Stealing Horses, Stealing History: Kenyon's Political Ghosts, Ghouls, Goblins and such

By

Stealing Horses, Stealing History: Kenyon's Political Ghosts, Ghouls, Goblins and such

Wednesday was a dainty dip into the archives—definitely less of a deep dive and more a polite toe-touch into the murky depths of Kenyon's political past. My group—Liv, Emily, Elliot, and I—sorted through folders encasing the righteous fury of student political organizations. It was fascinating and, frankly, freaky to see how the Cold War/Red Scare paranoia bled into campus life, with letters and Collegian op-eds filled with wildly opposing takes on communism, conservatism, and the role of academia in national politics.

By Friday, we had our hands on our first archival box: the Civil War collection. And like a well-oiled machine, we quickly landed on our project's core idea—curating a display centered around Kenyon's involvement in major wars and how the institution has remembered, celebrated, or conveniently forgotten them. The folder I picked focused on Edwin Stanton, Class of 1834, who stole the show. As a student, Stanton borrowed (read: stole) Philander Chase's horse for a joyride, a tale of debauchery that feels hilariously in tune with Kenyon's ever-rebellious spirit. Stanton later became Lincoln's Secretary of War, proving that even a reckless horse thief can climb the political ladder (which would have been uplifting, but honestly, its impressiveness is lost today because look who our felon, sorry, I mean felon, sorry, I mean the president is…). Meanwhile, Liv uncovered details about the Gates of Hell—another link between Kenyon and the macabre theatrics of history. Seeing these names in weathered documents and Lincoln's inauguration photos in a 2005 Collegian clipping made history feel eerily close. These weren't just distant, untouchable figures; they were people like us, making impulsive, dumb choices, just with slightly higher stakes.

This brings me to Assmann's concept of "canon and archive." Assmann argues that collective memory operates in two distinct modes: canon, which actively preserves what a society deems valuable, and archive, which passively stores everything else, waiting to be rediscovered. Kenyon's history does both. The school has carefully curated its legacy—the solemn plaques, the hallowed names, the framed portraits of alumni who "mattered." Yet, tucked away in dusty folders are the wilder, messier truths: stolen horses, political manifestos dripping in prejudiced melodrama, and Lincoln's war secretary as a Kenyon delinquent (lol). These aren't the stories we see polished on brochures, but they are the ones that make the past feel real. 

Applying this to our project, the tension between canon and archive is central. What Kenyon has chosen to remember—through official ceremonies, memorials, or named buildings—tells us what the institution values. But the archives tell us what has been left behind, sometimes intentionally. The challenge, then, is pulling these forgotten stories into the light, bridging the gap between the institution's curated memory and the unruly, deeply human history buried beneath it. In doing so, maybe we reclaim a bit of that past—not just as spectators, but as participants in its next iteration. And if that means honoring Stanton's reckless, horse-thieving spirit? So be it. Maybe we're all just one stolen horse away from greatness.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Junzo Shono: How We Remember Gambier

By
Image
When I entered the Special Collections room, I had no idea where to start or what to do. We were given large files of several notable Kenyon alumni, and it was overwhelming. Without a clear understanding of the responsibilities we were tasked with, we each selected a different file without giving reason or pause as to who we selected. For one reason or another, Junzo Shono’s name caught my eye. I had never heard of the man, but after taking a class on Japanese Literature last fall, I was curious as to who he was and his involvement with the College. Junzo Shono, an acclaimed Japanese writer, first came to Gambier in 1957, where he spent a year in the College capturing and describing the mundane moments of everyday life (Creel, 2022). He would eventually publish these memories in the form of a novel titled “Gambia Taizaiki” (Sojourn in Gambier. He was born in Osaka, Japan on February 9th, 1921, and studied at Osaka University of Foreign Languages for four years, and later studied at Kyu...
Read more

Archival and Canon Memory: Understanding Our Present Through Our Past

By
Image
  This week, one of the many artifacts my group examined, was an old issue of The Collegian. The main story of this issue was the reconstruction of the Brown Family Environmental Center. This edition of the Collegian was significant because it detailed certain transformations being made to the center that would give it more focus on academics and incorporating student education as a part of the BFEC. For example, the article focuses on the construction of a new building that will operate as a hub for both student labs, as well as environmental education programs for the public, which the BFEC is now well known for. This article is also historically significant as it was written right after the BFEC was renamed to the Brown Family Environmental Center. It is important to examine sources like these, as they offer what the earliest perspectives and actions of what the BFEC were, which is interesting to compare to modern activities of the environmental center. This week we also read an...
Read more

Hope, Suffering, and The Kenyon College Campus Guide

By
Image
  Attached above is a screenshot of “The Kenyon College Campus Guide”, which is a near-comprehensive list of buildings that have belonged to the College and Village of Gambier since 1824. Although my group is curating something about the future of the Hill, our first meeting mainly involved discussions of its past. To this end, we tried to develop a picture of what the Hill physically looked like in the past 100 years by reviewing photographs of buildings, construction plans, and the Campus Guide, which you can see above. If you were to review the entire guide, you’d see that under the name of every building is a description of when it was built, what it was used (or being used) for, and when (if) it was destroyed. In the context of this week’s reading, these descriptions call the terms “communities of memory” and “communities of hope” to mind. According to Bellah et al. (1985, 2011), a “community of memory…tell[s]...stories of shared suffering” and orients us towards “future co...
Read more