Tag: politics

Postcards, Presidents, and Perspectives

Gift shop postcards reveal how Americans get to know our presidents. Explore how pocket-sized portraits shape our understanding of leadership.

In the spring of 1865, Alexander Gardner made a series of photographs of Abraham Lincoln in a studio in Washington DC. Originally, the images were meant as source material for a later unremarkable oil portrait. Instead, one image would become a widely circulated presidential carte de visite (CDV, predecessor to the postcard) showing a contemplative Lincoln, his face bearing the weight of war.

This same series produced dozens of CDV variations, each emphasizing different aspects of Lincoln’s character – his determination, wisdom, and his ordinary humanity. These interpretations of presidential imagery etched his memory in time just after the assassination, have been reproduced in every decade since, and still shape our national memory today.

Consider how presidential postcards – those humble, democratic pieces of correspondence – have both reflected and shaped our understanding of presidential perspective and leadership. Looking at postcard collections from presidential libraries, let’s explore how these portable portraits reveal how certain leaders viewed the world and made decisions.

Memory Making in Presidential Libraries

The modern presidential library system began in 1939 when Franklin Roosevelt donated his papers to the federal government, establishing a revolutionary model for preserving presidential legacy. Before this, presidential papers were considered private property, often scattered, sold, or lost to history. Roosevelt’s innovation created a systematic approach to presidential preservation that transformed how Americans access their presidential past.

Today, fifteen presidential libraries, administered by the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA), serve multiple functions: archive, museum, research center, and public education facility. Each library manages large collections of documents, photographs, and artifacts, while their museums and visitor centers help interpret presidential legacies for millions annually.

These institutions also play a crucial role in postcard production and distribution. Their gift shops serve as primary retail outlets, while their archivists and curators help ensure historical accuracy in commemorative imagery. Tensions between history, educational mission, and commercial viability shape how presidential memory is packaged and sold.

Business of Memory

The story of presidential postcards is also the story of how American trades shape historical memory. In the late 19th century, innovations in printing technology coincided with the rise of mass tourism and the establishment of the postal service’s penny postcard rate. Companies like Curt Teich & Co. and the Detroit Publishing Company recognized an opportunity, creating catalogs of presidential imagery that would help standardize how Americans remember their leaders.

The economics were compelling: postcards could be produced for less than a cent, sold for 3-5 cents, and resold by retailers for 5-10 cents. This accessibility meant that average Americans could own and share pieces of presidential history. Later, the Presidential Libraries, the Smithsonian, and the National Park Service would become major distribution points, creating a government-private partnership in historical memory that continues today.

Postcard Power

Before diving into specific presidents, let’s remember why postcards matter. Unlike formal portraits or imposing statuary, postcards serve as intimate, portable connections to our leaders. Their very format – combining image with personal message, sold inexpensively and shared widely – makes them unique vehicles for democratic memory-making.

Consider the contrast: The Lincoln Memorial presents the 16th president as a marble deity, remote and perfect. But, period CDVs showed him in numerous human moments: reviewing troops, visiting battlefields, and playing with his sons. These cards, sold for pennies and passed hand to hand, helped Americans see their wartime leader as both extraordinary and approachable.

Lincoln: The Moral Realist

The Gardner series of photographs reveals Lincoln’s moral realist perspective in subtle ways. In one popular version, Lincoln’s gaze is directed slightly upward, suggesting moral vision, while his worn face acknowledges harsh realities. This duality perfectly captured Lincoln’s ability to hold fast to moral principles while grappling with very real human suffering.

Another influential series showed Lincoln visiting the Antietam battlefield. These cards, first published during the war and reprinted for decades after, highlighted his hands-on leadership style. One image shows him speaking with wounded soldiers from both sides – a visual representation of his “malice toward none” philosophy.

Theodore Roosevelt: The Progressive Naturalist

The postcards of Teddy Roosevelt present a striking contrast. The Detroit Publishing Company’s Yosemite series showed him with naturalist John Muir in various outdoor settings, emphasizing his connection to nature and physical vigor. These images perfectly aligned with his naturalistic-progressive worldview, which saw human advancement as part of natural evolution.

Perhaps most revealing were the Rough Rider postcards, mass-produced during and after his presidency. These action-oriented images showed Roosevelt leading charges, planning strategy, and bonding with his men. They captured his belief in the power of human will to shape both nature and society – a core tenet of his progressive philosophy.

Franklin Roosevelt: The Pragmatic Experimenter

FDR’s postcard imagery evolved significantly during his presidency, reflecting both personal and national transformation. Early cards showed him standing at podiums, emphasizing traditional presidential authority. But as the Depression deepened, a new style emerged.

Fireside Chat postcards, first released in 1933, showed Roosevelt in intimate settings, explaining complex policies to average Americans. These images matched the pragmatic instrumentalism they heard on the radio – his belief that truth and reality were tied to practical situations more than abstract principles.

The photographs from Warm Springs deserve special mention. While official imagery generally hid Roosevelt’s disability, these postcards showed him in the therapeutic pools, working to strengthen his legs. They humanized him while demonstrating his experimental, solution-oriented approach to problems, both personal and political.

Kennedy: The Dynamic Optimist

The Kennedy era revolutionized presidential imagery. Color photos from Hyannis Port show the president sailing or playing with his children, emphasizing youth and vitality. But more telling were the Space Race postcards, which showed Kennedy studying rocket models or meeting with astronauts. These captured his perspective of historical dynamism – his belief that reality itself was expandable through human initiative and technological advancement.

LBJ: Larger than Life

The LBJ Library’s postcard collection reveals another perspective entirely, showing Johnson’s complex relationship with power and persuasion. The collection captures Johnson in intimate conversations with civil rights leaders and in passionate speeches about poverty, reflecting his hands-on, domineering approach to domestic reform.

Carter: The Moral Engineer

Jimmy Carter’s postcard imagery often puzzled publishers. How to capture a president who combined technical expertise with moral conviction? The “Carter and Farmers” card showed him inspecting crops, and another shows him in front of solar panels on the White House roof. These images captured his unique moral-engineering perspective – his belief that problems required both technical solutions and ethical frameworks.

Reagan: The Moral Dualist

The Reagan Library’s postcard collections reflect his clear moral dualist worldview. The famous Brandenburg Gate series shows Reagan from multiple angles as he challenges Gorbachev to “tear down this wall.” These images emphasize his belief in clear moral absolutes – freedom versus tyranny, good versus evil.

Reagan’s unique gift for communication amplified the impact of these postcards. His ability to speak in accessible language while conveying profound ideas meant that the images resonated deeply with the public. When he spoke of America as a “shining city on a hill” or called the Soviet Union an “evil empire,” these phrases became powerful captions for postcard imagery, blending visual and verbal memory in the public mind.

George H. W. Bush – Institutional Security

The George H.W. Bush Library’s postcards emphasize his diplomatic achievements, particularly during the Gulf War. These images often show Bush in military context and related to large institutions. The contrast with Reagan’s more populist imagery is striking – where Reagan is clearly a personality, Bush’s postcards frequently make the man matter less than the magnitude of his role.

Clinton’s Casual Comport

The Clinton Library’s postcard collection breaks new ground in presidential imagery, showing Clinton with his daughter Chelsea, playing with Socks the cat, and capturing his forward-looking optimism in the post-Soviet era. These images demonstrate Clinton’s ability to relate to his constituents in casual terms, mirroring what Reagan had done with conservative principles.

The Persistence of Perspective

What emerges from this look at presidential postcards is the remarkable consistency with which each President projects his image in keeping with his worldview. Whether facing economic crisis, cold war, or civil war, these presidents tended to approach problems through a lens shaped by life circumstances as much as political philosophy. Lincoln’s moral realism helped him navigate both slavery and secession. FDR’s pragmatic experimentalism served him in depression and disability. Reagan’s moral dualism shaped his approach to both domestic policy and Soviet relations.

Yet the postcards reveal the human dimension of leadership, too. Through these small, shared images, Americans see their leaders as both exceptional and relatable. The very format of postcards – democratic, portable, personal – helps bridge the gap between presidential perspective and public understanding.

Presidential Perspective and Democratic Memory

Understanding presidential perspective remains crucial today. How leaders view reality shapes how they define problems, evaluate solutions, and make decisions. The enduring power of postcards lies in their ability to capture and communicate these perspectives in accessible ways.

Presidential postcards serve as more than souvenirs. They are vehicles of democratic memory, helping each generation understand not just what their leaders did, but who they were and how they thought. As we face contemporary challenges, these historical perspectives – preserved and transmitted through humble postcards – offer valuable insights into the relationship between worldview and leadership.

Look closer the next time you are in a museum shop or visitors center. In those mass-produced images lie clues to how our leaders view the world – and how they helped Americans see it too. Perspective is about how we view problems, and also how we view ourselves as a nation and a people.

Shoveling Sh!t

The beauty in gallows humor is how it strips away pretense. On days when everything feels like a steaming pile anyway, there’s dark comfort in knowing that at least we’re all finally honest about what’s being shoveled around.

This vintage postcard, simply titled “Training for Politics,” captures a brutal honesty that resonates well on days when the world stinks. A lone cowboy, shovel in hand, flinging horse manure (the raw material for politics). Of course we see the effort, but it’s also hard to miss the explosive spray of debris frozen mid-flight.

There’s something uniquely comforting about humor that doesn’t try to brighten our mood but instead acknowledges the absurdity of our circumstances. When we’re struggling, the last thing most of us want is forced positivity or silver linings. We want recognition that yes, this is indeed a pile, and yes, someone is actively shoveling more of it.

On the surface, it’s a simple visual gag – politics is bullsh*t. But dig deeper (pardon the pun), and you’ll find a more nuanced observation about the nature of political discourse and human coping mechanisms.

Dark humor serves as a pressure release valve for the soul. It’s the linguistic equivalent of opening a window in a foul-smelling room. It doesn’t solve the problem, but it makes it more bearable. When we can laugh at the darkness, we’re not surrendering to it – we’re claiming it, owning it, transforming it into something we can manage.

Someone looked at a man shoveling manure and saw not just the physical act but its perfect metaphorical parallel to politics. They recognized that sometimes the most profound truths come wrapped in the most pungent packages. That’s what gallows humor does – it finds the universal in the awful, the communal in the catastrophic.

This postcard’s enduring relevance speaks to another truth about dark humor: it ages well. While more wholesome jokes may grow stale, gallows humor often becomes more poignant with time. Perhaps because human suffering, like political maneuvering, remains remarkably consistent across generations. The tools may change, but the essential nature of the job remains the same.

In our current era of carefully curated social media positivity and inspirational quote overdose, there’s something refreshingly honest about this image. It doesn’t try to inspire or uplift. It simply says, “Here’s what’s happening, and it stinks.” Sometimes, that acknowledgment is more comforting than a thousand motivational posters.

For those of us having one of those days – when the pile is knee deep – this anonymous cowboy becomes an unlikely patron saint of perseverance. Not because he’s rising above his circumstances or transforming them into something beautiful, but because he’s right there in the muck, doing what needs to be done, probably muttering colorful commentary under his breath.

The image reminds us that sometimes the healthiest response to life’s challenges isn’t to seek the bright side but to acknowledge the darkness with a wry smile and a few choice words. There’s solidarity in shared cynicism, comfort in the collective cry. It’s the silent nod between people who recognize that while we can’t always clean up the mess, we can at least make a postcard about it. If nothing else, it gives future generations something to laugh darkly about while dealing with their own problems.

It’s no good to make light of serious situations, but it helps to find the light-heartedness within them. Even if it’s just the glint of sun off a well-worn shovel.

Postcards of Perseverance: Boom and Bust in Middle Missouri

On a crisp February morning in 1926, Fred Van Hooven of Americus, Missouri, reached into his mailbox to find a postcard. His calloused hands grasp the card, his eyes lit up at the news: “Prime steers $10.50 to $11.00. Choice $9.75 to $10.25.”

The postcard is colorful, smartly-designed and professionally printed, but it’s not a scenic view or a greeting from a distant relative. It’s a fold-over commercial mailer. Inside is a detailed cattle market report from Woodson-Fennewald Company at the National Stock Yards in Illinois.

For rural farmers and ranchers like Van Hooven, this small mailed card represented opportunity and prosperity. Today, it’s a window into a complex economic ecosystem that stretches from a small ranch in eastern central Missouri to the bustling stockyards of Chicago and beyond. This postcard and another one received a decade later bookend a period of dramatic change in rural America.

Van Hooven’s address in Americus draws us to a small community in in the eastern central part of Missouri. Founded in the 1860s Americus grew from a pre-Civil War settlement into a bustling village. By 1884, it boasted a dry goods store, a drug store, two blacksmith shops, a wagon shop, and a steam-powered saw and grist mill.

The town’s very existence was cemented when it gained its own post office, initially called Dry Fork Mills before town residents objected. The nobly-named Americus post office was a vital link to the outside world, enabling the flow of information that savvy rural ranchers relied on.

Van Hooven’s property likely sat in a landscape perfectly suited for a variety of livestock and farming operations. Nestled in the rolling hills near the Loutre River, his land would have been a patchwork of forests, streams, and fertile valleys. In this varied terrain, he may have run a sizable cattle herd while also providing habitat for a variety of wildlife – a fact that will prove crucial in the years to come.

A topographic map from 1974 shows this diverse landscape. Americus sits in a relatively flat area surrounded by hills, with numerous streams creating a dendritic pattern, like branching trees across the region. It’s easy to imagine cattle grazing in the lush river bottoms, while the forested hills provide shelter and resources.

Roaring Twenties on the Ranch

As Van Hooven studied the 1926 cattle prices, perhaps he was feeling his good fortune. The Roaring Twenties were in full swing, and the prosperity had reached even small towns like Americus. If he had invested in quality breeding stock, those “choice light weight steers and yearlings” were commanding premium prices. If he also had hogs and sheep, the the Woodson-Fennewald report would have mattered even more.

The postcard hints at the changing nature of transportation: “Good roads and bigger trucks” are increasing business. Maybe he should buy a truck? Despite the postcard’s offer, he could bypass middlemen and transport his cattle directly to the stockyards, increasing his profits.

This era of prosperity had allowed rural entrepreneurs to expand operations, explore new sources of revenue, and adopt new trades. Van Hooven and those like him were in a rapidly changing economic climate, keenly attuned to market forces. Subscribing to agricultural journals and almanacs, attending county fairs, and experimenting with new breeds of cattle would improve herd quality and potentially one’s livelihood.

As the 1920s progress, many rural farms and ranches began to feel the pinch of falling agricultural prices. The postwar boom that had inflated crop and livestock prices was ending, and rural people struggled with debt taken on during the good years.

Then came the stock market crash of 1929, sending shockwaves through the American economy. Rural communities like Americus were hit hard. Cattle prices plummet, and many farmers found themselves unable to make mortgage payments on land and equipment.

A conservative approach and diverse operations may have insulated ranching operations somewhat. But if not himself, Fred Van Hooven certainly would have seen his neighbors begin to struggle.

Rural Adaptation and Survival

Fast forward to a frosty January morning in 1936. Van Hooven, now a decade older and wiser, shuffled through his mail. Another postcard caught his eye, this one from David Blustein & Bro. in New York City. It’s a detailed price list for animal furs. Wolf pelts were fetching $8 for large, prime specimens, while muskrats, abundant in the streams around Americus, are listed at $1.40 for the best quality.

As the Great Depression deepens, Van Hooven’s adaptability must come to the fore. Years of reports and price lists have taught him to read the markets. While his cattle operation suffered, he must have looked for other opportunities.

The forests and streams around Americus, once seen mainly as grazing land, now represent a different kind of potential. Farmers and ranchers could supplement their income through trapping, a grueling work that involves checking traplines in the freezing pre-dawn hours. Van Hooven may have learned from older members of the community, who remembered the days when fur trading was a major part of Missouri’s economy.

For everyone in Americus, successful adaptation to the harsh realities of the Depression was required in one way or another. Expert trappers built upon older trapping techniques and learned how to properly prepare and grade furs to fetch the best prices. Chilled railcars brought the trade back for a while and made way for greater livestock shipping, too. The Blustein postcard listed nine different animal furs, each with three grade levels. Mink, marten, and beaver commanded the highest prices, but even the humble muskrat and possum contributed to the bottom line.

Changing Economic Ecosystems

Both postcards – the 1926 cattle report and the 1936 fur price list – highlight the surprisingly global nature of rural commerce in early 20th century America. From his small farm in central Missouri, Van Hooven was connected to markets in Chicago, New York, and beyond. The prices he received for his cattle or furs were influenced by national and international demand, linking the economy of Americus to the broader world.

This interconnectedness was facilitated by a complex communications network. Regular market reports and price lists delivered by mail kept rural entrepreneurs informed of distant market conditions. The level of detail in these reports – from specific cattle grades to fur sizes – shows the sophistication expected of ranchers, farmers and trappers.

The story behind these postcards is more than just a tale of one farmer’s adaptability woven out of the clues we have here. It’s a testament to the resilience and entrepreneurial spirit that has long characterized rural America. We would have to do more genealogical research to truly understand Fred Van Hooven’s story. For us, his name and address is just a place to start.

But we can assume that Van Hooven faced some of the same challenges confronting rural communities today. He would have had to navigate the boom of the 1920s and the bust of the 1930s. Van Hooven’s move from solely cattle ranching to include fur trapping highlights the ongoing need for rural businesses to diversify and adapt to changing markets. The shift from rail to road transport in Van Hooven’s time echoes the digital revolution of today, presenting both challenges and opportunities for rural businesses.

The postcards show how even in the 1920s and 1930s, rural businesses were connected to global markets. Today’s rural entrepreneurs face a rapidly changing economic landscape, from globalized markets to the impacts of climate change.

    Enduring Spirit in Rural America

    Today, Americus still appears on maps, a testament to the enduring spirit of rural communities. While fur trading and lone cattle drives have largely faded into history, the legacy of adaptability and connection to broader markets lives on. Modern farmers and rural entrepreneurs face their own set of challenges, but they approach these obstacles with the same resilience and ingenuity that characterized prior generations.

    The humble business postcards that once delivered vital market information have been replaced by smartphones and real-time digital updates. Yet the essential skills they represent – market awareness, adaptability, and entrepreneurial spirit – remain as crucial as ever for rural success.

    As we face the economic uncertainties ahead, let’s remember the lessons embodied in these postal relics. Rural America has always been a place of innovation and resilience where hard work and adaptability can turn challenges into opportunities. Next time you pass through a small Midwestern town, remember the papers and pricing that was once news traveling from the nation’s bustling cities to quiet rural routes – and consider how those connections continue to evolve and shape rural life today.