Tag Archives: Smelting Pot

Colonial Americans Were Like the Chinese of Today

Who says newer Americans have no connection to America’s early history?

From Fresh Off the Boat, “Gotta Be Me” (S2 E22)

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Professor Maron Reviews the Creation Museum

NSFW


A “Good Day” for Crispus Attucks

Curator’s Comment: Today is the 246th anniversary of the Boston Massacre, which means it’s also the 246th anniversary of Crispus Attucks death. The following is a brief overview of the events leading up to his fateful moment.

NSFW for lots of reasons


Harriet Tubman: Freedom Runner

Curator’s Comment: Because, despite popular perception, it’s Black History Month all month long.

A brief documentary which includes some of her lesser-known contributions.

Click Image to Watch.

 

 

 

 

 


Hysterical History Cartoon

Curator’s Comment: This 1953 Harvey Films cartoon includes several levels of political incorrectness, a blatant nationalist message, and a bouncing-ball sing-along. Our takeaway from this is that maybe a catchy tune or two could help museums mask their historical and interpretive shortcomings.


Exciting New African-American History Resource

During our recent researches we found an exciting new African-American historical resource that covers social history, material culture, and linguistic history. It is Brokey McPoverty’s Little Known Black History Facts: Teaching the babies what The Man doesn’t want us to know since 2008.  

Click Image To Visit.

 


The Catch-22 of Native American Life

Actually By Joseph Heller

From Catch-22

Curator’s Comments: November is Native American Heritage Month. In honor of that we present this microcosmic study of the interaction of Anglo-Americans and Natives in the early twentieth.

unPC & NSFW

“How could I learn to read or write?” Chief White Halfoat demanded with simulated belligerence, raising his voice again so that Doc Daneeka would hear. “Every place we pitched our tent, they sank an oil well. Every time they sank a well, they hit oil. And every time they hit oil, they made us pack up our tent and go someplace else. We were human divining rods. Our whole family had a natural affinity for petroleum deposits, and soon every oil company in the world had technicians chasing us around. We were always on the move. It was one hell of a way to bring a child up, I can tell you. I don’t think I ever spent more than a week in one place.”

His earliest memory was of a geologist.

“Every time another White Halfoat was born,” he continued, “the stock market turned bullish. Soon whole drilling crews were following us around with all their equipment just to get the jump on each other. Companies began to merge just so they could cut down on the number of people they had to assign to us. But the crowd in back of us kept growing. We never got a good night’s sleep. When we stopped, they stopped. When we moved, they moved, chuckwagons, bulldozers, derricks, generators. We were a walking business boom, and we began to receive invitations from some of the best hotels just for the amount of business we would drag into town with us. Some of those invitations were mighty generous, but we couldn’t accept any because we were Indians and all the best hotels that were inviting us wouldn’t accept Indians as guests. Racial prejudice is a terrible thing, Yossarian. It really is. It’s a terrible thing to treat a decent, loyal Indian like a nigger, kike, wop or spic.” Chief White Halfoat nodded slowly with conviction.

“Then, Yossarian, it finally happened – the beginning of the end. They began to follow us around from in front. They would try to guess where we were going to stop next and would begin drilling before we even got there, so we couldn’t stop. As soon as we’d begin to unroll our blankets, they would kick us off. They had confidence in us. They wouldn’t even wait to strike oil before they kicked us off. We were so tired we almost didn’t care the day our time ran out. One morning we found ourselves completely surrounded by oilmen waiting for us to come their way so they could kick us off. Everywhere you looked there was an oilman on a ridge, waiting there like Indians getting ready to attack. It was the end. We couldn’t stay where we were because we had just been kicked off. And there was no place left for us to go. Only the Army saved me. Luckily, the war broke out just in the nick of time, and a draft board picked me right up out of the middle and put me down safely in Lowery Field, Colorado. I was the only survivor.”

Yossarian knew he was lying, but did not interrupt as Chief White Halfoat went on to claim that he had never heard from his parents again. That didn’t bother him too much, though, for he had only their word for it that they were his parents, and since they had lied to him about so many other things, they could just as well have been lying to him about that too. He was much better acquainted with the fate of a tribe of first cousins who had wandered away north in a diversionary movement and pushed inadvertently into Canada. When they tried to return, they were stopped at the border by American immigration authorities who would not let them back into the country. They could not come back in because they were red.


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