Museums and the man of the marathon

September 28, 2022 0 Comments

Christopher Ingraham’s Washington Post article (June 13, 2014) says it all: “There are more museums in the US than Starbucks and McDonald’s combined.” Quite accurately we think of museums as important cultural and educational institutions; however, they are also silent superstars of the entertainment industry. According to the American Alliance of Museums (AAM), with more than 800 million live visits a year, its attendance exceeds that of all theme parks and major sporting events combined. But the museums of the United States are much more than popular and numerous; they are cultural and educational gems that play a vital role. They are community elders who tell the stories of our American neighborhoods. Mamie Bittner of the Institute for Museum and Library Studies (IMLS) stated in the Washington Post article:

“Many of these institutions, particularly in small towns and rural areas, are historical societies and history museums. We are in love with our history; at a very basic level, we care about the histories of our towns, villages and counties.”

The story of how I came to visit and admire so many small museums begins almost eight years ago when I was faced with a terrifying scenario. Diagnosed with prostate cancer, my doctor’s instructions were clear and forceful. “We figured this out very early on; we lost some weight, but by the end of the year we took care of this.” Taking care of this meant an operation or radiation. He was confident that any procedure would suffice; however, he was scared as hell. When you hear that diagnosis, “you have cancer”, a thousand things go through your mind at the same time, but somehow the whole world stops at the same time. What are the treatment options…I have to research each treatment…I have to research the surgeons…what if I don’t get it…what happens to my wife…what happens to my family …I want to get this out of me…how do you investigate this…I want this done before the end of the year…why me…why not me. My mind ran, ran, ran. Who do I tell? When do I tell them? Should I tell them? My mind was running, running, running.

It was June 2010. He was 54 years old, a teacher, husband and father. Earlier that year, my wife was hospitalized for 34 days. Should I tell my wife? Would this aggravate her condition? She was already worried about being unemployed. I tell him? Our three children were all in high school and doing reasonably well; the oldest would start college in the fall. Out of concern, would my oldest son give up his athletic scholarship to stay home with his sick parents? Even if he went to college, if he knew I was battling cancer, how would this affect him academically? Who should I tell? Do I tell my boys? Do I tell everyone? Didn’t I tell anyone?

I once heard somewhere that “we grow up and become our parents.” How true is that. Although it didn’t occur to me at the time, I had seen this situation before in 1969; I was 12 years old. One day my dad asked me to go with him to his doctor. This was weird; he had never asked me to go to a doctor with him before. We went to St. Nicholas Park, Mount Morris Park, Central Park, baseball games, museums, and grocery stores. On Sundays we walked to the newsstands to buy the New York Times and the Daily News. Then we’d come home and eat big Sunday southern breakfasts: roast chicken, roast pork chops, grits, gravy, and biscuits—never biscuits, always biscuits. We did a lot of things, but he had never asked me to go with him to the doctor. I should have known something was up, but I didn’t.

The appointment with the doctor took place early in the evening. The office was located on the first floor of an apartment building and it was dark outside. I sat in the waiting room while my dad had a private meeting with the doctor. That day his doctor told him that he had six months to live. My father, a tall, quiet, dignified World War II veteran, said nothing. We went home and he acted like nothing happened. He kept it all to himself. Yet twenty-one years later, and long after his doctor had died, my father was still alive. He didn’t tell anyone this terrifying secret for all those years. Finally, in 1990 he talked to me about what had happened that day back in 1969. When I asked him why he hadn’t said anything, he had a classic response: “Hell, I wasn’t going to die just to make the doctor look good.” . To this day I still don’t know if he ever told anyone else.

In 2010, 41 years after my father was told he had six months to live and said nothing to the family, I became my father, without the courage and dignity of a World War II veteran. At first I didn’t tell anyone. However, I listened to my doctor’s advice and started walking briskly to lose weight. I weighed 308 pounds. This was the beginning of a journey. Little did I know that it would transform my health, my body and to a great extent my soul.

I chose a robotic prostatectomy as treatment. Recognizing that I would be hospitalized for several days, I was forced to say something to my wife. Every married man knows that disappearing for several days without telling his wife is a guaranteed death sentence; cancer is only potentially lethal. We sat on the sofa in the living room on a Sunday around 7pm. It was the night before I was admitted to the hospital. This scenario gave him very little time to reflect on the matter; I had to be at the hospital early the next day. As I had feared, she broke down and started crying as soon as I uttered the word cancer. We agreed not to tell our children; we both thought it might cause them concern.

Fortunately, the operation was a success. No chemotherapy or radiation was required. Several months later I resumed my vigorous walking. Over time a routine developed. I prefer walking outdoors in parks (no matter the temperature) to treadmills and tracks, mornings are better than afternoons, warm-ups are 5-7 minutes, weekend walks are 45-50 minutes, sessions weekend sessions last a minimum of 90 minutes and finally, almost all sessions end with 7-8 minutes of stretching. I walk 4 times a week during the cold months and 4-5 times a week during the warm months, I also found a very reliable companion, music from the 70s, 80s and 90s. My partner also gets on fabulously with an old Sony Walkman. Who knows, maybe this companion is my subconscious whisper to remind me of long lost youth.

While I don’t claim to be a very religious person, being outdoors in parks (which are small forests after all) sweating, breathing, and among the general splendor of God’s nature is often a spiritual event. The cancer has been gone for almost eight years. During that time, 70 pounds have melted off and my diabetes seems to be gone, or at least well controlled. Along the way I began to participate in races; I do intense walks but I compete against runners. Half marathons (13.1 miles) and 10 km (6.2 miles) are my favorites. Being somewhat vain, before entering my first race I checked the times of the runners to make sure I didn’t finish last. At first I participated in local races. Later, a colleague, who is a runner, told me about the Philadelphia “Love Marathon” in which I competed. This led me to research breeds elsewhere. Now I travel to participate in races. However, traveling to different cities just to participate in a single race did not seem to be an efficient use of time and travel. I needed another activity to complement the races. This is how I developed an interest in small museums.

He had some experience researching museums. Years ago I began to explore museums as places of excursion for high school students. At the time, I oversaw a college program that offered various activities for at-risk high school students. The American Alliance of Museums (AAM) provided a wealth of information for our program. Later, when I started looking for museums in the cities and towns I would be competing in, AAM and several other museum-related organizations like the Institute of Museums and Libraries (IMLS) and Museums of the World (MOW) have become valuable. means. One fact that became immediately clear is that the United States is the undisputed museum capital of the world. According to MOW, there were an estimated 55,000 museums in 2014 located in 202 countries. IMLS (an American agency) states that there are 35,144 active museums in the United States alone. Assuming these data are accurate, more than 63% of the world’s museums are located in the United States. The 2012-16 IMLS Strategic Plan notes that “There are more than 4.5 billion objects held by museums, libraries, archives, and other institutions in the US.”

My articles will attempt to capture some of the fascinating stories, color, history, myths, and life that are at the heart of America’s small museums. I hope you join me. Coming soon wax, warships and a poet named Wadsworth.

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