If, perchance, you walk past my desk one day, you might wonder: Does she work here? Not much sign of labor. Just a woman stretched out in a chair, staring at a computer screen.

Dr. Barbara Handy-Marchello works very hard at writing for North Dakota Studies. Rockeman photo.

I must say my work does not raise a sweat on my brow or pound callouses onto my fingers. If I go home with a bruised thumb, it could be because I shut a drawer on my thumb, not because a hammer fell on it.

Nevertheless, I work.* Much of my work depends on thinking, leaving little in the way of a visible trail until some sort of product is finished. Writing curriculum is different from any other educational work I have ever done. There are no tests or papers to grade, no lectures to write, no lessons to develop, no students lined up at the door. Just a blank computer screen. It may be days before any sort of work product appears.

Starting with an idea about a project or a publication, I think about it, maybe read what someone else has written, and think some more. My fundamental question is always: “How do we make this idea (or subject or event) make sense and become meaningful to North Dakota’s young students?” 

On the other hand, I might start out to tackle a project with no idea at all. Take, for instance, articles in the North Dakota Studies newsletter. There is no formula or master plan to determine the next topic. I look for areas that we have not covered thoroughly in other publications. Or, I think about what might be a topic of current interest. In the next two years, the nation will be marking the 100^th anniversary of World War I. I expect to publish at least two articles about the role North Dakotans played in that war in North Dakota Studies newsletter. It will take a great deal of thinking to figure out how to write a historically accurate, student-friendly, and remarkably brief article on that big topic.

Another project on the horizon is the re-writing of Early Peoples of North Dakota by C. L. Dill. The thinking questions ahead of me involve how to make archaeology interesting and relevant to students and the general public. And how do I, trained in history, interpret archaeological evidence in a way that does no harm to either profession? That project will take a great deal of staring off into space, stretching back into my chair, and, the hardest work of all, making it look like work.

*Of course, I don’t work entirely alone. I get a lot of help from the Coordinator of North Dakota Studies, Neil Howe, and our techie-geekie, enormously talented new media specialist, Jess Rockeman. In addition, there are dozens of very knowledgeable people in every division who support the work of North Dakota Studies.

Not everyone warmly embraces the study of history. Some people say they are not interested in history at all. Others see history as something that is nice, in theory, but not necessarily significant to their daily lives. Some of us are interested in books and movies about historical topics, or our own family history, but reject the boring, fact-memorization we remember from school. We often don’t take time to think about the stories behind the objects we carry with us. We forget how technology has changed the scale of our world. This is something I like to call “historical blindness.” We have become desensitized to the unique history inherently connected to each person, item, and idea that populates our daily lives. So how do the staff at the State Historical Society of North Dakota (SHSND) work together to change this perception, help people regain their vision, and help everyone see that history is, in fact, essential?

The field of science is miles ahead of historians on this issue. The careers of Neil DeGrasse Tyson and Bill Nye (the Science Guy) reflect the success that scientists have had in promoting an appreciation and respect for scientific understanding to a broad audience. Rather than simply providing “edutainment” for the masses, these professional scientists have legitimate academic backgrounds and are also stellar communicators. Science Communicators provide science-related outreach to non-experts and present topics in a fun and easy-to-understand format. They are storytellers, actors, marketers, and journalists. They are the link connecting the average layperson to the academic ivory tower. Science Communicators are equally at home demonstrating an experiment to kids or testifying in front of Congress. They rock, and the public loves them.

Historians need to embrace the concepts that Science Communicators have been demonstrating. The time has come to follow the advice of public historian Jason Steinhauer and embrace the title of History Communicator.[1] We already have public historians who generally work outside of the traditional college classroom. They are museum curators, archivists, educators, and all the people who work at the SHSND. Most of us already communicate with the general public on a regular basis. Steinhauer, who works for the Library of Congress, also supports the History Relevance Campaign. This loose network of history professionals have identified seven essential values of history as outlined in a values statement.[2] The values include establishing an identity through history; learning to apply critical thinking skills; creating strong communities; spurring economic development; engaging citizens; inspiring leaders; and establishing a legacy for the future.

Public historians are poised to become the History Communicators of the future. We are story tellers. We are museum whisperers. We are rock stars. The staff working at the SHSND—the History Communicators—in hand with the History Relevance Campaign, will help the general public finally understand that history is, in fact, essential.