The fact is that I have a colorick disposition and therefore I am obliged to keep a bridle constantly tight-reined to stay my tongue and hands from mauling everyone that approaches me.

Charles Willson Peale to Angelica Peal Robinson, 1813



Charles Willson Peale, publicly humiliating a delinquent client in The Maryland Gazette, 1775

The Pink Pony Out to Pasture

I originally wrote this blog post on our department’s new blog, but I cannot guarantee its safety there, since my boss is actually on the Scottsdale Historic Preservation Commission, who will vote if the proposed changes can be done without affecting the historical integrity of the building. Ironically, I’m not allowed to talk to him about my work on this property during this time because of a conflict of interest. 

The Pink Pony, Scottsdale’s oldest restaurant and major player in the history of the Cactus League, announced its permanent closure yesterday. The restaurant has struggled to stay afloat for at least the past decade. A yet to be announced tenant will be moving in and is seeking permission to make changes to the historic property. As a researcher and writer for the Salt River Stories project, this has brought me to a screeching halt with my work on this property. As I proceed with caution, I realize that this is a perfect “teaching moment” in my fledgling public history career.

 Though I’m not a restaurateur, it is not difficult to understand that the most flavorful item on the Pink Pony’s menu was a large, heaping dish of nostalgia. Every time the restaurant was bought or sold, the new owners always repeated the same thing: they wanted to recapture the essence of the restaurant as it was in its glory days. Nostalgia was the restaurant’s greatest asset and personal memories made the Pink Pony a repeat destination for many of its patrons, perhaps even more so than the food. But therein lays the hard fact that we historians encounter regularly: nostalgia cannot be a sustainable method of renewing interest.

 That’s where we as professional historians step in. We’re the ones who must ask the hard questions: is this historically significant? With the restaurant gone, what should people know about this space? What are the lessons to be learned, and therefore the stories to be told? In this instance, would the public best be served if I spoke to the importance of their role in historical preservation, or should we accept that after decades of struggling to survive, it’s time the Pink Pony was put out to pasture?

 When users encounter the Pink Pony story on the app months from now, some residents and baseball enthusiasts may remember it fondly, and feel anger or sadness about its closure. Younger generations may see it as a relic of the past that served overpriced, average food and was perpetually on the decline. Unfamiliar tourists will not have any recollection at all. Therefore I will try to give the public a taste of the best the Pink Pony had to offer: the camaraderie of 50s and 60s Scottsdale socialites, the enjoyment of a lackadaisical two-hour lunch, and most importantly, Charlie Briley’s love of baseball that brought the Cactus League to Scottsdale, a major economic boon to the city still today.

 For now, as I move forward and new developments emerge, I will focus on the reasons why the restaurant was designated in the first place. I will do my best to help this story recreate the nostalgic atmosphere for those who will miss the Pink Pony while also informing newcomers about the important relationship that existed between the community and the restaurant for 64 years. All in less than 600 words.

“Lewis and Clark in Indian Country”

It’s here! It’s finally arrived! My first contribution to a scholarly journal has finally be printed, bound and sent to my doorstep. It’s not much, but I’m more proud of it than any other piece I’ve had published. Except for maybe “Keith and Kenny’s Desert Destinations,” my short story about a guy named Jesus, two homosexuals and smoking weed in the desert. 

“Lewis and Clark in Indian Country”

My Soapbox

While writing my final reflection paper for my Exhibit Design course, one of the prompts we were asked to address was, “Are we or can we be social change agents in the world?” In order to answer this, naturally I climbed upon my public history soapbox. Since I doubt any of this paper will be sent out anonymously to rest of the class like a previous paper of mine, I thought I’d share some of it with the blogsphere. It’s a concise explanation of my stance on public history and museums and I think sharing it is long overdue.   

I believe that access to knowledge is a human right. My passion for history and the belief that understanding it is crucial to understanding ourselves, our society and our ability to positively change the world has brought me to public history. That and the fact that for most of my life I’ve almost peed myself in glee every time I visit a historical site or history museum. So yes, I do believe that we can be agents of social change. The lack of collective historic appreciation in this country is disheartening, but again, that’s not new. In 1824, the Marquis de Lafayette toured the United States and visited many of the sites where events crucial to the American Revolution occurred. While the Americans were preoccupied with showing him new buildings which replaced earlier ones and all the progress that had transpired since he’d returned to France, it was the French Marquis who had to plead with Americans to preserve the sites of our heritage. Not much has changed. I believe Americans still turn to Europe with its ancient castles, grandiose cathedrals and ancient relics and believe that’s what public acknowledgement and appreciation of history looks like. But as a relatively young country bent on looking forward, there are those of us that are clamoring for preservation, acknowledgement and education. However, there is an overwhelming disconnect between what goes on in academic buildings and the public’s understanding of their own history. With my work I seek to close that gap, but it is a monumental task that unfortunately is not getting easier.

“Staying relevant” is a mantra repeated time and time again but it is so much harder than it sounds. Places like the George Washington Carver Center in Phoenix seem to grasp that problem but there is only so much that can be done to bring history to the people. I think on an individual basis Americans believe we appreciate our history, but much like the industrialization of food in this country, we seem to think someone else will decide what is best for us and make decisions in our best interest to preserve, understand and “use” the past. I can sympathize because I struggle to understand the entire picture with almost every point in time I study and learning history often feels like an endless tunnel because history is everything. It is endless. It is an art. It is interpretation. The noble goal of our education system is that every individual should have some understanding of the past, yet it mostly fails to make people feel like the facts have any relevancy to their own life. History is not the story but a story. Most of all, it should be your story. It is not a recitation of facts as our education system teaches. It’s a subject I doubt many people can appreciate before they’ve come to understand their own place in time and space, which does not happen in high school (despite what many teenagers seem to think).  After formal education, museums are the most trusted institutions as a source of knowledge and truth about the world. We need to protect that trust and taken as much advantage of it as we can. Learning to give people a voice in the process of what we do is crucial. So is believing in the potential of our visitors to decide what matters. Giving them the tools to help us help them, whether it is within the walls of an exhibit or not, is vital. Museums are evolving and evolving fast. I love being a part of it.