Perhaps the most famous single item in our collection is the stuffed head of Maj. Gen. George Gordon Meade’s favorite war horse, Old Baldy. Old Baldy had occupied a position of honor in our museum, specifically a case of honor, in the Meade Room for decades. In that case, relatively secure against the passing of time, Old Baldy looked out at the world with his particular glassy-eyed stare. He saw the museum through good times and bad, endured many a joke, and through no effort of his own became our most enduring symbol. I have a passion and reverence for all things Civil War, both as a person and a professional, so everything in our collection is of great significance to me. But for some reason, perhaps it is his record of service and battle wounds, or that he is the remains of a living thing, it is very hard not to get a little sentimental about Old Baldy.
Old Baldy has been on display in a custom made case for over two decades. In that time, the only access to him was through an opening in the top of the case, and even that was mostly to change the light bulbs in the fixture inside. So, like the large painting, a big part of the challenge of packing Old Baldy was that we would have no clear idea how to do it until we cracked open the case and looked at the situation. Even this proved harder than we thought.
The case itself had essentially been assembled around him, and was clearly intended to be hard to open. It was a steel frame with the wood and Plexiglas built over it. There was a good bit of redundancy built into it, as we discovered when we started taking screws out. After we had removed every screw that could conceivably be holding the case together, nothing moved. We pushed, pulled, jimmied, and wedged as gently as possible, and still nothing. We climbed over it, under it, and through it until we removed every screw we could find. It turned out that the backboard to which Old Baldy was attached was connected to the rest of the case in a way we never would have thought of, and it wasn’t until we removed the very last screws that it finally came loose. Once we knew how it came apart, we had the information we needed to make a plan for packing Old Baldy for moving. As a precaution, we reassembled the case so that he would be protected as other items were being moved out of the room.
The plan to pack Old Baldy was beautiful in its simplicity. I have to give all the credit to Justin, one of the excellent movers who worked on this project with us. Clearly a student of the measure twice, cut once school of doing things, Justin had the job broken down into four steps that were prepped and ready so we could move easily from one step to the other. The idea was this: we would pack Old Baldy on an L-pallet that fit inside a crate. We would remove him from the backboard that fit in the case and attach him to a new board that fit in the L-pallet. In preparation, we disassembled the case, and had two saw-horse work stations set up, and had the L-pallet and the crate lined up.
One thing we did have to think of before we actually moved Old Baldy was the safety of both Baldy and the crew. We knew nothing of Old Baldy’s internal structure and little about the hazardous chemicals that were used to treat him. In this area we got a great assist from Jennifer, who works for one of the outstanding natural science museums here in Philadelphia. Her familiarity with taxidermy, and her evaluation of the condition of Old Baldy, gave us vital information on the issues relating to the safety of the object and the crew and the confidence to proceed with the move.
The two most important things we learned from Jennifer’s report were that Old Baldy was structurally sound, and that he posed a moderate chemical risk to the crew. The structural report was a great relief, because we had been concerned that Baldy could come loose from his plaque if he were jostled or laid on his back. Knowing this was not an issue, we felt much more comfortable about the plan we had in place. The chemical risk, in the form of arsenic in the hair and skin, and lead in the ears, were things we took seriously. Since the threat was from contact, not through any airborne transmission, the crew wore protective suits and gloves throughout the process (I have to confess that while I wore the gloves, I did not wear the suit. This may or may not have been wise, but as Curator I accepted risks that would not have been acceptable for the crew.).
Old Baldy, being a popular guy, had some special guest to keep him company as he left his old home. Nancy Caldwell, who was a former volunteer and an advocate of horses in the Civil War, and her sister had attended our final open house when we closed the building to the public. Both had long been Old Baldy’s biggest fans, and they asked if they could be there to see him off. It was my pleasure to have them there to watch, and they took some excellent pictures of the process, like the ones at the top of the page. In addition, the story had caught the eye of Ed Cunningham, a reporter for WHYY, the local PBS station here in the Philadelphia. He was interested in doing a video blog of the process of creating the new museum, and the packing of Old Baldy was a great place to start. It was an honor to have him as our guest, and his first piece can be seen here: http://www.whyy.org/community/edsphilly.html
Once we had everything laid out and ready, the transfer from the case to the crate went fairly smoothly. We disassembled the case and gently tipped Old Baldy on his back and placed him on the first saw-horse work station. There we removed the large screws that secured the heavy wooden plaque on which Old Baldy is mounted from the backboard. At the next saw-horse station, the new board was ready and waiting. We easily slid Old Baldy from one station to the next, and bolted him to the new board. The new board was then fitted into the L-pallet and bolted down. At this point we encountered the only problem of the entire operation. We noticed a gap between Old Baldy’s plaque and the new board he was bolted on that was not there when he lay flat. The concern was that the plaque was too heavy and the screws were not holding the weight. We detached him from the L-pallet and put him back on the saw-horse station to add more screws. When we bolted him back on the L-pallet, the gap returned, albeit smaller. The actual problem was that the new backboard was slightly warped, so that Old Baldy was flush when we attached the screws at the work station, but not when the board was bolted to the pallet. Once we figured that out, we were not too concerned. As a precaution, however, we bolted an extra strap across the top of the plaque to provide more support. We then attached a brace across the L-pallet, under Old Baldy’s head but not touching it, as insurance that if he came loose from the plaque he would not fall far. We then slid the L-pallet into the case and bolted it shut. It fit perfectly. In the end, the whole process went like clockwork. It was a testament to the good planning done beforehand.
As I said, it was hard not to be sentimental when packing Old Baldy. I think for me it went beyond just who he was and what he represented. Even though he was one of the first large items we packed, I think that putting Old Baldy in a crate and taking him out the door was the first time I truly realized that our time at 1805 Pine Street was coming to an end. If Old Baldy had left the building, the rest of the collection, and its curator, would soon follow.
Old Baldy has been on display in a custom made case for over two decades. In that time, the only access to him was through an opening in the top of the case, and even that was mostly to change the light bulbs in the fixture inside. So, like the large painting, a big part of the challenge of packing Old Baldy was that we would have no clear idea how to do it until we cracked open the case and looked at the situation. Even this proved harder than we thought.
The case itself had essentially been assembled around him, and was clearly intended to be hard to open. It was a steel frame with the wood and Plexiglas built over it. There was a good bit of redundancy built into it, as we discovered when we started taking screws out. After we had removed every screw that could conceivably be holding the case together, nothing moved. We pushed, pulled, jimmied, and wedged as gently as possible, and still nothing. We climbed over it, under it, and through it until we removed every screw we could find. It turned out that the backboard to which Old Baldy was attached was connected to the rest of the case in a way we never would have thought of, and it wasn’t until we removed the very last screws that it finally came loose. Once we knew how it came apart, we had the information we needed to make a plan for packing Old Baldy for moving. As a precaution, we reassembled the case so that he would be protected as other items were being moved out of the room.
The plan to pack Old Baldy was beautiful in its simplicity. I have to give all the credit to Justin, one of the excellent movers who worked on this project with us. Clearly a student of the measure twice, cut once school of doing things, Justin had the job broken down into four steps that were prepped and ready so we could move easily from one step to the other. The idea was this: we would pack Old Baldy on an L-pallet that fit inside a crate. We would remove him from the backboard that fit in the case and attach him to a new board that fit in the L-pallet. In preparation, we disassembled the case, and had two saw-horse work stations set up, and had the L-pallet and the crate lined up.
One thing we did have to think of before we actually moved Old Baldy was the safety of both Baldy and the crew. We knew nothing of Old Baldy’s internal structure and little about the hazardous chemicals that were used to treat him. In this area we got a great assist from Jennifer, who works for one of the outstanding natural science museums here in Philadelphia. Her familiarity with taxidermy, and her evaluation of the condition of Old Baldy, gave us vital information on the issues relating to the safety of the object and the crew and the confidence to proceed with the move.
The two most important things we learned from Jennifer’s report were that Old Baldy was structurally sound, and that he posed a moderate chemical risk to the crew. The structural report was a great relief, because we had been concerned that Baldy could come loose from his plaque if he were jostled or laid on his back. Knowing this was not an issue, we felt much more comfortable about the plan we had in place. The chemical risk, in the form of arsenic in the hair and skin, and lead in the ears, were things we took seriously. Since the threat was from contact, not through any airborne transmission, the crew wore protective suits and gloves throughout the process (I have to confess that while I wore the gloves, I did not wear the suit. This may or may not have been wise, but as Curator I accepted risks that would not have been acceptable for the crew.).
Old Baldy, being a popular guy, had some special guest to keep him company as he left his old home. Nancy Caldwell, who was a former volunteer and an advocate of horses in the Civil War, and her sister had attended our final open house when we closed the building to the public. Both had long been Old Baldy’s biggest fans, and they asked if they could be there to see him off. It was my pleasure to have them there to watch, and they took some excellent pictures of the process, like the ones at the top of the page. In addition, the story had caught the eye of Ed Cunningham, a reporter for WHYY, the local PBS station here in the Philadelphia. He was interested in doing a video blog of the process of creating the new museum, and the packing of Old Baldy was a great place to start. It was an honor to have him as our guest, and his first piece can be seen here: http://www.whyy.org/community/edsphilly.html
Once we had everything laid out and ready, the transfer from the case to the crate went fairly smoothly. We disassembled the case and gently tipped Old Baldy on his back and placed him on the first saw-horse work station. There we removed the large screws that secured the heavy wooden plaque on which Old Baldy is mounted from the backboard. At the next saw-horse station, the new board was ready and waiting. We easily slid Old Baldy from one station to the next, and bolted him to the new board. The new board was then fitted into the L-pallet and bolted down. At this point we encountered the only problem of the entire operation. We noticed a gap between Old Baldy’s plaque and the new board he was bolted on that was not there when he lay flat. The concern was that the plaque was too heavy and the screws were not holding the weight. We detached him from the L-pallet and put him back on the saw-horse station to add more screws. When we bolted him back on the L-pallet, the gap returned, albeit smaller. The actual problem was that the new backboard was slightly warped, so that Old Baldy was flush when we attached the screws at the work station, but not when the board was bolted to the pallet. Once we figured that out, we were not too concerned. As a precaution, however, we bolted an extra strap across the top of the plaque to provide more support. We then attached a brace across the L-pallet, under Old Baldy’s head but not touching it, as insurance that if he came loose from the plaque he would not fall far. We then slid the L-pallet into the case and bolted it shut. It fit perfectly. In the end, the whole process went like clockwork. It was a testament to the good planning done beforehand.
As I said, it was hard not to be sentimental when packing Old Baldy. I think for me it went beyond just who he was and what he represented. Even though he was one of the first large items we packed, I think that putting Old Baldy in a crate and taking him out the door was the first time I truly realized that our time at 1805 Pine Street was coming to an end. If Old Baldy had left the building, the rest of the collection, and its curator, would soon follow.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment