From the Editor Archive

Take Me Out to the Interpretive Program

Legacy-21-2by Paul Caputo

When the Philadelphia Phillies won the World Series in 2008, I felt like I had accomplished the feat myself. After a lifetime of rooting for a team that had experienced what can politely be described as minimal success, I surprised even myself with the intensity of my reaction to their claiming the ultimate prize. Watching the last few outs in my living room in Colorado, I cringed, sweated, and ultimately cheered along with close to 50,000 fans in Citizens Bank Park in Philadelphia, 1,800 miles away. Here was my favorite team in my favorite sport—a team that had heretofore won the World Series only once in its 125-year history—accomplishing something I never thought I would see in my adult life.

My wife, who is completely baffled by my affinity for team sports, stopped asking long ago why I allow myself to be affected so deeply by millionaire strangers playing a game in their pajamas. This is a good thing, because there’s no rational way to explain it. But when the final out was recorded, I thought of my father, who raised us on baseball in what is largely a football town; my sister, a lifelong fan; and my brother, who was actually in the stands when it happened. I thought of my friends in what I still think of as “back home”—as well as countless strangers in the stadium or elsewhere in the greater Philadelphia area—hugging, high-fiving, and crying tears of joy.

I thought, too, of the place itself. Citizens Bank Park debuted in 2004 and has been home to relatively good teams since its inception—unlike now-defunct Veterans Stadium, where I suffered through countless losses throughout my youth and young adulthood. As with most new ballparks, it’s a beautiful place in terms of aesthetics and architecture, whether you care about the game or not. But if you’re a fan, stadiums are like cathedrals, and standing in their shadows evokes memories of deeply emotional experiences shared with thousands of like-minded individuals.

In August 2008, just two months before the Phillies won the World Series, I took a guided tour of Citizens Bank Park. Obviously, many of the people who take tours of stadiums already have emotional and intellectual connections to the place, so the guide’s challenge is more to facilitate a meaningful experience than to create those connections.

Of course, much of the thrill of the pregame tour was being on the field while larger-than-life superstars took batting practice, but even empty rooms in the depths of the stadium brought a thrill. At each stop on the tour, our guide gave us minimal information and let us simply soak it in.

Two months later, when fireworks popped and the players celebrated their championship on the field, I watched on TV, remembering what the stadium looked like when I saw it from home plate during that tour. Whenever players and managers take questions during interviews in the media room, I remember the brief moment I stood behind that podium, trying to imagine flash bulbs popping and reporters shouting questions.

When Harry Kalas, Phillies announcer for literally my entire lifetime, passed away suddenly in 2009, one of my first thoughts was of visiting the broadcast booth where he worked his magic. I’ll forever remember a headset labeled “Harry” and our guide’s simple statement, “Harry Kalas sits here.”

In the field of interpretation, it’s easy to think of traditional natural and cultural resources like parks, museums, and historical sites when we talk about creating emotional and intellectual connections. But sports are a huge part of our heritage, not just in the United States but worldwide.

Many of us have some connection to something related to sports, whether we play or spectate, whether it’s professional, college, amateur, or just an informal game played by children in a neighborhood. This issue of Legacy addresses the interpretation of sports, from a Mesoamerican ballgame with origins more than 3,500 years ago to contemporary youth baseball leagues, from the marshes of a New Jersey-based birdwatching event to the skies over New Mexico interpreted in the Anderson Abruzzo Albuquerque International Balloon Museum. 

NAI Art and Publications director Paul Caputo can be reached at pcaputo@interpnet.com. Send letters to the editor for publication to legacy@interpnet.com.

Note about the cover: Visit www.interpretationbydesign after March 8, 2010, for a discussion on the ethics of the Photoshop techniques used on the cover of this issue.

The NAI Community

Legacy-21-1The front cover of Legacy includes the slogan, “The magazine of the National Association for Interpretation.” It’s sometimes too easy for me, sitting at my desk at our national headquarters in Colorado, to lose myself in the everyday details of deadlines, page layout, and editorial responsibilities. Several times a year, though, when I attend NAI workshops or conferences, I am reminded that this magazine is a reflection of a larger community.

Sure, as a member of NAI’s staff, I spend most of my time at these events performing the mundane tasks associated with running a workshop or conference—hauling boxes, pushing carts, setting up audiovisual equipment, fielding questions, etc. But I get a charge out of attending these events because my days are punctuated by short conversations with NAI members. Sometimes someone I have never met has an idea for a Legacy article and wants to run it by me. Sometimes someone I have known for years wants to talk about what the Phillies should do with the back end of their bullpen. Regardless of the topic, these conversations remind me that the magazine I help put together represents the collective knowledge and experiences of this diverse NAI community.

At the most recent such event, the 2009 NAI National Workshop in Hartford, Connecticut, I had the privelege of announcing the recipients of NAI’s 2008 magazine awards, as determined by volunteer judges from within the NAI community:

  • Outstanding Cover Photo: Kelly Farrell, “How and Why a Regular Person Like Me Attended NAI’s First International Conference,” The Interpreter, Jan./Feb. 2008
  • Outstanding Feature, Legacy: John C.F. Luzader, “What Conflicts We Orators Have,” May/June 2008
  • Outstanding Feature, The Interpreter: Doug Capra, “Seven More Words Interpreters Should Know,” Sep./Oct. 2008
  • Outstanding Column, The Interpreter: Kirk Carter Mona, “A Lifetime of Memories,” Nov./Dec. 2008

This issue of Legacy addresses community-based interpretation. As I have come to expect with each issue, members of NAI’s community found thought-provoking and diverse ways to address the topic. I hope you will consider checking out upcoming themes (online at www.interpnet.com, under “Publications”) and contributing your own knowledge and experiences to this community.

Roller Coasters vs. Brass Doorknockers

legacy-NovDec09by Paul Caputo

As a child, I visited Williamsburg, Virginia, with my family. Prior to the trip, I spent months anticipating a day at an amusement park called Busch Gardens. I was consumed with and petrified by a roller coaster called the Loch Ness Monster, which featured multiple loops and a 114-foot drop. I studied photos of the roller coaster in a Busch Gardens brochure and wondered if I would have the courage to get into one of those metal, yellow cars when the time came to do so. (I would, and it was great.)

My 10-year-old brain had blocked out the fact that Busch Gardens would only be one part of a vacation that included several other sites. So you can imagine my surprise when, on the first day of the trip, I found myself not on the greatest roller coaster ever, but watching a living history interpreter in period costume demonstrate how Colonial-era Americans made brass doorknockers.

Once I stopped comparing the relative adrenaline rushes associated with the Loch Ness Monster and brass doorknockers, I appreciated the immersive historical experience of Colonial Williamsburg. I may not have understood all of the history I was seeing, but I left (in spite of myself) with an appreciation of how different my life was compared to what it might have been 200 years earlier. I learned something about the origins of my country and the people who made it what it was.

What I did not appreciate at the time was all of the discussions that go on behind closed doors at sites like Colonial Williamsburg. I did not think about how easy it would have been for poorly researched or inexpertly presented first-person interpretation to warp a visitor’s sense of what life was like in the Colonial era. It never occurred to me that management might have chosen to use interpreters in contemporary dress to educate visitors in the third person. Once I bought into the experience, I never questioned that what I was seeing was anything but purely authentic or that there was any other way to present it.

At a site like Colonial Williamsburg, I am confident that the living history presentations were then and continue to be of the highest quality. However, whether it is because of poor planning or a lack of resources, that may not be the case at every site. This issue of Legacy discusses some of the many factors that go into creating and providing effective, genuine historical experiences, and explores the whys and hows of different methods of doing so.

Get Out Now

Legacy-SeptOct09by Paul Caputo

Seven years before Richard Louv’s Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children From Nature-Deficit Disorder made its resounding impact on the field of interpretation (as well as much of the rest of society), another book encouraged all of us to get outside. In fact, John Stilgoe’s book, Outside Lies Magic: Regaining History and Awareness in Everyday Places, begins with the directive, “Get out now.” Stilgoe continues:

…Not just outside, but beyond the trap of the programmed electronic age so gently closing around so many people at the end of our century. Go outside, move deliberately, then relax, slow down, look around. Do not jog. Do not run. Forget about blood pressure and arthritis, cardiovascular rejuvenation and weight reduction. Instead pay attention to everything that abuts the rural road, the city street, the suburban boulevard. Walk. Stroll. Saunter. Ride a bike, and coast along a lot. Explore.

To be sure, Outside Lies Magic and Last Child in the Woods are different books, written with different purposes in mind. John Stilgoe focuses not only on the natural world, but overlooked details of the man-made environment. (There’s an entire chapter on interstate highways.) Richard Louv addresses the importance specifically of getting children into nature—for their own well-being and to nurture future stewards of the environment. Both books, though, speak to the importance and benefits of unstructured exploration of the environment.

When I get home from work in the evening, I am always thrilled to find my neighborhood teeming with kids (two of them my own) riding bikes, playing baseball, and, in the case of my two-year-old daughter, picking up “roly-polies” to watch them curl up in a ball. Parents watch, chat with one another, and play with the kids. My suburban neighborhood is not a remote wilderness by any stretch of the imagination, but I feel that John Stilgoe and Richard Louv would both approve.

This issue of Legacy focuses on interpretation’s response to the challenge to parents and educators highlighted in Last Child in the Woods—to create opportunities for children to get outdoors. A host of feature articles and commentaries address the roles and responsibilities of interpretive sites, interpreters, and parents in cultivating a love of the outdoors.

Paul Caputo is the art and publications director for the National Association for Interpretation.

In These Tough Economic Times…

by Paul Caputo

Legacy-JulyAug09-CoverIn these tough economic times, it seems that everything you read begins with the phrase, “In these tough economic times.” Understandably, we have become consumed by the financial crisis that has dominated headlines, wreaked havoc on the job market, and devastated the global economy. It seems that everything we do is defined in terms of “surviving” the economic downturn—a term that can be taken literally, as interpretive organizations, sites, and programs, not to mention the livelihoods of those who oversee them, are endangered.

Of course, adjusting to the crisis means finding ways to deal with it. One of the things that strikes me whenever I am around NAI members is a sense of community, an innate camaraderie even between folks who have never met each other. (I was warned when I first started with NAI in 2002 that this was “a very huggy group.”) Whether it’s a regional training event, the NAI National Workshop, or the NAI International Conference, there is a kinship among members of this association that I have not felt in other professional groups. In a post on NAI’s blog (www.interpnet.com/naiblog), Amy Lethbridge wrote this about the recent NAI International Conference in Greece:

While I learned a great deal from every session, I must admit that, for me, the magic was in the individuals. Strip away the PowerPoint, the agency and title, and the citations, and what you had was an amazing group of passionate warriors for the earth and our heritage.

So in these tough economic times, I am struck once again by the way interpreters band together and lean on one another. This professional network becomes more than just a vehicle for sharing ideas and information. I witness NAI members at events—or even on e-mail and Facebook—sharing job leads, offering support, or simply lending a compassionate ear. I can honestly say that I have never experienced anything like that as a member of the American Institute of Graphic Arts (AIGA) or the National Association of Photoshop Professionals (NAPP).

This magazine offers another, more traditional venue for NAI members to offer support to one another. Within these pages you will find some unique and interesting thoughts about how to save money or generate funds for your interpretive program or site. And as always, you have the chance to participate in the discussion, to offer your own helping hand by commenting on these articles online at www.onlinelegacy.org.

Paul Caputo is the art and publications director for the National Association for Interpretation.

Legacy: What’s Different

by Paul Caputo

legacy-mayjune2009This issue marks the completion of a transition that Legacy started at the beginning of the year. Some differences you will see immediately (the typeface used on the magazine’s flag and headlines is different) while others you will discover over time as you read the magazine. However, the magazine continues to contain feature articles that relate to a specific theme (this time, it’s interpretation’s role in for-profit tourism) as well as articles of benefit to the professional interpreter that do not necessarily relate to that theme.

One significant difference with this issue is that thematic feature articles, which were until recently written by freelance journalists and other professional writers, are now written by your peers—interpretive professionals writing about interpretation. Themes through late 2010 are posted online, so I encourage all of our readers to visit Legacy’s page on NAI’s website, www.interpnet.com. (Click on “Publications,” then “Legacy Magazine.”) If you have a story that you’d like to share as it relates to an upcoming theme, please e-mail me your idea.

Columns that do not relate to the theme are listed under “Departments” on the contents page and include such topics as frontline interpretation, inspiration, media, planning and design, technology, and training, among others. Readers will recognize some familiar faces in this and future issues. The regular columnists you’ve come to know over the years, like Alan Leftridge, Kris Whipple, Kirk Mona, and Jon Hooper, to name a few, will continue to appear in the departments. And you’ll see new faces in this and future issues. Again, if you have a topic that fits one of Legacy’s departments or would like to propose a new department, please e-mail me.

It’s a different magazine now than it was a year ago, so it looks different, too. Those who are interested in this sort of thing will notice small design changes throughout the magazine and a significant change in the cover design. (Those who are really interested in this sort of thing should visit NAI’s newest website, www.InterpretationByDesign.com, for more on the changes.)

Most importantly, Legacy continues to strive to meet the needs of NAI members. The first goal of the magazine is to be a useful resource for interpreters, to advance the field of interpretation by sharing ideas and discussing important issues in the field. (You can share your own ideas and discuss issues on Legacy’s online companion, www.onlinelegacy.org. Every article you read in this issue will appear online over the course of the next two months, and you don’t need a username or password to comment.)

NAI’s strength is in its diverse and unique membership, and I hope you will consider the value of making your voice heard, either in this magazine or online.

What Public History Is

by Paul Caputo

legacy-marapr09When Legacy first announced the theme for this issue, we heard some variation of the following question on more than one occasion: “What do you mean by public history?”

The difference between history and public history is rooted in context. Public historians do their work outside the classroom. The website Suite101 defines the field this way: “Public Historians, as opposed to academic historians, work with and for the general public. They work in archives, museums, public policy organizations, historical societies, and in media.” The website for New York University’s department of history defines public historians as those who “present and interpret history in a wide variety of dynamic venues, ranging from history museums to digital libraries.”

Public history helps us remember who we are as a society. When throngs gathered to witness the historic moment of Barack Obama’s inauguration in Washington, D.C., they did so in the chilly shadows of the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument, components of the National Mall and Memorial Parks. Even while history was being made and the nation looked to the future, we were reminded of our past. The looming Washington Monument that we saw in all of those panoramic crowd shots on TV commemorates the nation’s first president. The Lincoln Memorial, which played host to the inauguration, not only honors our 16th president, it was also the site of Martin Luther King Jr.’s famous “I Have a Dream” speech. Having just elected its first African-American president, the nation was reminded of a time not too long ago when such a thing seemed unimaginable.

The inauguration itself took place on the steps of the U.S. Capitol, which was built in the late 1700s, partially burned by the British during the War of 1812, reconstructed between 1815 and 1819, and expanded (largely by slaves) in the 1850s. Even when it was new, the Capitol hearkened back to a shared heritage, borrowing architectural elements from famous European buildings. The building is made simply of brick, stone, and iron, but its history tells the story of who we are.

The cliche goes that those who don’t understand history are doomed to repeat it. Even in a relatively young nation, there are buildings and stories that make us who we are everywhere. You don’t have to be in the capital city or even on a site managed by a land management agency to find a place that helps us understand how our culture was forged. Sometimes it’s not even a physical place, but rather a person dressed or speaking a certain way. What ultimately matters is the stories about the place—not just the facts, but perspectives about why things happened a certain way and who the people were who made those things happen.

This is why interpretive sites that present history from multiple perspectives are so important. This is one of the reasons why interpretation itself is so important. Interpreters have the power to make sure that history is not just told by the victors, but by all people. (According to William C. Davis, author of Lone Star Rising: The Revolutionary Birth of the Texas Republic, one of the infringements inflicted upon Texans by the Mexican government was that it abolished slavery. Is that story told when we “remember the Alamo?”) The ever-growing field of public history ensures that history itself belongs to the public.

That’s what public history is.

Interpreting Rivers

by Paul Caputo

legacy-janfeb09This issue of Legacy focuses on the interpretation of rivers. At first glance, you might imagine that, because rivers are a natural feature, this issue would focus on natural heritage. But the opposite is the case. As authors proposed articles for this issue, it became abundantly clear that when we think of rivers, we don’t just think of the veins of rushing (or sometimes trickling) water that dissect our maps. We think of the people who lived along the shores, depending on rivers for sustenance, transportation, or whatever else affected their lives or livelihoods.

As Mark Carr of AEP River Operations points out in the profile, even most landlocked cities came into existence because there was access to clean water. Rivers are the lifeblood of the nation, and thus are home not only to unique and interesting natural habitats, but also to much of our cultural heritage.

Feature articles in this issue about America’s “Great River,” the Mississippi, and eastern Arkansas’s St. Francis River detail histories that weave through time the way the rivers themselves carve indelible, unpredictable marks on the landscape. These stories, “Navigating the Timeless Waters of the Upper Mississippi” by Julie Cutler on (posted February 2, 2009) and “A Meandering Memoir: A River’s Impact on Shaping the Arkansas Delta” by Mary Anne Parker, Debbie Van Winkle, and Shea Lewis (posted January 7, 2009), tell of a balancing act between man and nature that becomes, at times, more of a shoving match. Even a Visitor’s View about DeSoto National Wildlife Refuge in Iowa (posted February 16, 2009) tells not of the power and beauty of the Missouri River, but the unhappy fate of the steamboat Bertrand, which succumbed to one of a million dark obstacles and sank in 1865.

As always, I welcome your feedback.

Paul Caputo is the art and publications director for the National Association for Interpretation.

The Medium is the Message

by Paul Caputo

legacy-novdec08When I first became involved with NAI back in 2002, I was struck by how fully the definition of interpretation could be applied to my chosen field of visual communications. The description of a “communication process that forges emotional and intellectual connections” can certainly be applied to graphic design in its many manifestations (print, web, multimedia, etc.). NAI defines interpretation as a mission-based communication process that forges emotional and intellectual connections between the interests of the audience and the meanings inherent in the resource.

When someone makes the mistake of asking me a question about graphic design, I compare the process to developing an interpretive program. I talk about starting with an overriding concept (or theme) and making sure that every subsequent decision supports that larger concept. In graphic design, this means that when one makes decisions about type, color, composition, format, and materials, there’s no room for computer defaults or “I just thought it looked nice.” Every decision must be meaningful.

In interpretation, individual interpreters develop programs based on themes. Decisions about what and how much information to include, what activities may be appropriate, and how the program is presented all relate to this larger message. Good interpretive sites or agencies also operate with a specific goal—a mission—in mind. Every decision about what sorts of interpretive media or programs should be featured, who should conduct and oversee those programs and exhibits, and what sort of facilities should play host to visitors should all relate to the site’s or agency’s mission.

This is where the tangential field of architecture comes into play in the world of interpretation. A visitor who steps into a nature center that is designed to reinforce the importance of conservation is well on her way to a meaningful experience before she encounters a single exhibit, brochure, or interpreter. A carefully planned and designed sustainable facility accomplishes the important task of reducing or eliminating environmental damage, but it also is part of a message. It is a source of meaning.

This issue of Legacy includes three feature stories that introduce readers to outstanding natural and cultural interpretive facilities that practice what they preach. Jay T. Schneider’s “The Land Ethic in the 21st Century” tells the story of the first building recognized by Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design (LEED) as carbon-neutral in operation—the Aldo Leopold Legacy Center in Baraboo, Wisconsin. The site honors the memory of Aldo Leopold and his ground-breaking work, A Sand County Almanac, not just by remembering him, but by endorsing and implementing his conservation ethic. “Eielson LEEDS by Example” by Joshua Becker introduces readers to the Eielson Visitor Center in Denali National Park and Preserve. The building is the first designed and funded by the National Park Service to achieve a platinum LEED rating, the highest achievable. In “Rocky Mountain Green” by Katherine McIntyre, readers will discover the Squamish Lil’wat Cultural Centre in Whistler, British Columbia. The center, also LEED-certified, does not simply house the treasures of two First Nations cultures, it was designed and conceived of by members of those Nations to reflect their values.

Also in this issue, you will find an interview with Allen Washatko of the firm The Kubala Washatko Architects, Inc., responsible for the design of the Aldo Leopold Legacy Center. A commentary by Tracey M. Lewis-Giggetts, a college professor, details the next generation’s self-imposed emphasis on sustainability. And finally, the Visitor’s View by Sonya Welter takes readers to Duluth, Minnesota, for a day at the Hartley Nature Center.

In his book Understanding Media, Marshall McLuhan says, “The medium is the message.” One of the graphic design decisions related to this magazine is that it is printed on recycled paper, not just because it’s a better choice for the environment, but because it reinforces NAI’s core value to support healthy environmental practices. The sites featured in this issue have made similar decisions about their “media”; their sustainable facilities are the canvases on which their messages of conservation are painted.

Paul Caputo, art and publications director for the National Association for Interpretation and co-author of Interpretation By Design: Graphic Design Basics for Heritage Interpreters, can be reached at pcaputo@interpnet.com. Send letters to the editor intended for publication to legacy@interpnet.com.

Sustainable Tourism: It’s Not that Simple

by Paul Caputo

legacy-septoct08“Of all the things that confuse human beings, perhaps nothing trips us up so much as what it means for something to be simple or complex.”

At first glance, this quote from Jeffrey Kluger’s book Simplexity: Why Simple Things Become Complex (and How Complex Things Can Be Made Simple) seems easily refuted. Advanced calculus: complex. Basic addition and subtraction: simple.  The science of the human digestive system: complex. Is ice cream delicious? Simple.

End of question. I win. Jeffrey Kluger loses.

It is with this approach to the world that I take to the streets on my bicycle every day for my commute to work. Biking to work: good for the environment. Driving to work: bad for the environment. Then I read something that called this frame of mind into question. By biking to work, I burn more calories than I would if I were sitting in a car. Using simple math (ha!) to figure the resources consumed to produce and transport the extra food my body requires for fuel, my environmentally friendly, fat-burning commute suddenly loses some of its luster.

It’s not that biking to work is not environmentally friendly; it’s just that it’s not that simple. Before I can consider my commute to work environmentally friendly, I must consider further choices about what type of materials my biking gear and supplies are made of, what the construction of bike trails in Fort Collins does to natural habitats, where my food originates, and surely many other factors that I haven’t yet thought of.

Sustainable tourism, as a concept, seems that it should be relatively simple: If you’re going to travel, patronize businesses and sites with a strong environmental ethic and don’t step on the endangered species. However, as you may have already guessed, it’s not that simple.

Sustainable tourism addresses the “triple bottom line” of environmental, social, and economic factors. A tourism destination that is truly sustainable does not simply minimize its carbon footprint and promote conservation; it preserves culture, unites communities, and provides financial benefits to those who live and work at or near a site. Consumers must consider whether the detriment to one of these bottom lines (for instance, the fuel used to travel to a site has a negative impact on the environment) outweighs the positive impact on another bottom line (the financial benefit to a community that hosts an interpretive site).

Further complicating the issue, even the terminology associated with sustainable tourism can be confusing. Green tourism, responsible tourism, contrarian travel, ecotourism, place-based tourism, and heritage tourism are just a few of the terms associated with this field. Because of a lack of consensus on specific definitions, these terms are used either interchangeably or as subsets of one another.

Then, as if this is not enough to consider, there’s “greenwashing,” a term coined in the mid-1980s by environmentalist Jay Westerveld, who was frustrated with hotels that promoted green practices but did not implement them. The term has come to encompass all organizations that use “green” buzz words to appeal to an increasingly environmentally aware public, but who do not actually implement environmentally friendly practices.

So, not only do consumers need to consider the environmental, social, and financial impacts of whatever type of socially responsible tourism they think they’re participating in, they need to investigate whether what they’re being told about the environmental practices of a particular site or business is actually true.

This issue of Legacy addresses a variety of perspectives, including the traveler wishing to engage in sustainable tourism, the tour operator that seeks to conserve the environment in which it operates, and the communities that welcome and rely upon tourists.

Like any socially responsible cause, sustainable tourism takes commitment from a variety of people and institutions, whether it’s the visitor making the determination to travel responsibly, the site or business promoting itself honestly and implementing appropriate practices, and even government agencies and leaders committing to serving their communities and protecting their natural and cultural habitat.

It’s simple, really. Or maybe it isn’t.

Paul Caputo can be reached at pcaputo@interpnet.com. Send letters to the editor intended for publication to legacy@interpnet.com.