could talk about how to make football a safer and honest game (Miller, 2011, p. 184-185).

After the press got wind of Roosevelt’s efforts towards football reform, news commemorating on

Roosevelt’s many accomplishments in office started circulating through the public on top of his low key “football in the White House” efforts (Miller, 2011, p.191). They were nonetheless impressed by his efforts on a global, national, and “masculine” level.

170 Unlike other sports, which are played globally, football was not only created in America but it has kept its identity as solely American. To an extent, football becomes a qualifier for the

American family dynamic—a time for a group of people to share their lives and break bread together:

Football has become such a central part of our national identity that we almost take it for

granted. We expect the season to kick off around Labor Day, enjoy games as the air cools

and trees shed their leaves, and anticipate college bowl matchups on New Year’s Day and

the professional championship on Super Bowl Sunday. The sport has earned a permanent

place in the rhythm of our lives…It took the remarkable efforts of one of America’s most

extraordinary men to thwart them. (Miller, 2011, p. xi)

TR being at the center of this “great American” football story is a significant rhetorical feature of the series’ story telling process. Through the story of how an iconic part of American culture was saved through quick, and what was considered then as innovative strategies, Roosevelt’s identity is bolstered within a framework of exceptionalism, but within a different circulatory form

(remembering his character through and within a different memory), as well as exhibiting an aspect of American masculinity through what was once the violence of a very dangerous sport.

Unlike Guagliardi’s authoritative, yet ridiculous presence in the TR segment of the “Wild

West” episode or even Fulcher’s performance as narrator in the “A Very Teddy Roosevelt

Christmas” segment, when compared to Katie Nolan’s very rough and tumbled persona in this segment, while comical, suggests that the presence of a female narrator telling stories about

“manly things” has to be performed in such a way for it to be acceptable. If the viewer looks at

Nolan, for example, her performance is done so through a very masculine way—she is sitting, leaned back, legs crossed in a very relaxed position, with what looks to be whiskey on the rocks

171 in one hand, while she is dressed in a gray button down shirt and jeans. For those who are aware of her on screen persona, Nolan is neither liked nor disliked when it comes to her presence in the sports world. As Kerry Flynn has noted, “Her dialogue is chipper, but not fake. She swears, uses the word "like" — like, too often — and goes on tangents. Her career has included chatting about topics like "female viagra" and a high school's "fantasy slut league" for the YouTube channel

Guyism” (Flynn, 2018, para. 4).

This brings to mind a very important question about the status of woman in a male dominated arena: Is it necessary for women to perform masculinity and embody this type of tough exterior in order to be exceptional? Does Nolan exhibit the same authority as Guagliardi or Fulcher when remembering Roosevelt’s impact on American consciousness?

The Magnitude of Circulation in Public Memory

After assessing the various case studies in this project, and the extent to which they relate (or not) to one another, what rhetorical critics may take away from this investigation is an additional lens through which we can better understand 1) memory and commemoration practices as multi-dimensional; 2) networks of circulation as multi-functional and finally; 3) circulation of singular and multiple narratives throughout time and space. In the case of the circulation of Theodore Roosevelt’s memory throughout various displays of public visual culture one thing is clear, memory and commemoration practices and artifacts which emerge from those practices are not necessary fixed, but instead fluid by nature and rely on one another to articulate or progress a narrative (or multiple narratives) forward.

What we now understand about the concept of circulation in visual culture is not that these artifacts necessarily need to have individual distinctions or “move” on their own terms for us to identify their significance in producing/circulating/reiterating public discourse, but instead

172 understand that the circulation of historical memory is reliant on multiple connective networks and assemblages through which the continuation/culmination of epidictic themes are made possible. Indeed, in this project, what I have tried to do thus far is to illustrate how and to what extent different medias and commemoration forms (both static and moving) over a period of time

(in this case decades) circulate, not only through the presence of the text and artifacts themself, but also through their surrounding “sub-elemental” components which impact the rhetorical and material output of such public media.

Thinking back to Finnegan’s work, the point of exploring the different case studies is not to focus on how and to what extent a specific image circulates or is repurposed over a period of time, but instead how and to what extent a specific discourse (in this case the memory of

Roosevelt and American exceptionalism) emerges in different forms and contexts but still functions over a period of time as a “master” network which circulates a “master” discourse.

This puts the larger question about the impact of memory and commemorative practices at the forefront of rhetorical investigation in visual culture.

Beyond the rhetorical analysis of the final case studies, in this project I have worked to underscore the multifaceted nature of American masculinity as the dominant form of American exceptionalism that circulates, still, in American culture. To re-summarize earlier accounts of the roles which have emerged from the ways in which Roosevelt is commemorated, this multidimensional account of the exceptional American or what I refer to as the embodiment of manifest-masculinity, can be understood through the emergence of three characteristics: masculinity as conquest, masculinity as innovative, and finally masculinity in the form of savior.

To be clear, these consistent themes not only emerge in the memory and commemoration of

Theodore Roosevelt but also circulate as qualifiers for how American masculinity is performed

173 and what has been defined as American exceptionalism throughout mainstream narratives in history.

For Chapter Three, I have introduced the rhetorical functions of the manifest-masculinity and magnitude master-tropes in order to illustrate the extent to which the stasis of monumental display functions, still, as an active form of circulation for discourses of and about Roosevelt and national character. Through the examination of the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial at the

American Museum of Natural History, I have traced the ways in which the material changes of the memorial display function as a physical, circulatory flow that strongly promotes values, which command to us individually and collectively ways of being a contemporary (exceptional) citizen in America. Through this case study, I have shown how the discussions and choices of museum officials and others involved in the building of the memorial decades ago, and even those in charge of the memorial’s recent renovation, reveal a rhetorical genealogy or sorts that continues to circulate a tradition, or rather a set of values (features of masculinity) which are inscribed as necessary to promoting exceptional character. Here, I also introduce the concept of circulation as assemblage, an articulation of rhetorical networks necessary to articulate the preservation process of memorials and commemorative sites.

Of course, memorials and other commemorative displays do not physically circulate like that of an image or photograph in a newspaper, magazine, or other visual platforms where public discourse may be articulated, rearticulated and indeed, reimagined. However, for the Roosevelt

Memorial and its static material form, this articulation of circulation as a form of preservation, has demonstrated that even though specific texts, artifacts, and sites are unable to physically circulate in their material forms, material changes to the site, the visitors that circulate through the space over decades, and even the conversations which take place between museum officials,

174 make up, preserve, rearticulate, and circulate Roosevelt’s memory and the vision/values he had for America. I find this approach to be liberating for rhetorical critics and other scholars who focus not on the impact of public memory but the extent to which the production of public memory produces patterns of specific commemorative practices which form social and political structures over periods of time, space, and material (and even digital) realities.

Of course the notion of circulation as assemblage has proven to be significant in the formation of the remaining case studies in this chapter, because of the extent to which the multiplicity and magnitude of networks work within, between, and separate from one another. In this chapter, I introduced, articulated, and explored two additional forms of circulation to round out the introduction of assemblage as an avenue for the circulation of static displays of visual culture in the previous chapter. This chapter sets the groundwork necessary to form and explore what I call “ circulation as amnesia” and “circulation as performance” as circulation processes that form, articulate, and at times rearticulate historical discourse. The first of the case studies in this chapter crystalized the notion that a static and largely ignored commemorative site may serve a dual purpose. Here, I have shown how the Roosevelt Memorial on Roosevelt Island embodies the symptomatic characteristics of amnesia, which helps to circulate and form a nostalgic memory scape of wonder, one that rhetorically works to memorialize a time that appears to be long forgotten. This approach works because of the ambiguity that the material features of the memorial produce—instead of forgetting, or to say the least offering clear indicators of how visitors should read and interact with the memorial, it becomes a place where runners get to partake in their daily excising routine, individuals sit with one another to talk about life while creating their own memories, families pass down stories about America to the next generation, and even dogs get to run and play and get a piece of history by becoming a

175 member of the “Ruff” Riders Club. It is a mixture of memories formed, individually and collectively taken on by one another which becomes problematic because it assembles into a rhetorical erasure of sorts. As I have argued for Roosevelt Island, this is where part of the problem lies for approaches to memory and commemoration practices. We are less likely to remember and work actively to change a past that we cannot clearly identify by letting that space become something which is overgrown and forgotten in order to create new experiences and memories for those who interact with it. It is here that I have argued that the potential impact of amnesia as a form of circulation preserves the nostalgic narratives of the past (and the social knowledge and ideological formations found within it) while potentially filtering (or masking) problematic ideals and narratives in order to produce new and unrelated circumstances.

The next case study in this chapter has tackled the notion of circulation as assemblage on a much deeper and profound level with the exploration of the moving archival image in The

Roosevelts. Circulation as assemblage is approached differently here through the display of the archival document as a powerful and timeless epidictic form, which participates in a potent rhetorical assemblage of historical narratives that teach us on one hand, what it means to be an exceptional citizen. However, on the other hand, oddly enough, while the efforts of Burns succeed with the commemoration of TR (and the other Roosevelts), his efforts are less successful at articulating and stabilizing a memory that preserves and circulates a specific national discourse. As one article notes in a review of The Roosevelts:

Perhaps more important than its reluctance to engage with the issues of the hour, however,

is what The Roosevelts’ strictly biographical vision does to our understanding of its

principal characters’ impacts on their own times, and their enduring value in ours. The

176 three Roosevelts command our attention, the film tells us, above all because they were

“great leaders.” How did they become great leaders? (Williams, 2014, para. 8)

For The Roosevelts, I have argued that the rhetorical damage lies here, with the artifact’s articulation of national character through biographical narratives and individual grit more so than trying to understand where Teddy Roosevelt (or any Roosevelt for that matter) fits within a larger national and political platform. Indeed, as a nostalgic remedy that circulated as a byproduct of Burns’ rhetorical choices, this assemblage reinforces an exceptionalism bound by the characteristics of individuals rather than of a collective understanding of nation. This is a similar outcome of the previous case studies and the last in this project.

For the reinforcement of Roosevelt’s persona as a gendered performative, this last path for circulation is found within the performance (or acting out) of identity. In the final case study,

I have asked the question: Are viewers/visitors aware of their own agency when embodying the role of rhetorical agent? I have answered this question through the examination of a different form of memory and commemorative text— an accessible performance at play through mainstream media. What I have argued is that Drunk History and Epic Rap Battles of History take part in the circulation of historical discourse and events through the embodiment or

“becoming” of history, which in turn reinforces or challenges specific historical modes of discourse. Here, as primary and active rhetorical agents, performers process and direct the outcome of historical identities, ideologies and narratives through the performance’s visual composition (or assemblage) of sight, movement, and speech. Through these gendered performances, I have argued that we continue to ascribe specific characteristics and roles to our contemporary social and political moment through how we reenact and embody history.

What these case studies have shown is that circulation practices of historical discourses

177 are products of multiple and different types of assemblages, ones which consist of communicative elements that work together and separately in the active and fluid nature of public memory and commemorative practices. As I will show in the next and final chapter, the stability of a specific national identity is not really determined by our nation’s past, but instead our reactions to those historical narratives and how we choose to embrace them. As the conclusion of this project, I investigate and address questions related to the distribution and accessibility of communication networks that take part in the circulation of public memory and commemorative processes to argue that analyzing the networks of memory and commemorative practices produce a more robust and rhetorical effective account of how we can better understand the ways in which memory is assembled and put into action and how the public, too, becomes part of that process.

178 Chapter Five

The Future of Memory and Commemoration: Where we go from here37

“In my opinion, American Exceptionalism as we see it performed in our dominant culture means seeing toxic masculinity at the forefront of very nearly everything that we do. But one small switch, and one that is certainly possible if men and women could look at the loving and peaceful parts of their belief systems, and American Exceptionalism could change from a toxic concept to a concept that succeeded in making some permanent good” - Rachel Hanson38

Almost 30 years ago Michael Kammen noted that as part of the production of cultural and political capital “ the connection between memory and national identity has been a matter of intense and widespread interest” (Kammen, 1991, p. 3). This is even more so true today with the circulation of narratives that direct a contemporary public to return to values and other ideological displays that have shown traction in the past. Now that I am at the end of this project

I ask the question: Within a larger context what can be gained from understanding how and to what extent memory and commemorative practices within visual culture produce the values that build our own sense of national character? To which I reply, not much if we do not track the

“between” of public memory and commemoration by becoming consciously aware of how we come to identify with and embody such values.

In this project, I have introduced and explored the extent to which the magnitude of the manifest-masculinity master trope plays out in three distinct and common roles in the circulation of Theodore Roosevelt’s memory and discourse in visual culture. Throughout the various visual commemorative forms, the roles of conqueror, innovator, and savior are anchored into several

37 This chapter is an extension of one of my forthcoming publications titled, “Remembering Roosevelt: Arguing for Memory Through Public and Private Networks.” In Carol Winkler (ed.), Networking Argument (New York: Routledge, 2019).

38 Hanson, R. (2018, June 18). American Exceptionalism and the Shape of Masculinity. The Good Men Project. Retrieved from: https://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/american- exceptionalism-shape-masculinity-pgtn/.

179 parts of the four case studies. These roles display, even while in different contexts, that the crux of American exceptionalism to an extent is derived from, and still circulates as, a white

Eurocentric patriarchal framework regardless of its visibility or invisibility. For the Roosevelt

Memorial at the American Museum of Natural History, all three roles circulate around the triangulation of manifest-masculinity in relation to the domination and control (or recovery) of nature and territory. The memorial on Roosevelt Island showed that the circulation of hegemonic discourses are still prevalent, even with a forgotten past and material absence of history; that privilege works best when it is hidden. For Burns and The Roosevelts, this case study showcases the extent to which the contextualization of American exceptionalism is made possible through the assemblage of archival documents, bringing together a hegemonic history through the commemorative practices and agency of Burns’ (privileged) viewpoint. With Drunk History and

Epic Rap Battles of History, the series showcase TR’s theatrical mannerisms of masculinity as prominent displays of “becoming” exceptional. Here, the rhetorical underpinnings of performance and specific speech acts are played out as permanent markings that circulate and

“cite” the hegemonic norms of American exceptionalism.

Overall, the possible ramifications of these themes/roles in public consciousness circulate as an extension of toxic masculinity, continuing to keep our understanding of self, others, and nation in a debilitating state of permanence. To exhibit force and to rescue, indeed, is embedded within us as a framework for which Rachel Hanson (2018) calls a toxic notion of “pulling yourself up by the bootstraps” and is tied to the performance of masculine identities in the United

States, and how we identify as Americans within specific boundaries. Again, this speaks to the citational nature of the rugged-masculine performance, one that is a constant and common circulation of the American persona in the last fifty years or so in popular culture (e.g. the rugged

180 individualism/ cowboyish-type of the Marlboro Man). The idea that we need no one else but ourselves is an example of the “personal liberty” that we claim as a nation. However, this individual liberty is often used as a mask for the force we use to claim dominance and power, and the circulation of those expectations to younger generations. What has transpired throughout these case studies is a grouping of principle themes (or rather connected networks) that has circulated and sustained itself within American culture because of the citation of specific elements associated with exceptional national character. Not only have these elements become credible through their citation by multiple agents, but also in their continual repetition.

In so many ways this dissertation feels incomplete, not because Teddy Roosevelt is this larger than life character that can, in no way, be covered in a few hundred pages, but because there is still much to be done in terms of understanding how Roosevelt’s memory is preserved and even the extent to which our understanding of American exceptionalism is filtered through those efforts and commemorative practices.

As such, I consider this dissertation as a path that focuses on the extent to which we remember through Teddy Roosevelt, and others like him, not just how we remember him. Here, it is the rhetorical production of “American exceptionalism” which becomes a problematic pattern in the circulation (or flow) of public memory and visual culture. Hence, this project acts as a starting point for how critics can better understand the extent to which commemorative practices are strategic processes through which individual and collective networks communicate information within and between one another. In the broader since, I whole-heartedly believe that

I have found a research trajectory that is not complete in terms of exploring the extent to which we are affected by these practices and processes of public memory on a personal, social, cultural, and economic level. I call this the “in-between” of memory, the circumstances that determine the

181 extent to which histories emerge, become, and are “embodied.”

Indeed, memory still flows through the staticity of the material preservation of memorials; memory still flows through the absence of history because of the embodiment and displacement of visitors; memory still flows through the assemblage of agents involved in commemorative acts and practices; memory still flows and is articulated through the performance of hegemonic privilege. Given the different ways in which historical memory circulates over a period of time, which in many cases decentralizes networks of circulation, the public often becomes the connective center that determines if and where memory flows. Scholars who are concerned with the function and impact of memory and commemorative texts and artifacts ought to consider what is truly gained from singular accounts and interpretations

(central to representation studies) of public memory and associated consequences. This is not to say that representational politics do not matter or are uneventful in the work of memory and commemoration scholarship, but instead while the representational politics of memorials, monuments, and other mediated forms have offered valuable insight into the oscillation of public discourse, critics may better understand the framing of public memory as multi-linear—multiple trajectories that make up one overarching narrative.

Future Research

As such, I look forward to expanding this project with more case studies dedicated to determining how and to what extent the memory and commemoration of Roosevelt’s life is put into practice and their rhetorical effects in public discourse. What I have found in this project is that aspects of public memory do and can circulate through multiple networks. This calls into question the permanency of artifacts and if anything can serve as a network for which memory is assembled and put into action. By encouraging scholars to consider networks responsible for

182 framing commemorative texts for their public consumption and rhetorical potentiality, the connections between different sites are illuminated and better understood in their complexity. I believe that the next stages of this project will benefit from more exploration of various

“circulation systems” in order to understand the extent to which historical narratives move; indeed, how discourse travels within and between systems which rhetorically impact public commemorative practices and the discourse which emerges from those systems of negotiation.

Some of these social structures also include associations that dedicate their organization’s work to preserving the memory of Roosevelt’s life, ideals, and his impact in America. By looking at the Theodore Roosevelt Association, a vital organization and influence in many of the commemorative sites and national/local events since Roosevelt’s death in 1919, critics are better equipped to understand the extent to which the Association constructs Roosevelt’s identity and communicates it to other systems that manufacture and preserve historical knowledge.

I would also like to continue working on exploring the material implications of sites which house archival documents with a theoretical exploration and critique of the physical archive. This is done so to understand how the space’s agency exhibits power by assembling the rhetorical historian’s experience as a participant. This exploration is necessary for two reasons: the interpretation of historical events differs from how those events are labeled and organized by the archivist; the space that houses those documents exhibit agency on the researcher. Much like the museum which houses old artifacts for display or the documentarian who utilizes archival documents to assemble a specific narrative, both should be taken into account to understand how and to what extent documents, and the places that inhabit them, are rhetorical material extensions of pre-determined narratives.

As another rhetorical point of inquiry, I would also like to explore connections between

183 what I found in this project and other current research which looks at the discourse that forms through assembled networks involved in the planning and employing of commemorative events.

For example, in 2017, I presented a shorter case study regarding memory and commemorative work as an assemblage (or network) of multiple rhetorical agents at the Alta Argumentation

Conference, which was also later published in the edited volume Networking Argument. Here, I argue that instead of focusing on the final outcome of a commemorative event, scholars should instead look at the extent to which memory and commemorative discourse is constructed through the assemblage of multiple communication networks and how the fluidity of memory (or rather memory’s circulation) is made possible. In the essay, I looked at how and to what extent

Roosevelt’s centennial celebration consisted of the workings of many federal, state, and local institutions, to which I found that they all were participants in Roosevelt’s commemoration as interconnected networks.

Specifically, distribution practices were shared across multiple commemoration networks at both state and local levels. For example, the federal branch of the Roosevelt Centennial

Commission worked to successfully disseminate its own expectations for smaller branches to follow. The collaborators invited multiple states and the federal government, along with the

Roosevelt Centennial Commission, to create pathways for citizen involvement in the invention of Roosevelt's memory, one which stood as a rededication to the responsibilities of the nation to serve “as a beacon of mankind” (“Final Report,” 1959, p. 20). The resulting approaches commemorated Roosevelt’s life as a central function in the circulation of national pride and the notion of outstanding citizenry, rather than as a function to commemorate Roosevelt and his legacy. The junction of multiple efforts among individual agents in Roosevelt’s centennial celebration demonstrated the extent to which networks create, connect, and circulate discourses

184 to significantly shape public memory.

What I have found in this example and more broadly in this dissertation is that by studying the assemblages of a networked history and how commemoration practices emerge from within a single network and its connection to others, we are better equipped with necessary tools to explore the extent to which histories circulate as rhetorical performances of the people that embodied those narratives, rather than simply focus on prescriptions evident in the artifact itself. Moving away from singular interpretations of collective memory and instead approaching its rhetoric as something which is localized and connected, opens avenues of uncertainty which destabilize notions of identity yet to be discovered in commemoration studies.

To be sure, by positioning and examining external and internal assemblages of commemoration networks as central rhetorical agents, this approach can better help scholars identify how and to what extent the network’s fashioning and circulation of history becomes fetishized within and between collectives. Such attention also directs public consumption toward a specific way of remembering (or forgetting), particularly to the extent to which the circulation of a legacy transforms into multiple iterations and experiences for remembering.

I see a way of expanding the research above by looking at the 50th anniversary celebration of the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial on Theodore Roosevelt Island in order to better understand the role the memorial plays in the circulation of Roosevelt’s ideals and conservation efforts. To be clear, while this dissertation does provide a rhetorical analysis of the memorial and its rather odd display of commemorative characteristics, I believe that I have only skimmed the surface in regards to the reasoning behind the site’s unique presence in D.C. and American national memory.

185 While to my own delight the potentiality for these case studies are fascinating, I do want to make clear that my interests lie not in the case studies alone. Instead, my focus is on how and to what extent these case studies help to refine the additional circulation approaches that I have articulated in this project so that these new frameworks become practical methodological tools for others concerned with commemorative practices and the continual interrogation of historical narratives, ones which act as catalysts that define our social and political world.

Considering this, if we look at the protests that took place last year resulting in the defacing of the TR equestrian statue in front of the entrance of the American Museum of Natural

History, one thing is clear, the circulation of specific histories or even the material spaces which embodied them are far from claiming any permanency in public discourse. What is important about the confederate monuments debate is not so much the question about removing or not removing the monuments, but instead it is the claim that doing so somehow erases history. How does the preservation or removal of artifacts dictate the historical trajectory of an individual, a people, or a nation? Who is responsible for and who can participate in the production of this

(historical) knowledge? Citing LaCapra’s, History and Criticism39, Blair (1992) criticizes the preservation efforts of classical rhetorical histories, when the work is “blind to [their] own rhetoric.” For historiography, she notes, “histories of rhetoric contain embedded, but typically unacknowledged, presuppositions about history and/or rhetoric,” because the historian is influenced by “their own partiality” to history (p. 403-404). As such, how we embrace (or in this case reject admittedly one-sided representations of) our historical past determines what narratives circulate and how we manipulate them, creating our own memory spaces, which we share at times individually or (in this case) collectively. For the defacement of the equestrian

39 LaCapra, Dominick (1987). History & Criticism. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.

186 statue, a site that was once a marker of power and conquest in our national imagery became a site of protest, however, its history still remains unless we acknowledge it and change how we talk about it in the present.

Even though I choose Roosevelt as a prime example for this project and the center of my research for the foreseeable future, I want to make clear that this is not a dissertation about

Roosevelt, or about gender politics, or about the status of American national identity. This project is about understanding where memory is situated in our present and how it functions. If we have learned anything from the confederate monument protests in recent years or even the removal of the Silent Sam monument on the University of North Carolina- Chapel Hill campus, how we commemorate a past and even how we choose to deal with it in the present can completely shift how we understand ourselves, others, and the world around us. Thus, the vitality of this dissertation is not solely centered on the circulation of Roosevelt’s discourse in our contemporary moment, but instead to showcase the extent to which how we approach the memory and commemoration of historical events and even that of people, has lasting effects on our present and how we approach our future.

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