Within the State Historical Society of North Dakota collections, we have lots of fragments. The archaeologists have fragments of stone that come from the manufacturing of tools. These flakes help them understand how the tools were made and used on the site where they were found Paleontologists have fragments of bones that help them better understand prehistoric life and the environment the animals lived in. But are fragments of buildings, ships, or other historic artifacts the best way to understand the times and the people who used or built them? Yes and no.

In the museum collections, we have rust scales, a splinter of wood, and a metal plaque that have a connected history.

How are these objects connected?

Let’s take a closer look at these fragments of history to see what they can tell us about a time in our past. The rust scales are believed to be from the mast of the battleship USS Maine, the splinter of wood is said to be from the Spanish cruiser Reina Cristina, and the plaque is a memorial made of metal from the hull of the USS Maine.

To understand the connection these three pieces have, we will have to go back to the late 1890s when the United States was not the global power it is today. There were no new lands our country could claim, and we were looking to acquire more territory. The only option was to get the lands from a global power, one way or another. At that time, Cuba was controlled by the militarily weak Spain. Under the guise of helping the Cuban people revolt against the Spanish, the United States sailed the USS Maine into Havana Harbor in January 1898. On Feb. 15, there was an explosion that ripped a hole through the hull of the Maine, sinking the ship and killing 260 sailors. Of course, the Spanish were assumed to be responsible despite the lack of evidence. President McKinley tried to reach a compromise with the Spanish government, but publishers like William Randolph Hearst and Joseph Pulitzer whipped up American sentiment against the Spanish with slogans like “Remember the Maine, to Hell with Spain!” By April 21, McKinley succumbed to a variety of pressures from the press, the public, and politicians and signed a joint congressional resolution that authorized him to use force to supposedly help Cuba gain independence. Shortly thereafter war was declared, and we were now fighting the Spanish-American war.

A few years earlier, in 1896, Theodore Roosevelt, then the Assistant Secretary of the Navy, got his friend Commander George Dewey the post of Commander of the Asiatic Squadron. Shortly after the start of the Spanish-American War, Dewey was charged with either capturing or destroying the Spanish Pacific fleet that was near the Spanish-controlled Philippines. Dewey entered Manilla Bay on the night of April 30. The following morning, they began the attack. It took them six hours to defeat the Spanish Pacific Squadron. One of the ships sunk that day was Spanish Admiral Patricio Montojo’s flagship, the Reina Cristina.

By Aug. 13, 1898, Spain surrendered, and Cuba was a protectorate of the United States, which now also had control of Guam and Puerto Rico. By 1902, the U.S. also had control over the Philippine Islands after fighting and defeating the Filipino people. Our country had become a global power with territories in the Caribbean and in the Pacific.

In 1912 the United States raised the USS Maine, which was partially submerged in Havana Harbor. The mast was relocated to Arlington National Cemetery as a memorial to the USS Maine. Lt. C.L. Hansen, U.S. Navy, was a cadet at Annapolis and obtained these rust scales from the mast. He sent them to his father, Mr. C.L. Hansen of Bismarck, who presented them to the State Historical Society in 1921.

Rust scales from the mast of the USS Maine. SHSND 2075

Pieces of the hull of the USS Maine were salvaged and recast into over 1,000 memorial plaques in 1913. Each plaque is numbered; ours is 351. According to our files, it was given to a relative of a man who died aboard the Maine. We don’t know the name of the sailor or the relative who received the plaque. It went through many hands—some unnamed, others named—before coming to Sister Quintin at the St. Joseph School in Mandan, who donated it to the State Historical Society in 1945.

Memorial plaque made from metal salvaged from the USS Maine. SHSND 10116

As mentioned, the Spanish Admiral Montojo’s flagship, the Reina Cristina, was sunk in Manilla Bay by Dewey’s forces. Unfortunately, we don’t know who or under what circumstances the splinter of wood was collected, but in that kind of a battle, we must wonder how they knew that this piece of wood was even from the Reina Cristina. It reminds me of the multitude of pieces of the true cross that are in churches throughout the world.

Splinter of wood from the Spanish ship Reina Cristina. SHSND 4434

Even knowing the history behind these “fragments of history,” one must wonder if it is the meaning that we imbibe into the artifact that is more important than the object itself.

These seemingly inconsequential “fragments of history” are related to an interesting time in our history. But are they meaningful artifacts on their own? The rust scales and splinter of wood came into our collection when most people still did remember the Maine, and it was a much different time in our collecting strategy. With the uncertain provenance of the wood and the fragmentary nature of the rust scales, it is unlikely that we would accept either if they were offered to us today. While we don’t have a full history of who was the original recipient of the plaque, it tells a complete story by itself, and we would probably accept it now if it were offered. While searches for records of which serial number went where have proven to be in vain, we can only hope that one day we will find that elusive piece of the puzzle. So yes, fragments of historic objects can help us understand the times and people who used and built them by showing us what others thought were important artifacts of history. I have to think: What items have we collected in the past 20 years that will cause people a hundred years in the future to scratch their heads and wonder why we accepted them into the collection?

The common perception of the fur trade frontier from the 18th century to the mid-19th century may be one of a vast and harsh wilderness, where traders and indigenous people had to constantly battle the elements. In reality, the people who participated in the fur trade had at their disposal many of the comforts of a growing global trade network. The traders were responsible for exporting the furs used to make hats and fine clothing to the European market as well as importing luxuries from foreign markets to the prairie to exchange for those furs. Indigenous people participated in this economy by demanding and purchasing goods of the highest quality in exchange for the furs they acquired. Some of these items are on exhibit at the Pembina State Museum. There are original pipes, metal utensils and dishes, as well as shards of original stoneware and china on display. These items tell a tale of globe-spanning importance.

This 15-inch, long-stemmed clay pipe at Pembina State Museum is an example of a type of pipe popular from the late 17th century to the late 19th century. SHSND 85.36.18

One of the most popular luxuries was tobacco. Traded by both French voyageurs and the British Hudson’s Bay Company, tobacco was a highly demanded consumable commodity. An especially prized variety was Brazilian tobacco, which the Hudson’s Bay Co. imported from Portugal. Because of the Navigation Acts, which required all trade to be routed through London, the cost of foreign tobacco was high, as much as three times the cost of British tobacco. The Hudson’s Bay Co. sought to reduce the cost of shipping tobacco to Rupert’s Land, which encompassed all the land that drained into Hudson’s Bay, including Pembina and the Red River Valley. They accomplished this by importing tobacco from Virginia, then an English colony. However, they quickly discovered that their Native customers had developed a taste for Brazilian tobacco while trading with the French and would not buy their inferior product. To keep their customers happy, the Hudson’s Bay Co. switched back to importing the Brazilian variety at a premium price and even purchased tobacco from French and Dutch merchants in Europe when no other supply could be found.

Along with the tobacco, pipes, like the one in the museum gallery pictured above, were a common trade good. These clay pipes were manufactured in England and shipped in mass quantities to North America, not just to Rupert’s Land but to the Thirteen Colonies as well. These pipes were considered disposable, with the stem broken off after each use until only a stub remained. Both long and short-stemmed pipes were common. In Europe long-stemmed pipes were used by the upper class while workers preferred short-stemmed pipes which were easier to grip between their teeth, leaving their hands available for work. In Rupert’s Land the long-stemmed pipe was more common and used recreationally. By the mid-19th century, pipe stems could range from 18-to-24 inches long.

Tobacco was shipped in many forms. Tobacco carrots, the pieces wrapped in cloth and twine, were preferred for their ease of packing and the protection they provided against the elements on long canoe voyages. These examples pictured above are reproductions that visitors may interact with when they visit the Pembina State Museum.

Ceramics were another luxury imported by the Hudson’s Bay Co. in large quantities. At first these products were meant to be used by company employees at the trading posts and were not for exchange. But as the Métis, indigenous people descended from European fur traders and their Native wives, and other independent traders established themselves, the demand for these products increased. Primarily of English origin, by the 19th century, ceramics were popular with a rising middle class seeking ways to display its wealth to others. To satisfy demand, the Hudson’s Bay Co. would import as many as 3,600 pieces of pottery in a year from a single supplier in England. According to its shipping manifests, the most popular color was Royal Saxon blue. The patterns printed in this color were inspired by the oriental patterns of the fine china Europeans had imported since the late 15th century. European potters would subsequently incorporate other colors and patterns inspired by Italian Renaissance paintings and English flora.

Ceramics and other fine pottery were a key luxury imported by the Hudson’s Bay Company. These replicas are part of the new “Red River Rendezvous” interpretive program which explores the process of exchange and material culture of the fur trade era, circa 1800.

In addition to fine pottery, trading companies also imported glass, stoneware, and metal dishes of pewter and tin. Other luxuries imported by the Hudson’s Bay Co. included ivory in the form of combs, alcohol, and sugar. Brandy was the preferred beverage of choice during the 18th century. The Hudson’s Bay Co. also imported rum from the Caribbean. They imported molasses from the Caribbean to make rum locally in Rupert’s Land as well, though rum was never as profitable as brandy. Sugar was not usually traded for furs but rather imported by the company from the Caribbean to keep its employees happy in their frontier posts.

These broken bits on display in the Pembina State Museum were once valuable global commodities. The blue pieces are examples of the Royal Saxon blue color that was popular with Hudson’s Bay Company employees. Also shown here are remnants of pipe stems, glass beads and bottles, buttons, and metal utensils. SHSND 90.288.1-90.288.92

Today what remains of the network of trade that linked many different people together in the 18th and 19th centuries are broken pieces of items discarded long ago. These pieces, found at trading sites like Fort Pembina built by the confluence of the Red and Pembina rivers in 1801 or at the Gingras or Kittson trading posts constructed near St. Joseph’s (modern Walhalla) in the 1840s, represent what their owners likely would have considered to be garbage. Still, an interpreter can use these items to shed light on the nature of a globally linked economy and how local people participated in and influenced that economy. Despite its frontier location, Pembina and the rest of what would become northeast North Dakota represented a key spoke in the wheel of global trade.

October is a time of transition. As the air becomes crisp and harvest concludes the growing season, the last gasps of summer give way to occasional early reminders of the coming winter.

The month is also special for the State Archives because it is American Archives Month. To celebrate, the Archives has provided a variety of content for the State Historical Society of North Dakota’s Facebook page, including a virtual scavenger hunt, our Ask-an-Archivist panel, a Feature Friday, where we highlight the collections our volunteers are working with, and a blog post from fellow Reference Specialist Ashley Thronson.

With Halloween approaching, it is a great time to examine some of the archival holdings related to the holiday and how it’s been celebrated over the years. Photographs are one of the best resources to explore the past, providing a visual example of societal differences then and now. We have several examples illustrating how previous generations experienced Halloween. Note the photo below of a Brownie troop sporting their costumes for a Halloween party in 1947. Their happiness at the occasion is evident, and their costumes are largely homemade.

Brownie troop Halloween party in 1947, Williston. SHSND SA 10958-025A-000-00019

Do you remember the delight of annual Halloween parties in your classroom at school, receiving candy and other treats, often having a day of fun activities, or perhaps a movie or a play, and maybe being permitted to wear your costume to school? Generations of schoolkids enjoyed this pastime. While the costumes have certainly changed, as have the treats, the excitement remains.

Students in costume for a Halloween play. SHSND SA 11225-0008-000-00110

Despite the kids’ somber looks in the above picture, one imagines they had a fun day at school back around 1920. What stands out in this group photo is the three children in the front row dressed as witches. The kids were in costume for a Halloween class play, but it is unknown what play they were performing. In looking at the types of costumes, visions of “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz” come to mind, as the book had been published in 1900, or perhaps the spooky “Legend of Sleepy Hollow.”

Students Richard Vennie, Laurie Bengenheimer, and Jacalyn Wrangham don their Halloween costumes for class in October 1960. SHSND SA 00080-box03-folder26-00012

Likewise, the above 1960 photo from the Bismarck Tribune Photograph Collection shows kids in their classroom dressed up for Halloween. Notice again that the costumes appear homemade. The seated kids appear to be working on art projects as part of the lesson.

The 1966 image below from the William E. “Bill” Shemorry Photograph Collection shows a large class of happy kids posing with their treat bags, either before or after their Halloween party. What is interesting is that the kids are not wearing costumes. This might reflect social norms for dress in school at the time, which may have frowned upon children wearing costumes. It also could be due to the timing of the day Halloween fell on. Whatever the reason, their bright smiles evoke thoughts of children excited to engage in trick-or-treating.

Happy schoolkids pose with their treats in this 1966 Williston classroom photo. SHSND SA 10958-023G-000-00050

Halloween also can bring joy to those suffering in hospitals, as folks attempt to brighten their days by delivering treats when they otherwise are unable to participate in activities. One great example is that of former North Dakota first lady Betsy Dalrymple, who is pictured below bringing candy to a young boy in Sanford Hospital in 2012. The photo is part of her papers, one of two state series in the Archives related to the office of the first lady of North Dakota.

Then-North Dakota first lady Betsy Dalrymple visits children in Sanford Hospital on Halloween 2012. SHSND SA 32404-00694

Halloween is an exciting time, and sometimes the weather here in North Dakota also makes it an interesting evening for the parents and kids scurrying about for candy. Folks may recall warm evenings, or snow and bitter cold heralding a potential long winter on the northern Plains. Reflect upon your past Halloweens and think about what stands out to you. Was it a special time of trick-or-treating with friends or with parents, attending a party, or having a fun day in school?

As we conclude American Archives Month, we hope you have a safe and enjoyable holiday.

As the main person responsible for monitoring the State Historical Society’s social media accounts, I always keep an eye on our likes, shares, comments, tags, and incoming messages. Some days can be overwhelming trying to stay on top of it all. Other days a diamond in the rough emerges and makes it all worthwhile.

I recently came across a true gem after receiving an email notification about a comment on one of our YouTube videos. In this video, Curator of Education Erik Holland uses a miniature tipi to demonstrate how to pitch a three-pole tipi. The video was made as a resource for teachers using the educational “Tipi in a Box” program. After reading a couple comments (see below), it soon became clear that some people are watching the video for instructions on how to create mini tipis for animals. How cool is that!

— I'm so happy you were making a tiny tipi...that's what I'm making for the squirrels!

— im making this for my green iguana this is a good tutorial

I knew my niece would get a kick out of the story about people building mini tipis for animals, so I told her and asked if she would create a picture for my blog. She immediately opened Paint 3D on my laptop and got to work on this masterpiece.

Switching from animals to natural disasters, blizzard posts are a huge hit among our social media followers. Our most popular blizzard post on Facebook, marking the 50th anniversary of the Blizzard of 1966, featured photos and information on the blizzard and has over 15,000 likes, comments, and shares! Although it is our most popular blizzard post to date, any post we make about blizzards gets a lot of attention. I’ve tried posts on other natural disasters like floods and tornados to see if they do as well, but our social media audience has spoken, and blizzards it is!

Here is one of the photos I included in our Blizzard of 1966 Facebook post. Snow buried these two cars in the Baptist Home’s parking lot in Bismarck. SHSND SA 00056-00046

Since I’m on a roll (pun intended … you’ll understand soon), I’ll share one more post that made me smile for many reasons. The North Dakota Heritage Center & State Museum was tagged on Instagram by bathroomsofnote. Reading the username made me laugh and wonder what I was in for. It turned out to be about a visitor’s very positive experience with our bathrooms, as you can tell from the following part of their post:

Some of you may already know this, but I'm a huge #museumnerd so I'm absolutely head over heels for these restroom installations in love with these little vignettes on the history of bathrooms, which add a great pop of color to the neutral-toned tile and stalls, and really made me appreciate the little things about the modern restroom experience. Dug the light fixtures soft glow, happy to see accessibility considerations, and having a changing table in the men's room is always appreciated Lots of hands-free stuff here, too, which is nice. All in all I was really impressed by these bathrooms

I had no idea there was an Instagram account dedicated to bathrooms, but I’m very happy they took the time to recognize ours and share their experience with the world. This is one of those tagged posts you never see coming. Knowing that there might be another one like this right around the corner keeps me energized as I continue to monitor our social media accounts.

Thank you to those who have made my day!

October is American Archives Month, which highlights the work archivists do as well as the collections, stories, and history we share with the public. I thought we’d kick off our celebrations in the State Archives with a discussion of the best (or worst) archival-themed scenes in film and TV. After all, archivists love seeing archives, records, and old books used in our favorite media, but some depictions better represent us and our work than others. I asked staff what their favorite or least favorite archives-related movie or TV show scene was and why, and here are their top answers:

Anne Loos, Audiovisual Archivist
In “Star Wars: Episode II – Attack of the Clones,” Jedi knight Obi-Wan Kenobi visits the Jedi Archives, where the chief librarian, Jocasta Nu, helps him search for information about the planet Kamino. When no record of Kamino can be found, Obi-Wan says to Jocasta, “Impossible. Perhaps the archives are incomplete.” She tersely responds, “If an item does not appear in our records, it does not exist.” The “Star Wars” canon later establishes that Jedi-turned-Sith Count Dooku erased the record about Kamino from the Jedi Archives. As much as I want to believe that the Jedi Archives is infallible, this certainly raises questions about the vulnerability of its records to internal and external tampering. That said, if Obi-Wan had not reacted in a manner that would offend any library/archives professional and instead kindly pointed out that the gravitational pull indicated there was in fact a planet there, then perhaps Jocasta would have continued to work with him to get to the bottom of the missing planetary record.

Larissa Harrison, Government Records Archivist
“The Mummy,” starring Brendan Fraser and Rachel Weisz, came out in 1999 while I was finishing grad school classes in public history. It gave me and my fellow students an inspiring character in the figure of Evelyn Carnahan, a female librarian who is active in the adventure, not simply sequestered in the library. Yes, she is more an Egyptologist and archaeologist than your typical reference librarian. However, she uses her library knowledge to defeat the Mummy and go on more adventures. If Dr. Henry Walton “Indiana” Jones Jr. can spend more time in the field than the classroom, then Evelyn can leave the library and still be proud of where she gained her knowledge. The film also represents one of the few times a librarian is not depicted on the silver screen as a meek and mild woman in need of breaking out of her shell. Evelyn has a goal independent from the men in her life, and she goes after it, making her own decisions on her own terms.

Emily Kubischta, Manuscript Archivist
One of my favorite archives scenes is from the movie “The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring.” Led by torchlight, wizard Gandalf the Grey visits a room filled with ancient scrolls, stacked books, and dusty documents to determine whether he remembers accurately the story of the One Ring of power. Teacup in hand, pipe in mouth, Gandalf reads the millennia-old account of Isildur, High King of Gondor, which tells of the discovery of the ring and notes the text (in the language of Mordor) that appears on the ring when it is submerged in fire. Gandalf uses that information to determine whether Bilbo Baggins’ magic ring truly is the “one ring to rule them all” under Sauron’s evil power. This knowledge drives the fate of everyone in the story as well as the future of Middle Earth.

Although smoking and tea drinking are no longer allowed in archives, I like this depiction of archives and libraries as places to retrieve common knowledge and information that has fallen out of use, providing a final, authoritative answer to a variety of life’s important questions. Although modern archivists store their materials according to professional standards to protect them from dust, cobwebs, light, and other deteriorating environmental factors, the system at Middle Earth’s archives apparently preserved the documents in their care for thousands of years, rendering them usable and useful when needed. Furthermore, a helpful archivist was there to show Gandalf the collection and guide his search, just as our reference staff are available for researchers at the State Archives.

Sarah Walker, Head of Reference Services
I’m sure we all enjoy seeing our profession reach a wider audience through television and movies, but I also think these depictions serve a useful, popular culture link to some of our lesser-known materials, such as microform. While I still consider the scene that allows me to reference microform in “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull” to be one of its very few redeeming features (sorry!), there are a surprising number of other film references to this medium. A favorite of mine is “WarGames,” starring young Matthew Broderick and Ally Sheedy. I watched it for the first time after I had started working at the State Historical Society of North Dakota, and while I found it enjoyable, I have to admit that aside from its anti-war message, the main thing I remember about this ‘80s-tastic movie was that Broderick’s character uses microfilm. Let me just add that I literally cried out in excitement when I realized he was using a microfilm reader like the ones we once had here in the Archives.

Megan Steele, Local Government Records Archivist
In “Desk Set” (1957), Katharine Hepburn plays Bunny Watson, the head reference librarian for the Federal Broadcasting Network in Manhattan. Bunny is an amazing source of knowledge gained largely from her years working in reference. But when Richard Sumner (Spencer Tracy) is called in to install his invention EMERAC (Electromagnetic MEmory and Research Arithmetical Calculator), staff fear this “electric brain” is meant to replace them. This movie is great at covering some of the quirks of working reference, mainly the flood of questions from the serious to the supremely random that staff encounter. For me this movie shows that computers are good assistants, but nothing beats institutional knowledge within the information field.

Joy Pitts, Photo Archivist
The Vatican archives scenes in the movie “Angels & Demons” show viewers an impenetrable fortress of knowledge. But real-life archives (and probably even those of the Vatican) do not have the resources to create a completely hermetically sealed, oxygen-fueled system of rooms to house archival materials. In the movie Robert Langdon (Tom Hanks) searches the Vatican archives for clues to an Illuminati plot to take over the Catholic Church. In one scene, Langdon enters one of the archival rooms with a member of the Swiss Guard, and after a short period of time, an unidentified person shuts off the oxygen to the room. To escape, Langdon must not only knock over a huge shelving unit but also shoot at bulletproof glass. While it would be best practice to keep all materials in an anaerobic environment, only important materials/collections would ever be stored in such a manner. (Due to the slow pace of deterioration by exposure to environmental factors—apart from light, light is very bad—not all materials are important enough to justify the costs associated with the building and upkeep of such a system.) I have seen a hermetically sealed system at the National Archives for the Declaration of Independence and other foundational documents, but these were sealed cases not entire rooms. So please don’t think most archives have a system of these rooms that we hide from the public—that’s just silly.

Daniel Sauerwein, Reference Specialist
There are a couple fun references to the use of archives or research collections in episodes of “The Simpsons.” One of my favorites is the season seven episode “Lisa the Iconoclast,” where Lisa Simpson visits the Springfield Historical Society to do research for a school paper on the town’s founder, only to find a document that reveals his darker side. Her research garners pushback from the town’s residents, but her findings are proved correct. This episode conjures up the issues sometimes faced by archivists and historians when dealing with materials that challenge long-held beliefs and interpretations about a particular location’s past. Another example is from the season six episode “Sideshow Bob Roberts,” when the character Sideshow Bob wins the mayoral election. In the episode, Bart and Lisa investigate Bob’s win and in the process visit the Springfield Hall of Records, where they view the voter rolls for the election and discover fraud. These episodes provide examples of how archival materials may be used to gain knowledge and enact change.

One day in the fall of 2018 when I was the site supervisor of Chateau de Morès State Historic Site, my staff and I hosted a bus tour. It was the off-season, and we were short-staffed. Two of my team were at the Chateau, which left the store manager and myself to cover the Interpretive Center. After we greeted the group and showed them the orientation video, they were free to explore the galleries or visit the gift shop. I was in the primary gallery interacting with several of the participants when one walked up to me and said in a sly voice, "You know, when you get older, your aim gets worse."

At first, I wondered what he was talking about, but then he quickly added, "You may need to have somebody clean up your bathroom." All other staff were occupied with their assigned tasks, which left me to wield a mop and clean the sullied restroom stall. While being a site supervisor can be a dream job for some—I know it was for me when I started–it does come with an unglamorous side.

Site Supervisor Kyle Nelson pulls weeds as he checks on the victory garden at Fort Totten State Historic Site.

State historic site supervisors have a challenging job. Site supervisors are jacks-of-all-trades, and their positions can be broken down into many roles. For their sites they are the chief administrator, the human resources department, head of maintenance, event coordinator, program creator, lead interpreter, store manager, social media coordinator, marketing department, and even custodian. Some sites have large staff who help with these roles, but at other sites you might see the site supervisor get off the mower to collect admission, sell a souvenir, and then lead a tour.

On top of that, people expect you to be an expert and to speak with authority, especially on all topics of history and preservation. During my initial three months as the Chateau’s site supervisor, I was asked my first question about the historic preservation of a structure on the National Register of Historic Places (not my strongest area of expertise when I started). On the other hand, sometimes people also assume that your historical knowledge includes every aspect and minute detail of your site. While being considered a content expert in the ranching and meatpacking industries during the “Great Dakota Boom” and in the sophisticated home management practices of the aristocracy during the Gilded Age is an ego boost, there are plenty of humbling moments.

If there is a problem, for instance, site supervisors are the ones everybody looks to for answers and guidance. Sure, there are big, noteworthy things that site supervisors and staff do where they receive recognition. They create new programs that benefit tourists and local communities and deal with disasters like wildfires, runaway carriages, and roofs that have blown off historic buildings.

A windstorm in June blew the roof off the girl's dormitory at Fort Totten State Historic Site. Assistant Site Supervisor Lisa Rainbow led the cleanup efforts as Site Supervisor Kyle Nelson was away at the time.

But rarely are people aware of the less-than-glamorous, behind-the-scenes work that goes into the job, like the site supervisor at Fort Abercrombie State Historic Site cleaning bird feces off interpretive panels in the morning or the site supervisor at Fort Totten shoveling snow out of a building with a broken window or crawling under a historic building in the mud to diagnose a wiring problem. When a security alarm goes off at a state historic site at three in the morning, the site supervisor must get up and go check it out, even if it means driving 30 minutes there and 30 minutes back. I know of one site supervisor who even chose to spend his anniversary at a three-hour city council meeting in order to represent the agency on an issue. Site supervisors step up and tackle challenges as they arise because it is what needs to be done.

I’ll never forget the time I was visiting the Oscar-Zero facility at the Ronald Reagan Minuteman Missile State Historic Site last summer, and the site was hosting a large family group. The staff did a great job. However, while preparing to leave the facility for their next location, the visitors exposed a problem with the plumbing, which resulted in both the men and women's toilets clogging simultaneously. Site Supervisor Rob Branting tried his best to expel the clogs and restore proper flow. He called every plumber in the phone book looking for relief but finding a plumber on a Friday afternoon in a rural community can be a challenge. Rob went so far as to walk out into the nearly dried sewage lagoon to see if water was flowing out from the facility. Now that is truly going above and beyond.

Site Supervisor Rob Branting walks to the center of a sewage lagoon at the Ronald Reagan Minuteman Missile State Historic Site to check on the water flow.

When I talk about my job, I often talk about how I get to work with fantastic colleagues. The agency and the people of North Dakota are lucky to have hardworking, knowledgeable, and passionate staff supervising our state historic sites. Our historic sites are in good hands, and I am proud of all our site staff's work, whether I hear about it or not. But for the record, I do prefer to hear about it.