As we begin to delve into the meaning of public history, one immediately recognizes the difficulty in finding a cohesive meaning to bond the two words. The difficulty (and uniqueness) of public history and its place is that people will see the history they wish to see, which may or may not be reality, as opposed to more traditional academic history, which tends to be more objective. For both, meaning is up to interpretation. Glassberg asks, “What are Americans looking for when they engage in the past?” (6). He elaborates, “A sense of history locates us in space…in time…in society…” (7). Public history is a shared history, history through connections and collaborations. It brings some sense of wholeness to disjointed events and seemingly diverse lives through common recollection. Public history is at once history from the mouth of the public as well as the public’s perception of the history they are presented with, created by others (whether the ‘others’ be historians, authors, exhibitors, etc). It is the past presented in the now with a voice and an opinion attached to it. Those opinions change the definition and place for history depending on the individual. Glassberg writes, “The meaning of a historical book, film, or display is not intrinsic” (9). There is no set reality in history. Reality varies from personal memory to personal memory. Public history strives to extract human emotion and memory to create a connection for those who did not experience something firsthand.
Both Glassberg and Rosenzweig & Thelen agree that people today are as interested in history as they have ever been. To think of this in relation to the chapter on place compels us to ask why, when we are as nomadic as ever in America, are we still interested in our connection to history? We are attracted to history because we feel like we are losing physical connection to places. Glassberg quotes Henry Glassie: [there is] “an undeniable difference between a portable past made of paper and a stationary one made of dirt” (20). I hope we will continue to explore this sense of placelessness and transitory nature as the semester progresses, but I am interested in its validity in regard to our generation and our sense of restlessness. In the “Shared Inquiry” article, Corbett and Miller note that “stability matters more than change” when mentioning the Lewis and Clark bicentennial exhibit in relation to Lone Dog’s interpretation of history. If stability matters more than change, and “Truth is more precious than fact,” (C&M, 24) then where do we find stability in our world of placelessness? We find it through stories told by loved onces rather than through a connection to a physical place, which is suggested in the statistical data in the Rosenzweig and Thelen article. As Bob Marley said, “My home is in my head.” Memory keeps us connected to a sense of place.
