Living History

One of my goals this summer is to visit all the Smithsonian museums. Another goal is to fly, but the Smithsonian one is probably more doable.

The journey began last Sunday with a trip to the National American History Museum of America. Last time I visited DC--back in the legendary summer of aught-eight--the museum was closed for remodeling. After all, it had not been updated since World War I, and its references to "the War to End All Wars" had grown a bit dated.

Did the renovations do the trick? Yes, probably. I'm no competent judge of museums, or of anything, really, but I found the American National Museum of National American History a diverting way to waste an afternoon.

Most of my time was spent in the presidential hall. Like all museum exhibits, the halls' MO was to collect bits of historical detritus--George Washington's teacup! Ulysses S. Grant's carriage!--and surround them with text-heavy but readable panels. Let it be known that the presidential hall did this very well.

My favorite doodad was the "dress uniform" that Richard Nixon tried to foist upon the White House Secret Service. It looked like something snatched from the wardrobe of a low-budget biopic about Rudyard Kipling. Big gold epaulets perched on top of a starched, lily-white shirt with gold buttons; a goofy white cap completed the absurdity. Now I understand why Nixon was so paranoid. If I had proposed something like that to the Secret Service, I sure as hell wouldn't rely on them for protection anymore.

Down on the museum's ground floor, you can find Julia Child's kitchen. Not simply an exhibit about the kitchen--the kitchen itself, complete with pots, pans, and--my favorite--a doughnut-hole press. A clip from Child's show played constantly outside the exhibit. Passerbys stopped, unable to resist the siren song of Child's voice. I plugged my ears and hurried by. There was still much to see.

A little cubbylike corner on the third floor houses a few relics from American pop culture history. Want to see Fonzie's jacket from "Happy Days?" Come on up to the third floor of the American National Museum of National History for America and its History. You can gaze upon that sacred relic in all its glory. Don't forget to check out Dorothy's shoes from the "Wizard of Oz."

Across the hall from the Fonz's jacket, there is a little room where classical music is perpetually piped through hidden speakers. Half-a-dozen glass cases contain the most beautiful musical instruments you will ever. Note: previous sentence does not apply if you happen to own a collection of Stradivarius violins. I particularly liked the tiny, leering head carved on top of one of the cellos. It must have made practice quite an experience.

Then there was the museum store. While I think selling off bits of Chester A. Arthur's facial hair may be distasteful, who am I to quibble with how the Smithsonian makes money?

In conclusion: a fun and entertaining time will be had by all. I told as much to a security guard on the way out, adding that the museum was welcome to use my testimony as a blurb on their website. He said he would look into it. I have no reason to disbelieve him.