I'm a history buff. I think I always have been. As a wide-eyed 5-year-old, I squirmed in the cushioned, red theater seat impatiently awaiting a movie that would force my beloved Mr. Spock shirt into permanent retirement. Enraptured by the opening Star Wars theme, my eyes fell upon those famous words, "A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away..."
A long time ago… A long time ago… I fixated on the fact that these roaring starships, searing lasers, and chirping droids were all things from a distant past. History became something from another world! Since then, I’ve never looked back. Actually, since then, I’ve always looked back.
My family has grown accustomed to the random drip of historical facts that all too often plop into their heads. I do hold some fear that the drip of tidbits could become Chinese water torture. Call it a hunch, but there’s something suspicious about my wife’s polite, smiling nod. She’s got to be interested, right? Undaunted by my fleeting paranoia, I continue my hunt for new morsels of information; always searching out opportunities to restock my factoid arsenal.
I’ve been told that a few of my treasured nuggets are downers. Potentially lighthearted moments darkened by my yearning to enlighten. I suppose that’s valid, but sometimes these downers change our perspective. With an enhanced view perhaps we can become the change our world needs.
This past Independence Day, I took the occasion to share a fact, only a mild downer. “You know kids,” I said, “the 4th is not really America’s birthday. The Declaration of Independence was actually ratified on July 2nd. We’ve actually missed the big day!” Mumbled responses followed, somebody said something about me saying the same thing last year. Hey, nothing wrong with a simple review and reteach.
Not too much of a downer, no?
My 13-year-old has experienced worse. Not too far back, he was attempting to make some momentous decision. To make certain his choice would be rock solid, he employed the long-standing and most proven method of Eeny Meeny Miney Moe …
Oh! Another teachable moment just dropped in my lap. Time to “enlighten” my beloved eldest. “You know son,” I began, “for many years that old children’s rhyme didn’t use the word tiger. “Tiger” replaced, um, well … “tiger” replaced the N-word.” How could he ever hope to make a decision now?
My son’s jaw fell open. Then a glaze passed over his eyes. He’s paying attention, right?
Unable to stop myself, I went further. “Unapologetically it was printed out plain as day in various children’s rhyme books, even in the Oxford Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes.”
No! Not that book…he was probably thinking.
Okay, I regret that one. I don’t even know what the Oxford Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes is. I admit it, definitely a downer. And, come to think of it, probably the reason I get that glazed look every time I say the words, “You know son…”
On a recent summer excursion to New York City, we did the usual: Statute of Liberty visit, Ellis Island tour, ferry ride, etc. The overpriced, light-up, spinning Lady Liberty Torch was apparently not enough for my youngest. He wanted to see real live gorillas!
Gorillas in New York? Before I could even process the request, my wife had put her giant phone through its paces. “Got it!” she said, “Bronx Zoo… and it’s free tomorrow!” How does she do that?
So there we were, in line, in heat... The Bronx Zoo! I stepped to the ticket window to receive our free zoo passes.
“So how much will you donating today?” a young lady asked. The icy air streaming through the window talk hole did little to soften her disposition, her ask was defiantly more of a demand.
I slipped her an extremely modest donation and asked, “Do you know of Ota Benga?” Her glare shot over my shoulder to the building line behind. Perhaps my meager donation had already doomed any conversation attempt.
Off we went! Off to find gorillas in New York! My attempted b-line to the gorilla habitat was ill-fated. The winding, hot path to the zoo’s “Congo” section was fraught with snow cone stands, lemonade kiosks and gift shops. My family found a reason to stop at each.
As my wife stopped to stock up on $4 bottled waters, I popped my question again.
“You know Ota? Ota Benga?” A young lady shook her head and curiously asked, “Nah, what’s that?” I quickly explained.
She frowned while tilting her head. “Unreal,” she said, “I never knew…thanks.”
Soon after, a gift shop’s open doors beckoned us with the promise of air conditioning. While my family pretended to shop, I took the opportunity to approach a young man straightening some “I Heart Bronx Zoo” buttons.
“Excuse me,” I said.
“Yes, sir? How can I help?”
“Do you know the name Ota Benga?” He did not. When I explained, he excitedly asked me to write down the name.
“Thanks, man, I have to look this up,” he said. “In a cage! For real? Why haven’t I heard about this?”
Finally, we reached the “Congo”. Life had come back to our sweat-drenched bodies. Our family bounce was back. We delighted in seeing so many gorillas, lying around, climbing, grooming and lying around some more.
Halfway through the exhibit, my middle son made the plea I quietly dread throughout every family outing, “Dad,” he said. “I gotta go…NOW!”
I spotted a zoo employee, an older woman, and asked her to point us to the bathroom.
“Just through those double doors, sir,” I took two steps, froze and spun around. One more try.
“Ma’am, do you know who Ota Benga was?”
No sir I can’t say that I do,” she said. Her body language showed interest.
I explained.
“Ota Benga was an African man who was caged here in the Bronx Zoo monkey house. He was brought from the Congo to the U.S. under nefarious circumstances in 1904 and delivered to the St. Louis World’s Fair where he was displayed as a scientific oddity,”
The woman listened in stunned silence. My son started to do that dance; I didn’t have much time. “In 1906, Ota Benga was exhibited here, caged up with a parrot and an orangutan. For weeks he was this zoo’s main attraction, 40,000 visitors in a day! People came from all around to gawk, whistle and poke ‘the little African Pygmy—not quite a monkey, not quite a man’. But after showing signs of stress and anger, the zookeepers had trouble controlling him so the exhibit was shut down,” I explained.
“Mercy! That’s awful! Are you sure that was here?”
📷
“After a brief stay in the American Museum of Natural History, he found refuge with a family in Lynchburg, VA. Unable to get home to his wife and children and suffering from depression, tragically Ota Benga took his own life.”
“Here? At the Bronx Zoo?” She stood frowning in disbelief.
She asked me to repeat his name. “Poor fellah, that’s just the craziest thing. I have to look this up!”
I made a line to the double doors. As I strode away, I looked back and said, “I hope I didn’t ruin your day!”
“No, I can’t thank you enough. I should know; we all should know!” she smiled while shaking her head, “You think there’d be a plaque here or something to mark...”
My thoughts exactly.
John Adams said it best, “Facts are stubborn things.”
Once we know things, we can’t unknow.
As for being a downer, each person I spoke to that hot day sent me on my way with a cool “Thank-you” which leads me to believe that in some way the knowledge was a lifter.
The question is, what do we do with the knowledge? Personally, I’m not sure.
Just maybe we could begin by treating each other with more respect and kindness.
We’ll see where that leads.