Folklore and Local History

FOLKLORE and LOCAL HISTORY

BY AUSTIN E. FIFE

The topic which your program chairman has given me, "Folklore and Local History," presents a challenge. And I am delighted to have had him propose it since it has stimulated me to define more accurately my role as a regional folklorist in relation to the role that you are playing as local historians in a score or more communities. Each community, I am sure, offers the most dramatic, the most adventuresome, and the most intense resources of local history that one could hope to find anywhere.

The first problem is to define the role of the local historian. Never having been such a person, I am in a better position than any of you to dive right in and make definitions which are so clear and so unequivocal that you will know exactly what your role is. "Folklorists" step in where "historians" fear to tread.

In defining this important mission of the local historian, I take my departure from the obvious truth that man is a gregarious animal, that he lives by choice in groups, and that the most obvious groups of human beings that live together do so in a definable geographic setting — a locality. This process of group life involves a thousand devices whereby the efforts of each are combined with the efforts of all to form the whole life of a community. Among the most obvious of these are the co-operative solution of economic problems, the problems of transportation and communication, and all of those areas which have to do with the material advantages that we enjoy as a result of our group endeavors. However, the concept of "locality" would be indeed an empty thing if aspects of material culture alone were involved. As a matter of fact, these material and economic activities are in a sense only the means to an end, the end being the gregarious life of man as a member of the group. The activities of church, school, or club; confidences exchanged at the billiard or bridge table; the mutual celebration of a graduation or Fourth of July; the dedication of a new public building; or the launching of a grass-roots radio or TV show — these and a host of other activities constitute less material aspects of community life, which, nevertheless, are basic to the existence of community spirit and to the pleasure of each individual who shares therein.

An interesting area of research for the folklorist is the study of how farmers used their ingenuity to meet the problems they faced. In the matter of fencing property, all types of fences resulted, dependent upon the reason for the fence, the materials available, and the \now-how of the individual. Two examples of fences found in different areas are the "horse and rider" fence (upper photograph) and the "rip gut" fence (lower photograph).

Top: Photo credit Austin E. Fife Bottom: Photo credit Utah Tourist and Publicity Council

Now, the role of the local historian comes into all of this in that he is the focal point for establishing a consciousness of continuity in the evolution of the life of the community. A random group of human beings thrown together in the same location does not constitute a "community." The will to live together — to die together if need be — is an indispensable factor. A great French historian has defined a country as a group of people who have suffered together and who hope together. Herein, I think, is the key to the mission of the local historian — his is the burden of retelling the story of common sufferings or of common triumphs; his is the role of projecting the common hope of his community.

But man does not live by facts alone, nor do communities. Exaggerations, lies, and damn lies play important roles, as do facts that have been ornamented by the art of the story teller and ballad singer. Any person who has tried to deal objectively with the past has tried to deal with the nonexistent. The past is not recapturable. The best a historian can hope to do is to reconstruct pale, incomplete, and ill-delineated images thereof. He may well hope that these have a degree of authenticity — of honesty, if you will — but his reconstruction still constitutes a kind of myth, a myth which contains at one and the same time not the common past itself but essences of the common past, and not the entirety of the common hope, but essences of the common hope.

I would not conclude my definition of the mission of the local historian without emphasizing the fact that he has an additional role to play — that of humanist and philosopher. For just as a man does not live in isolation from other men, so localities do not live in isolation from other localities. Each consciousness of community itself is encompassed in a larger consciousness of group, which is usually based on a bigger geographic frame, until in the end the whole world and all of mankind are involved. Thus the local historian is faced with a dual function: the first, to synthesize the common heritage and project it as a common hope for his own locality; the second and more important, to integrate this purely local aspect of his mission with the ever-enlarging concentric circles of group consciousness, until his own local history is integrated wholesomely, logically, and beneficially, with the ever-expanding realms of history which ultimately encompass the story of the world and of man. This balance between the particular and the universal — however impossible to achieve — is what the local historian, or any historian, must constantly strive to realize.

I encounter, as a second major problem, the necessity to define the respective roles of the historian and of the folklorist. All of us who deal in essences of the past and of the future — common heritages and common aspirations — are really engaged in the process of myth-formation. However objective we may wish to be, our finished work can be little more than one individual's view of reality, since it cannot be reality itself. And no matter how subjective another might wish to be, his creativity cannot operate outside the symbols of his culture, for no personalities, not even irrational ones, exist which are not a derivative of culture. Since it is clear that folklorist and local historian alike are dealing with myth, let us see what differences there are between the materials of folklore and of history, and let us examine the methods which each of these disciplines uses in treating myth.

I like to think of the historian as a disciplinarian of myth. He is continually examining the survivals of the past — myths, that is — with the view of rationalizing them, systematizing them, and reconciling them with each other. Having ascertained the existence of a myth, he strives to explain why it exists, its various metamorphoses through the course of time, and the uses to which it has been put by various segments of a population at a given moment. Having done this, it is to be hoped that he will not have destroyed the myth, but castigated it, reduced it to its essential elements, and said something about its role in the processes of cultural change.

The historian generally prefers to use documentary sources because of their impersonality. He acts as though the most significant phenomena of a culture somehow get written down; hence he finds his tools quite inadequate in dealing with cultures that are not literate. Biography stirs the historian, especially if based on diaries, letters, journals, and official documents. Civic and religious institutions stir the historian because their proclivity to record data is productive of archives. The historian focuses his interest on the dominant myths of the segments of a culture which are literate and which exercise power via political, social, religious, and economic institutions.

The folklorist is somewhat less bound than the historian. His great advantage is awareness of the fact that myth is the meat of his work, for this consciousness is what makes of him a folklorist. His discipline has taught that personality is but one person's accumulation of the myths of a culture. He is less apt to assume that there is identity between a symbol and its object, between a myth and the reality which gave origin to it.

The folklorist has tools for determining which of the elements of a culture are superficial and transitory, which are intrinsic and lasting. His field of interest consists largely of the enduring elements of a culture, those that remain when eras pass, when so-called civilizations disintegrate, and he knows that these rarely coincide with the myths of groups that exercise power at any particular moment. Van Gennep asserts that political vicissitudes of the last twenty centuries have played only a secondary role in the evolution of the folklore of the French people. The folklorist asks: "What are the elements of the culture of my region which will remain when its religious, economic, and political institutions have passed away? What is transmitted from one generation to the next, outside of — if you will, in spite of — what is taught in church or in school ? What laws and customs are imposed by the mass, even in defiance of reason or civic or religious authority? What civic laws and churchly admonitions are ignored or defied or made mandatory by the beliefs of the group? By what devices does the individual solve his day-by-day mechanical problems when craftsmen or so-called experts are not available ? What fictions, miracles, absurdities, if you will, continue to be recounted, believed, conceived — or scorned — despite the laws of physics and the dictates of reason?"

The folklorist uses both documentary and oral sources, and he should be more interested in contemporary society than in the past, although many have not yet unshackled themselves from documents and artifacts. The folklorist ought to keep telling himself that what is really important is not what actually was, but how it has seemed in the minds of men; that all of the past that counts for much is contained in myth, which in turn creates the actuality of the future, which becomes myth to recreate another future. I think that this is near to what Oscar Wilde had in mind when he said that nature imitates art. I would extend Wilde's idea by saying that myths create communities and personalities. Unlike the historian, the folklorist strives not to castigate myth but to record it. Ideally he should gather all myth, classify it, describe it. He should not select myth for an ulterior purpose. He should not make value judgments about myth, unless these are clearly identified as such, for this is to taint myth with personality. His criterion for selection is not dependent upon the factor of the political power of those who cultivate a myth, but upon its tenacity, its generality, and its vitality in the formation of the ensemble of personalities that make a group.

It might be well at this point to look at the practical roles of the historian and of the folklorist when they are actually operating at the local level. An obvious fact imposes itself; namely, that in nearly all cases the local historian must simultaneously be the local folklorist. There is a tradition in the United States for local history; there are local historical societies organized, and even societies formed by groupings of local historical societies — witness this delightful conference.

The same is not true for folklore. Only two or three hundred people in the United States do work in folklore, and of these perhaps only a score have risen above the level of the amateur. Almost no community in America boasts of a bona fide folklorist who is devoted lock, stock, and barrel to the oral tradition of a particular community. Yet a vast amount of folklore has been collected. And a significantly greater quantity remains to be assembled and will be assembled very largely by people who are not trained in folklore, many of whom will be local historians like yourselves.

Hence it is fitting that, as a folklorist, I should appear before you to present the case of folklore so that in your work in local history you will be able to enlarge more consciously your perspective and encompass in your work both the authentic history of your regions, and also the pseudo-history, the mythology, the folklore. This, of course, makes of your task an exceedingly complex one, one requiring a great deal of talent, a great deal of caution, and a great deal of devotion. You must be willing to rely more than formerly on oral sources, although you must be cautious not to give these oral sources a degree of credence which they may not deserve.

Nor should you be hasty to discredit data because your source is an oral one. I might illustrate this point by my own experience in gathering the significant "Ballad of the Mountain Meadows Massacre." Ten years of vain searching came to a sudden end when we encountered, almost simultaneously, three variants — two from oral sources in 1951, and one published in the Ely, Nevada, White Pine News in 1870, at the time when John D. Lee was excommunicated from the Mormon Church for his role in the massacre. Both of the oral versions are more complete and more accurate as to the circumstances surrounding the massacre than is the published song. One of the oral variants even keeps a phraseology which clearly shows that it was composed and sung in the winter of 1857, only a few weeks after the massacre and before the federal troops entered Utah.

The local historian should be dynamic about the recording of songs, poems, proverbs, and sayings, and should especially search out those items which seem to have a clear localization. Mrs. Fife and I once spent a week in St. George, Utah, with the sole purpose of recording all of the local songs. After having collected about fifty songs, we decided that our task could not be completed because the making and singing of local songs is a continuing process. Note that most of these songs are merely parodies using age-old melodies, but telling in a very refreshing and vigorous manner significant episodes in the life and activities of this pioneer Mormon community. I believe that these songs would be more useful than any single historical document in describing the morale of the community at any particular period in its history.

Here are a few questions you might ask your old-timers if you want them to illuminate their folk heritage: "Have any trouble with Indians ? Were there ever any bears or mountain lions around here ? Ever notice how smart a coyote is ? Any really good cow horses in these parts ? What about robberies, murders, bad men (and bad women) ? Any lost mines or buried treasures around ? How did grandma get rid of warts ? How did they decide where to dig the well ? How did the local streams and mountains get named ? Any monsters, ghosts, or devils ever seen around these parts ? Are there any cases of miraculous healings told ? Has anyone had any visions or unusual dreams that were fulfilled ? Any practical jokers around ? Tell some of their pranks. Any folks do work in leather or horsehair ? What kind of fences did you build ? How did you swing and latch a gate?"

The local historian must not make snap judgments about the authenticity of his materials, be they documentary or oral in form. I recall some of the brash decisions that I made in my early days as a collector of folklore when naively I would turn down a story because the informant boldly asserted that it was a true story and not a folk tale. One case I recall all too well. It seems that they were building a railroad. The boss, who had one glass eye, was supervising a crew of lazy Indians. Indians are always lazy in the lore of the West! He had to leave for a day and wondered how he would keep them working during his absence. Then an inspiration struck him. He called the crew together and harangued them, saying that he had to leave and he wanted them to work hard while he was gone, and to be certain that they did not loaf on the job he was going to leave one of his eyes there to watch. Thereupon he fumbled in the socket of his eye, removed the glass member, and, propping it up in a conspicuous place where it reflected the rays of sunlight, he departed. The Indians accomplished more work than ever before.

Now I might possibly have swallowed this as an oddity of authentic local history if it had not been for the fact that later I ran into this story in multiple forms. In one community it was a pioneer woman who scared away annoying Indians by removing her false teeth. In another the pioneer woman was still more adaptable, since she had four detachable parts. Each of these she removed in turn, until the Indians were aghast with the miraculous mobility of the parts of her body and took off for places unknown, never to return!

Now it may well be that among our forebearers there were some who actually used their artificial members to mystify the red man. But this does not remove the phenomena from the area of folklore, since in this case we treat them as a folk art — the folk art of mystifying Indians via the use of detachable parts of the body. There is great likelihood that we have here an example of a good yarn which helped, and still helps, enliven dull moments when friends want to hear each other talk.

I am sure that every local historian and every folklorist has committed horrible errors in the hasty rejection of materials merely because he felt that they were untrue or, on the contrary, that they were true, and therefore of no importance. If we maintain an attitude of mental reservation then both the documents and the oral materials which we collect will ultimately fit into a pattern which will form the richest possible mosaic of local history, since it will partake at the same time of authenticity and of myth, the two components which constitute the really significant consciousness of any locality.

Now, a peculiar kind of ethics is imposed upon the researcher who is going to deal simultaneously in folklore and history, and not a few tests are going to be placed upon his sense of intellectual honesty. At times he will be tempted to treat as authentic history materials which fall in the realm of myth. This is particularly true when he deals with genealogy, the family cult, and local heroes. There is a temptation placed before every human being to purify, to deify if you will, his ancestors in the interests of the family cult. The local historian is under great pressure to create rather than to record history via the discreet elimination of pertinent facts, or via the bestowal of fictitious heroic, spiritual, moral, or physical qualities upon individuals who have played a role in local history, but who were human despite the important things that they accomplished. In circumstances such as these the local historian truly finds himself enmeshed in a maze of history and mythology with no satisfactory exit. Frequently, he will have to make some concessions — accede, that is, to the pressures that exist to transform reality into myth. Let us hope that if he does this, his myth will not extend itself beyond the realm of reasonableness. If we make of all our ancestors tin gods who were always perfect in thought, word, and deed, then we are placing an unbearable burden upon ourselves who, have to live up to our traditions.

I urge all of you to add the string of folklore to your historic fiddle. I urge you to enlarge the horizon of your investigations to consciously include the lore of the past as well as the facts of the past. Nor, when in the actual process of collecting and archiving, would I be too hasty about defining the realms which separate the two. This is a process which must be undertaken only when a great deal of evidence is available, and sometimes it is not even necessary, although it is important to keep your archives intellectually honest, by labeling your products like honest merchants with their true names. We should identify the sources which we have used, describe the circumstances under which the documents or depositions were procured, and identify all pertinent data, so that when syntheses are later to be made — that is, when significant local histories are to be written — evaluations can be accomplished which are humane, sober, and intellectually honest.

If we believe that man is an entity composed of a body and a soul, then by analogy we might conceive of a community as a group of men possessing a myth. It is the job of the local historian to draw this common myth out of the community's past. To do so he should use all the resources available to him. One of these is the mass of myth that the folk have already created for themselves — in their stories, songs, and sayings; in their arts and crafts; and in their rituals and ceremonies — in their folklore where they express their common heritage and common hope, not necessarily as they actually are, but as the folk want them to be. This, too, is local history.

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