Centennials past ...

My family has been bumping about the United States for a long time, since well before this was a nation, since Europeans started expropriating New England from its inhabitants. I am fortunate to have come into considerable family archives; I find it interesting to catalogue ancestral markers of these observances

At the time of the first (1875-6) centennial, a great-great grandfather, E. G. Spaulding, was a prosperous civic grandee, a banker and former mayor of Buffalo. He erected his personal monument to the country which had been so good to him. He was full of energy and pride.

 

The ostensible purpose of this massive pseudo-classical stone horror was to mark 50 years since the passing of his ancestor, Levi Spaulding, who fought in the American revolutionary army from Bunker Hill through Yorktown. But one panel was also an affirmation of the struggle of this own lifetime; old E.G. was in Congress during Lincoln's fraught Civil War term. He knew where he stood on the battles of his day.

   

Click to enlarge images. 

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Come the 150th anniversary of the country in 1926, the city of Buffalo was in its commercial heyday. Most of the great civic monuments were in construction or planning in that decade, including Shea's Performing Arts Center, the Peace Bridge to Canada and the art deco City Hall. In addition to industry, Buffalo profited greatly being the gateway to booze smuggled in from Canada, defying Prohibition. I remember asking my mother about that year's sesquicentennial. She was unusually vague in her memories. She was 18 that year, graduating from high school, about to go off with her family on a summer cruise around the Mediterranean, then off to college. She remembered she took her flask with her. Under Prohibition, you had to be sure you didn't drink something that turned out to be paint thinner.

• • •

By the time of the Bicentennial of 1976, I can bring my own memories. I was 29 that year. While the tall ships sailed into New York harbor and the fire works lofted over Philadelphia, I was painting my parents' living room, the furniture swathed in tarps and the painter covered in roller spray. I don't think we wore masks when painting in those days. My chief memory is sweltering, with occasional breaks for the TV.

 

My generation, people who came of age in late 1960s, were often America skeptics. We had grown up inspired by the Civil Rights revolution, then watched the cities burn when hope for racial and economic justice was unfilled, while the boys were sent to Vietnam to die for what we knew was nothing good. Then a president turned out to be just a common crook and drunk -- and by 1976 we were left with Gerald Ford who seemed an interim stand-in for a national leader. 

 

By 1976 I was on board with Dorothy Day's one word reaction to the Bicentennial as printed in the National Catholic Reporter:

 

Dorothy summed up my feelings of the time. This still seems one appropriate response to the national festivites.

• • • 

So what's to make of America 250? 

 

I have to admit, I'm sort of enjoying the show. Donald Trump's ignorant, tacky effort to hijack the national celebration seems largely to inspire ridicule. This ia not a respectful country and never has been. This is also not really a backward looking country; we can wallow in MAGA's swamp of gloomy nostalgia for a season, but our history is that hope revives. Against all odds, we can still make that happen. Let's keep up the work.