Scales of Utopia

Today concludes my mom's and my trip through utopias with a quick tour through American Revolutionary history before heading to the airport (and what has become a very, very long adventure). Beyond our expectations, our final touring escapade in Philadelphia was surprisingly befitting to our journey. I had never thought about the foundation of the United States in such terms, but after focusing so closely on idealistic landscapes/societies for the past several weeks, I couldn't help but think about the aspirations of the Revolutionaries as being anything but similar. In that little room of Independence Hall, there were hopes for a better life not unlike Cabet or Owen or Rapp or even Mother Ann Lee...more humane, more inspired, a society closer to what might be considered perfect. Although from an economic standpoint, the Utopian Socialists and the early American Revolutionaries remain fundamentally very different, the dream for the perfect community pervaded both and inspired action similarly. Trying not to sound trite or corny, it inspires me as well.

Prize of the Labyrinth

Trying to offer up a little hope for today, Mom and I scouted New Harmony, Indiana, yesterday afternoon after settling into the hotel. Although I had been to New Harmony before, Bethel's promises of a utopia had left a bitter taste, and I thought it best to just "check it out" to be sure that we wouldn't be disappointed again. Yesterday was a lovely afternoon, and the setting sun provided very nice warm tones for pictures. Since we had spent most of the day in the car, the walk around New Harmony was a welcomed stretch. Of course, the museum had closed before we arrived, but the empty village proved perfect for afternoon ambling and picture-taking. More so than my previous visit in my third year of architecture school, Richard Meier's Atheneum appeared a little ridiculous with its aggressively anti-contextual white porcelain panels. Yet, in the setting sun it was oddly stunning sitting atop the well-kept grass knoll, and I could hardly help myself taking a shot from every angle.

On my previous visit, I had not taken the opportunity to explore the town of New Harmony; so, as we wandered I realized that I had missed the best that this former utopia had to offer. Throughout the town were little structures that recalled their precedents in Harmony, PA: simple, rectangular three-story structures either clad in wood siding or exposing their original brick and wood construction. Although not a part of the Harmonists' original village-scape, New Harmony also boasts a quaint Main Street that is not too different from most mid-western, southern Main Streets with local businesses and storefronts. What I found more interesting, however, was the preserved Harmonist structures dispersed among the more modern additions. Quite functionally, the Harmonists had named their streets according to whichever important public building occupied it. For instance, the Granary was on Granary Street, the Tavern was on Tavern Street, and the Brewery would have been on Brewery Street. At the corner of the latter two streets, we came across a relic of another manifestation of New Harmony, the secular New Harmony under the guidance and leadership of English economist/industrialist, Robert Owen.

Owen purchased New Harmony from the Harmonists as they departed for Pennsylvania (what would become Old Economy) to reestablish their eastern trade economy that had flourished in Harmony but had somewhat dwindled in their second home of New Harmony. As a secular communitarian, Owen's society found the existing communal dormitories and kitchens to be quite appropriate, but, as they were a community of intellectuals rather than divinely inspired laborers, they did not experience a stable, sustainable economy like the Harmonists. Not too unexpected, the Owenite community unfortunately failed after only a few short years, letting much of the property fall into disrepair.

While this is entirely understandable as an explanation of their failures, I found the docent's (or "interpreter" as she preferred to call herself) reflections on the situation practically (I mean in logical terms) unacceptable. As we stood in the steamy attic space of a dormitory, she explained a little of the Owenites' focus on education and pursuit of a secular utopia. Quite honestly, I was a little perturbed by her "interpretation." In discussing the Owenites' choice to dematerialize the nuclear family, she nearly came to tears as she was obviously condemning this experimental choice to separate children from the family and husbands from wives. She might be surprised to find that this was not an exceptional idea of Owen but actually stemmed from a longer tradition of the French Utopian Socialists of the eighteenth century. As if celibacy was a better idea! Regardless, I would have to say that this "interpreter" was kind and more than generous with her time; therefore, it would be awfully rude of me to continue with this minor point. After everyone had departed the guided tour through the village, she offered to take Mom and me by the Granary to drop in and see the space. This was definitely worth the patience. What an extraordinary room with four-feet thick walls on the lowest level that reduced to merely wood-framing at the upper level. At one time the space had been divided into (I believe she said) four or five levels, but they had been removed since. A treat indeed!

By this time, Mom and I were about to gnaw through our own arms so we took off to find an eatery. We landed in the quaint little Yellow Tavern along Tavern Street and had a nice time (bread pudding included!) in the dank and dusky room. After spending the rest of the afternoon anticipating an enormous thunderstorm while strolling around catching other sights not included in the guided tour (Philip Johnson's Roofless Church, the original Harmonists' log cabins and sheds, and a public garden dedicated to one of Owen's descendants) we headed for the iconic Harmonist Labyrinth that lay just outside of town. I had never been in a labyrinth, but it reminded me of driving in Ohio...no road signs and a bunch of green. More seriously, though, after walking through it for only a brief time, I can better understand how it served the purpose of a meditative space. The hedges are tall enough to feel privacy and separation but low enough that you are not separated entirely from the rest of world in the sublimity of an enormous hedge-wall. What a nice analogy for the Harmonists as well as other separatist utopianists.

A typical Harmonist structure with the entrance on the side rather than the street to prevent dust from the street entering the house

Contemporary architect, Richard Meier's, Atheneum (a place of learning and education, quite appropriate in relation to both societies that occupied this "utopia" along the Wabash River)

The residence of Robert Owen on the corner of Tavern and Brewery, after moving a group of scholars and intellectuals to this former Harmonist utopia

The granary which was a common storage house used by the Harmonists. The "interpreter" did not believe that the Owenites used the Granary for such a purpose.

The Yellow Tavern

A typical log structure built by the Harmonists upon arriving to this new "utopia" along the Wabash after leaving Harmony, PA

A barn that was typically attached to the log structure and housed livestock

Philip Johnson's Roofless Church

Mom's little head wandering through the labyrinth

HoSPITable?

When one reads, "The Colony offers the public an opportunity to step back into a time when colonists lived by the golden rule and shared their crops, clothing, crafts and even their earnings. Spend a day with us: exploring an 1800s colony with a mapped walking tour, visiting shops and museums, enjoying homemade meals at the Fest Hall, taking part in festivals and parades, reliving a way of life when no doors were locked and yours was also your neighbors" it seems reasonable to expect at least a half day's worth of interest, right? Well, at least now I understand better why Bethel, Missouri's website posts very selective views of their historical buildings...wouldn't want to give away all the little town's secrets before you make the long journey to the middle of nowhere only to experience what might best equate a snake in the mailbox. Perhaps that is a bit of an exaggeration, but I do not exaggerate the unexpected spit and bite that we found in Bethel.

Certainly, we were a little surprised to find the "tourist office" (e.g. the General Store) as well as streets of Bethel seemingly vacant, but the cold stare welcome that we received upon entering the Fest Hall was almost as hard to swallow as the clouds of cigarette smoke that hung and seemed to have been hanging in this community eatery since ol' Wilhelm Keil, pipe in mouth, had founded the town in 1844. This was not the first strange restaurant-entering encounter Mom and I had had on our trip so far. In fact, just yesterday at the little restaurant in Bishop Hill, we stared down the hostess before Mom caved in with a feeble, "Two, please?" And, let's not forget the timidity of the Marshalltown-ites...but this was, without question, far from timidity. It was out-right annoyance that we could read on the only three visible Bethel-ite faces.

According to the tourist information that Bethel provides both on their website as well as the distributed brochures, 117 people live the community of Bethel, but entering Bethel on this Sunday morning did not exactly conjure the days of a "successful communal colony" nor did it exactly exude the liveliness of a tourist destination; rather, in it's emptiness I more expected to see Clint Eastwood or at least a tumbleweed amble down the street accompanied by Morricone's eerie theme. On this quiet morning, it seemed that 114 of these Bethel-ites were tucked away in the church just down the street leaving the pleasant proprietors of the Fest Hall to serve as the town's tourist-welcoming committee. This time, "Two, please?" did not suffice to jump start any sort of hospitality, so Mom and I assumed two seats at a table anticipating that this might direct our intentions of actually eating there. I suppose that we were successful in this regard, but we were not so fortunate with our requests. Apparently 10:15 is fifteen minutes too late to order from the breakfast menu and forty-five minutes too early for the lunch buffet (complete with macaroni and cheese...). How could we not know this? It's not as if all the tourist information had lead us to believe the possibility of finding a "homemade meal" in Bethel. (Direct quote from website: "Fest Hall Restaurant -- open seven days a week from 6:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m., the Fest Hall Restaurant serves some of the best home style food in northern Missouri. Simple, good quality fare, generous portions and reasonable family prices make it a meal worth the trip to Bethel.") After waiting fifteen minutes for a coffee, Mom and I decided that the glass of straws must have spilled on their second draw for who would help us, and we laid a couple of dollars on the table on our way out the door. Since the General Store/Tourist Office was either closed for the day or forever, we had no hope of retrieving the promised audio walking tour of the little place. Instead, we gave ourselves a nice little self-guided tour finding at least the most amusing aspects of the town. Perhaps they do have a sense of humor here?

Architecturally, it was evident that this had once been the site of a nineteenth-century communal colony. The simple brick structures recalled several of the communal dwelling examples that we had already seen in Amana and the Harmonists villages, but the short-life of this commune testifies that the Keilites may not have possessed the determined industrious spirit of their northern communal neighbors. If they were anything like their descendants, their only determination was to run people out of the town...or at least to just make them incredibly uncomfortable.

We left Bethel before noon and decided to trek towards Indiana, a different state and hopefully different kind of folk.