2017 – Page 5 – Public History at UMass Boston

March 18, 2017Heidi Gengenbach 1 Comment

Roaring for Rights: Women & Boston’s Anti-Busing Movement

Clipping of a newspaper article about ROAR's "March on Washington" in March 1975. The article states that ROAR marched to demand a constitutional amendment to block school busing. Clipping part of the Louise Day Hicks Papers, Boston City Archives. — Clipping of a newspaper article about ROAR’s “March on Washington,” March 19, 1975. Louise Day Hicks stands in the front of the crowd, wearing sunglasses. Clipping from the Louise Day Hicks Papers, Boston City Archives.

On March 19, 1975, roughly 1200 Bostonians trudged through torrential rains and howling winds from the Washington Monument to the Capitol building. The group, members of “Restore Our Alienated Rights”–ROAR for short–marched to generate national support for a constitutional amendment. The determined marchers–mainly mothers–alternated singsong shouts of “No! No! No! We won’t go!” with the chorus of “God Bless America” as they slogged through the deluge with the movement’s founding leader, Louise Day Hicks.

At the time, many women across the nation gathered in public demonstrations to support the ERA, a proposed constitutional amendment that would guarantee equal rights for women. But the demonstrators of ROAR had a different goal that blustery March day. They intended to galvanize support for a different constitutional amendment–one that would end court-ordered busing as a means of integrating public schools in Boston.

Logo of Restore Our Alienated Rights (ROAR), depicting a lion grasping a school bus in its claws. Image from the Louise Day Hicks papers, courtesy of Boston City Archives.

On the steps of the Capitol, Louise Day Hicks, dubbed “the Joan of Arc of Boston,” rallied the sodden crowd. The day before, leaders from fourteen states formed a national anti-busing coalition and appointed Hicks as chairperson. Like its Boston counterpart, the national ROAR coalition’s logo featured a fierce lion menacingly clutching a school bus in its paws. ((Robinson, Walter. “National Antibusing Coalition Formed with Hicks as Leader.” Boston Globe (1960-1985): 1. Mar 19 1975. ProQuest. Web. 16 Mar. 2017)) As Hicks announced the national coalition, its goal, and her role as leader, she dramatically compared the heavy rain to the tears “of Boston’s oppressed parents.”((Robinson, Walter. “Hub Busing Foes Get Drenching, some Support.” Boston Globe (1960-1985): 1. Mar 20 1975. ProQuest. Web. 16 Mar. 2017.)) Gatherers roared their approval.

Louise Day Hicks, ca.1969. — Louise Day Hicks, ca.1969, prior to her leadership of ROAR. Wikimedia Commons.

Perhaps the most widely recognized leader of Boston’s anti-busing movement, the controversial Hicks provoked mixed reactions. To some, especially those from predominantly white neighborhoods like South Boston, Hicks became a paragon of virtue who championed the rights of working-class whites. To others, she epitomized a conservative racist on par with white supremacist “Bull” Connor, who ordered attacks on civil rights demonstrators in Birmingham, Alabama.

Hicks was raised in the predominantly Irish working-class neighborhood of South Boston. Known for her political and social conservatism, she embodied virtues associated with traditional femininity. Observers noted that she always styled her hair precisely, wore blue, pink, or green dresses, and frequently wore dainty white gloves. Although she conceived of the acronym ROAR, she spoke in a cultured, genteel voice and emphasized her role as a mother in her political campaigns.((Feeney, Mark. “LOUISE DAY HICKS, ICON OF TUMULT, DIES.” Boston Globe. Oct 22 2003. ProQuest. Web. 15 Mar. 2017.))

Before she became a champion of the anti-busing movement, as a young wife and mother, Hicks earned a law degree from Boston University Law School. In 1955, she was one of only nine women graduated from a class of 232. She built a successful, if short, career in politics after winning election to the Boston School Committee with the slogan “the only mother on the ballot.” ((Lukas, J. Anthony. Common Ground: A Turbulent Decade in the Lives of Three American Families (New York: Vintage Books), 1986, 123.)) Despite her hearty endorsement of social conservatism, Hicks held a membership in the the National Organization for Women. Reportedly, her father had taught her that gender should not limit options or curtail opportunities; thus Hicks had lobbied for passage of the ERA while she served as a Massachusetts Representative in Congress (1971-1973).((Feeney, Mark. “LOUISE DAY HICKS, ICON OF TUMULT, DIES.” Boston Globe. Oct 22 2003. ProQuest. Web. 15 Mar. 2017.))

Hicks’ advocacy of equal rights did not extend to all. While serving on the School Committee in the 1960s, Hicks faced accusations that Boston Public Schools (BPS) suffered from racial imbalance. Like others on the Committee, she adamantly denied the accusation and clashed repeatedly with the NAACP on the issue.

Button of Restore Our Alienated Rights (ROAR), depicting a lion sitting on a school bus with the words, "STOP FORCED BUSING." — Button of Restore Our Alienated Rights (ROAR) with logo and words, “STOP FORCED BUSING.” Courtesy of John Joseph Moakley Archive & Institute, Suffolk University.

In 1974, when a federal judge ruled that BPS were segregated and mandated public school integration by busing students away from neighborhoods, many protested vehemently. Hicks became a spokesperson for the outrage many Bostonians felt towards “forced busing.” To some working-class Bostonians, Hicks and ROAR, the group she founded, symbolized key tenets of inalienable rights: individual liberty, the right of parents to make the best life choices for their children’s well-being and happiness.

Flyer of the Jamaica Plain Concerned Citizen's League. Image courtesy of Northeastern University Archives & Special Collections. — Flyer of the Jamaica Plain Concerned Citizen’s League. Image courtesy of Northeastern University Archives & Special Collections.

Under the guidance of Hicks, who had built a solid reputation as a conservative mother, ROAR began as an informal group of local women–white mothers with young children–expressing concern about busing. Excepting Hicks, most lacked any background in political organizing. But within a short time, ROAR members orchestrated numerous demonstrations, coordinated widespread boycotts, and initiated letter-writing campaigns, publicity stunts, and political appeals. Often, Hicks and other women justified even the group’s most violent activities in gendered terms, claiming a responsibility as mothers protecting neighborhood children.

Researching the topic of Boston Public School desegregation, graduate student Rachel Sherman became intrigued by ROAR, its controversial but little-researched leader, Louise Day Hicks, and the other women active in the anti-busing movement. Want to learn more about Hicks and ROAR? Sherman designed an online exhibit, “ROAR: THE ANTI-BUSING GROUP WITH THE LOUDEST VOICE,” that explores the group’s main characters, their motivations, local activity and national support. Peruse documents, ROAR’s publications, and photographs that Sherman unearthed at the Boston City Archives and Northeastern University Archives and Special Collections and learn about the women of ROAR and their legacy by visiting her full exhibit here.

March 15, 2017Heidi Gengenbach 1 Comment

Their Battle for the Ballot: Preserving Hyde Park’s History of Women’s Activism

by Patrice Gattozzi

In March 1870, fifty years before the 19th amendment granted women citizens in the US the right to vote, a bold group of women from Hyde Park, Massachusetts, voted in a local election.

Flyer announcing Caucus for Women’s Suffrage in Hyde Park, 1870.

Angelina Grimké Weld and Sarah Grimké, sisters who actively fought for abolitionism, had moved to Hyde Park after the Civil War. After the 13th Amendment outlawed slavery, the sisters focused their activism on securing rights, both political and social, for women. They may have led the women in Hyde Park not only to organize and speak out for women’s suffrage, but to vote in 1870.

That March, a group of roughly fifty women, including the Grimké sisters and Sarah M. Stuart, turned out on election day and cast their votes in a separate box. Local officials did not count the women’s ballots. But women’s collective action–showing up and voting–brought widespread attention to their demands for political rights. It also helped inspire another generation of women to continue the fight. The women’s ballots were saved and belong to the Hyde Park Historical Society (HPHS). They represent a valuable piece of local women’s history.

The HPHS contains a treasure trove of records, letters and photographs documenting the history of local women and men. Like many small historical societies, the collections of the HPHS live in a section of the the town’s library, in this case, Hyde Park Branch Library of the Boston Public Library. For a variety of reasons, including lack of funds and professional staff, over the past decade this private historical collection has received little preservation, organization, or research attention. Today, the HPHS society materials have reached a critical juncture. As graduate student studying History at UMass Boston, I hope to find a way to help protect and preserve the physical documents.

Records of the Current Events Club, a grassroots women's organization in Hyde Park. — Records of the Current Events Club, a grassroots women’s organization in Hyde Park.

Recently, I’ve begun preparing my thesis; it focuses on the women’s clubs of Hyde Park in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Two of the clubs, the Thought Club and the Current Events Club, formed in 1881 and existed for 127 and 114 years respectively.

The HPHS holds the clubs’ records, from their establishment until their disbandment. These include handwritten minutes from every meeting, financial reports, and membership records of every woman.

Hyde Park is my hometown neighborhood, and what interests me is that the records include their home address and most of their houses still stand today. In addition to membership records, the collection includes pamphlets, photos, directories, and maps. It’s exciting material, virtually untapped!

Letter from Julia Ward Howe to the Thought Club, 1896. — Letter from Julia Ward Howe to the Current Events Club, 1896.

Hyde Park became home to some outspoken activist women, like Angelina Grimké Weld and Sarah Grimké. The records of the HPHS reveal relationships to other women’s rights activists who lived in nearby Boston.((Hyde Park was incorporated in 1868 and annexed to Boston in 1912.))

Browsing through the Thought Club’s records, I found a handwritten note written by poet, author, and suffragist Julia Ward Howe. Best know for her song, Battle Hymn of the Republic, Howe lived in South Boston and had planned to address the Current Events Club in fall 1869, just months before a number of Hyde Park women voted in the local election. Her note sent regrets that she could not attend the meeting due to her health that day, but she hoped to soon reschedule.

Other samples from the collection include Clover Blossoms written by Elizabeth Hedge Webster, a poet, author, suffragist, and member of the Thought Club.

Pages of Clover Blossoms by Elizabeth Hedge Webster, who lived in Hyde Park. The collection of poems and prose discusses suffrage and women's rights at length. — Pages of Clover Blossoms by Elizabeth Hedge Webster (who lived in Hyde Park), 1880. The collection of poems and prose discusses suffrage and women’s rights at length.

The book tells an important piece of local history. The volume is filled with Webster’s reflections of people, events, poems, her thoughts and relationships with many important local people of the day. It also discusses suffrage and women’s rights at length. Though a copy of the book was digitized and made available for viewing online by the Internet Archive, the volume at HPHS is a rare and precious find for those studying the history of Hyde Park’s activist women.

These and other examples of women’s history in the HPHS collection can be found on the open shelves. But the Nancy Hannon Room, which was named after the last active historical society president, contains even more archival materials. The HPHS should be commended for collecting and saving these important documents. Unfortunately, reflecting the circumstances of many local historical societies, an inventory of materials doesn’t yet exist. Most of the materials have not been cataloged or received any preservation treatment. Two dedicated volunteers have begun to sort the materials, but they face a monumental task. And currently, the HPHS lacks funds to properly preserve and catalog the documents.

Luckily, I can begin my research. But ideally, I’d like to help design a plan for the cataloging and preserving of the materials so that future historians, especially those of women’s history, will be able to benefit from the collection. If you’re interested in women’s history and archives and would like to help with this archival project in some capacity–whether it be advice or hands-on work–please respond to this blog post!

March 10, 2017Heidi Gengenbach 19 Comments

Women & Witchcraft in Colonial Dorchester: The Tragic & Mysterious Story of Alice Lake

by: Sarah K. Black

Around the year 1650, nearly forty years before the infamous Salem witch trials took place, Alice Lake was accused of practicing witchcraft. A native of Dorchester, MA, Lake stunned the community by claiming that she saw an apparition in the form of her recently deceased infant. As word of Lake’s claim spread, she was officially charged with being a witch and a trial ensued. The court delivered a guilty verdict and she was sent to the gallows.

Woodcut of witches being hanged at gallows originally printed in Sir George Mackenzie, The laws and customes of Scotland (1678). Retrieved from “Bristol Radical History Group.”

Rev. John Hale included some details of Alice’s final moments in his Modest Inquiry Into the Nature of Witchcraft (1702). She refused to confess to witchcraft but accepted her conviction as God’s punishment for her sinful nature. She admitted to partaking in fornication and attempted to abort the resulting fetus to “conceal her sin and shame.”[1]

Rev. John Hale’s describes the moments before Alice’s execution in his MODEST INQUIRY (1702). Hale is best known for his support of the Salem witch trials. — Cover of Rev. John Hale’s treatise that described the moments before Alice’s execution in his MODEST INQUIRY (1702). Hale is best known for his support of the Salem witch trials.

Hale’s commentary on the incident led me to my research questions: May there have been a connection between Lake’s witchcraft charges and her promiscuity? More importantly, what societal conditions would prompt such a neurotic degree of shame and guilt in a woman years after her fornication incident?

With a very limited source base, only parts of Alice’s story could be reconstructed but through these fragments and reflections I found a broader story to tell. I argue that Alice accepted her impending death as punishment for her crimes because she lived in a society where sexuality was extremely restrictive. Her final moments also reveal a theme in colonial New England witchcraft that scholars may have overlooked or disregarded: sexuality. The erotic component of witchcraft was instrumental in blurring the barrier between “woman” and “witch.” By examining the relationship between sexuality and witchcraft, we can better understand the components of sorcery in Puritan ideology, sexuality in New England society, and why women such as Alice may have solidified their identities as “Handmaidens of the Devil.”[2]

Sarah K. Black speaking to a crowd of 70 at Dorchester Historical Society. — Sarah K. Black sharing her research about Alice Lake–a woman accused of witchcraft in Dorchester, ca. 1650–to a spellbound crowd at Dorchester Historical Society.

On February 19, I had the privilege of sharing my research on Alice Lake at the Dorchester Historical Society. The research was an experience in itself but the opportunity to present at the public forum proved to be the most fruitful. It was my first public presentation in almost a year and by far the largest crowd that I had ever spoken in front of. My professors and peers were extremely supportive and the audience members were very receptive. To move beyond creating history and into actually doing history was an exhilarating moment. Overall, the experience pushed me to step outside my comfort zone, rejuvenated my enthusiasm for the public history program, and reminded me why I chose this career path in the first place.

I knew that calling attention to Dorchester’s only documented witch might generate some interest in our Dorchester history initiative but I was not expecting an audience of about seventy!

Audience at Dorchester Historical Society, Feb. 19, 2017. Many were Dorchester residents eager to hear about their local history.

Although I was extremely nervous about giving the talk, the support of my peers and professors—along with the warm reception from the audience—washed away any anxiety I had. I remain very grateful for the chance to share my research with so many intrigued individuals, especially since the event opened up several more opportunities for me to tell Alice’s story. I was invited by UMass professor Maryann Brink to talk with her freshmen students about my research process and how I applied historical thinking and analysis. I was also contacted by a representative of the Boston Public Library; I will be giving the presentation again on April 24th at the Adams Street Branch.

This experience has given me so much more than I could have hoped for in my first semester at UMass. I strengthened my skillset, met many new and wonderful people, and built up my network—all while researching a topic that I love and learning the importance of local heritage in the process!

Notes

[1] John Hale, “A Modest Inquiry the Nature of Witchcraft,” Enquiry, in Narratives of the Witchcraft Cases, 1648-1706, ed. Charles Lincoln Burr (New York: Barnes & Noble Inc., 1946), 408-409, (hereafter cited as Hale, “A Modest Enquiry”).

[2] Cotton Mather, Ornaments for the Daughters of Zion (Cambridge, MA: S.G. & B.G., 1692), quoted in Carol F. Karlsen, The Devil in the Shape of a Woman: Witchcraft in Colonial New England (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1987), xix.

March 8, 2017Heidi Gengenbach 1 Comment

Is It Mine To Tell?: Protecting Privacy in Public History Practice

By Ashlie Duarte-Smith

My first instinct as a public historian is to interpret and translate historical facts into a language that anyone can access–to carve out a navigable path for public consumption. Those instincts were tested when I accepted an internship for the National Park Service at the Kalaupapa National Historical Park in Hawaiʻi. Privacy laws concerning Kalaupapa prevented me from knowing what my subject matter would be, so all I knew was that I wanted to create a short film. However, I found myself in an interesting predicament that forced me to reflect deeply on my professional responsibilities as an historian, and my personal responsibilities to any subject matter I may have. I thought, what gives me the right, as a historian, to make public any select portion of history? In my case, a dear family that I came to love as my own? I was in search of a project to propel myself forward, and yet it includes this family’s pain, joy, and trials? What do I need to know and prepare myself for in order to take on the responsibility of an oral history?

Molokaʻi, Hawaiʻi, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

The town of Kalaupapa is located on the island of Molokaʻi in Hawaiʻi, and is a former “leprosy colony.” Thousands of residents of Hawaiʻi were forcibly exiled there from the years 1866 to 1969 when they were found to be “guilty” of having leprosy, today known as Hansen’s Disease. Originally an act under the Hawaiian Kingdom, the law continued into the 20^th century, extending ten years after American statehood. The town is now a national park where the remainder of patients can live out the rest of their lives in peace, or leave if they wish. To protect the safety and dignity of its residents,

Pali or cliff faces above Kalaupapa, Molokaʻi.

Kalaupapa is off-limits to the uninvited, and receives a cap of 100 people per day, both tourist and visitor alike. The only way to get there is by prop plane, or a two-hour hike up and down a steep trail along a sheer cliff face–making it one of the most beautiful but isolated places in the world.

As a colony, Kalaupapa was meant to separate those who were suffering from Hansen’s Disease from the general population. The disease is actually a degenerative bacteria that dissolves the joints and breaks down the human body leaving sufferers, if untreated, deformed and dying. Thousands of families were torn apart over the years for the safety of the many. Even when a cure was determined in the 1941, the patients remained legally incarcerated until 1969. It was not until the National Park Service was invited to care for the town, the land, and its history in 1981, that those who wanted to preserve the patients stories were permitted to go and do their best.

During my internship, I became fast friends with a wonderful young woman who had also become an intern in the park. She shared stories about her life and memories of Kalaupapa, expressing her deeply rooted genealogy to the town and its people. Not only did she allow me to listen, but she also offered me the privilege to record her family’s history for my project. Their individual stories are long, multifaceted, and so complex that it gave me pause. Who was this history for? If it was only for my sake, and doing nothing for the greater good, then is it even my business to hear? To know? I am a child of Hawaiʻi, born and raised on the island of Oʻahu.

Duarte-Smith in Kalaupapa National Historical Park

Growing up there, I have come to realize that we are very protective of our history because it is often misrepresented or exploited. Even though I had never been to the island of Molokaʻi before this internship, I still hold a kinship with the people there. I was terrified when I decided to apply for a position there, because sadly there is still a stigma attached to Kalaupapa. There is a misguided fear of a disease that not many in my generation can really understand. But for my mother and grandmother’s respective generations, Kalaupapa was very real and very scary place. Certainly not a place for a child to know about when she faced no danger to go there herself. So, as an adult, and as the potential historian for a part of this history, I was scared, and continue to be uneasy about sharing what I am entrusted with.

Toward the end of my time in Kalaupapa, I became very protective of its people. I befriended many of the kōkua, the non-patients that help to run the town, and the patients themselves. I worked in their repository and archives where I witnessed through objects and documents the inhuman moments these people experienced. I also handled some of the physical artifacts that those events left behind. The enormity of my responsibility to these people–to my friends–struck me. I am now personally involved. I have a personal stake in the decision I make regarding my finished project, what I do with it, and to whom I reveal it. These are not just people I casually scheduled an interview with; they became my family. I ate meals and laughed with them. I cried and held them in my arms. Those actions seem so innocuous, but they are overloaded with meaning, especially for those whose touch was actually scorned for the majority of their lives. I want to protect them, but then I remembered that my subject encouraged me to do it, she trusted me, and most of all, everyone involved gave me their blessing.

Duarte-Smith (left) with Jessica “Kanani” Sanchez and Ivy Kahilihiwa.

Anything that I choose to do or to write about with this information is an invasion of my subjects’ privacy no matter what. I have to consider that; it is important. No matter how well meaning my intent, or how open my subjects are, I am entering a sacred place in someone’s life that was never intended for public knowledge. Before conducting my interview, I was terrified of messing it up. But my subjects told me that they were happy I was so visibly shaken. My confusion must have been easy to read because they all explained that my fear was good, it would keep me humble and respectful. There is a fine line between public and private history in this project, a line that is present in all aspects of historical practice. I think that as historians whose main focus is the education of the public, it is critical that we are conscious of that line and how we navigate it. We must remember that any history we partake of is an honor to record, and a privilege to share.

March 6, 2017Heidi Gengenbach No Comments

She Had a Dream: Ruth Batson & Equal Education in Boston

In August 1963, Ruth Batson, a community leader and activist from Roxbury, Massachusetts, joined over 200,000 Americans to participate in the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom.

Ruth Batson's pennant from the March on Washington, August 28, 1963. Image courtesy of Schlesinger LIbrary. Ruth Batson Papers, Schlesinger Library. — Ruth Batson’s pennant from the March on Washington, August 28, 1963. Image courtesy of Schlesinger Library. Ruth Batson Papers, Schlesinger Library.

The watershed moment, one of the greatest demonstrations for civil rights in the US, culminated with marchers walking peacefully to the Lincoln Memorial where Martin Luther King Jr. delivered what became known as the “I Have a Dream” speech. Batson, who had turned 42 shortly before the March on Washington, shared King’s vision. She had a dream, too. An activist for civil rights in Boston, Batson dreamed of equal education for African Americans in Boston Public Schools. She began working to make that dream a reality years before the March on Washington.

Ruth M. Batson working as a student teacher at Lenox St Housing Project Pre-School. — Ruth M. Batson working as a student teacher at Lenox St Housing Project Pre-School, ca. 1948. Image reproduced for research and educational purposes, courtesy of the Schlesinger Library, Radcliffe Institute, Harvard University. Rights status is not evaluated.

In the late 1940s, as a student teacher of the Nursery Training School of Boston and as a young mother, she witnessed disparity in the public school system firsthand. That experience led her to become active in the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) in Boston. A decade before the March on Washington, she was appointed chairperson of the newly-established Public Education Sub-Committee. The experience transformed her. She recalled:

“From that day on, my life changed profoundly. I learned how to sharpen my observation skills. I learned how to write reports. I learned how to stand before a legislative body and state the NAACP’s case. I lost all fear of ‘important’ people or organizations.” ((Ruth M. Batson, The Black Educational Movement in Boston: A Sequence of Historical Events; A Chronology (Boston, MA: Northeastern University, School of Education, 2001), 9.))

Documenting the physical condition of the city’s public schools, she noted widespread separation of black and white children. She challenged the Boston School Committee to address de facto segregation and the inadequate facilities of schools attended primarily by blacks.

Committed to her dream of equal education, Batson became a leading force of METCO (the Metropolitan Council for Educational Opportunity) and she became increasingly active in politics. She became the first black woman to serve on the Democratic National Committee and the first woman elected president of NAACP’s New England Regional Conference (1957-1960). During that time, she volunteered in John F. Kennedy’s civil rights office and worked tirelessly for democratic campaigns on both local and national levels.

Governor Endicott Peabody adminiters the oath to Ruth M. Batson for her new appointment at the Massachusetts Commission Against Discrimination, 1963. Image reproduced for research and educational purposes, courtesy of the Schlesinger Library, Radcliffe Institute, Harvard University. Rights status is not evaluated. — Governor Endicott Peabody administers the oath to Ruth M. Batson for her new appointment at the Massachusetts Commission Against Discrimination, 1963. Image reproduced for research and educational purposes, courtesy of the Schlesinger Library, Radcliffe Institute, Harvard University. Rights status is not evaluated.

Recognized for her spirited nature and determination, in December 1963–just months after the March on Washington–Batson was appointed to serve as chairperson of the Massachusetts Commission Against Discrimination.

Ruth Batson advocated for civil rights and equal schooling for blacks in Boston for over thirty years. Committed to making her dream a reality, she helped reshape Boston’s public education system. Want to learn more about this extraordinary woman from Roxbury?

Graduate student Laurie Kearney created on online exhibit, “Ruth M. Batson, Mother, Educator, Civil Worker,” that provides a comprehensive overview of Batson’s life, volunteerism, and career. Using documents and photographs from the Boston City Archives, the National Archives at Boston, Northeastern University Archives and Special Collections, and the Schlesinger Library, Kearney explores how the personal and political intersected in this woman’s life.

Kearney’s narrative explores how Batson’s upbringing and experiences as a mother led to a career of community and political activism. Learn more about Batson’s actions in the movement to integrate Boston Public Schools and her and role as a leader of METCO (the Metropolitan Council for Educational Opportunity) by visiting the full exhibit.