Emancipation Underground

An unusually warm February brought Nancy and I indoors and downstairs. The Tennessee State Museum sits innocuously below the capital's collection of theatres. The fragile papers it contained that day were far better known than their host facility. The original Emanicpation Proclamation spent its only viewable hours in 2013 below downtown Nashville's streets.

Light sensitivity prevents the document from being displayed more than 72 hours in a six-day window. After the original's time in the light elapsed, the museum hosted a copy.

We nabbed some of the free reservations the state allowed for a viewing.

We obeyed the "no photography" rule, so you're stuck with the TN Capitol.

Perhaps Lincoln spurred more people to check out the documents. Perhaps the free tickets enticed others. But all 18,000 reserved spots were gobbled up in a few hours. At 12:15 Sunday, we got our moment with the documents.

Moment is an overstatement; no sooner did we reach the front of the line than staff began their calls to keep the line moving.

The Emancipation only applied to states still in open rebellion as of 1863 and in some cases, specific counties (West Virginia, plus counties under Union control).

The Emancipation didn't apply to several border states, but that would be remedied with the document behind glass in an adjacent case: The original final draft of the 13th Amendment, which officially barred slavery within the U.S.

The proclamation and the amendment read like any executive order, chock full of frilly language and technical terms that no sane person would ever feel necessary. Fortunately, the TN Museum surrounded the documents with an exhibit rich in historical background on the war, the end of slavery and their impact on Tennessee.

Despite signs everywhere warning that flash photography was not allowed around the fragile documents, every other person in line believed their camera phone did not apply. The museum even brought in an employee dedicated to shouting the "no photography" warning. 

State buildings are best on the weekends, when no lawmakers and gawkers are around to clog up the open spaces.

Last resting place of the Polks

The grounds have numerous homages to past leaders, including the state's three U.S. Presidents. Of course the biggest went to that pompadoured, Indian-hating, presidential-power-grabbing man whose name is already smeared over all of Middle Tennessee. Andrew Johnson ... well, who remembers much but the rambling VP inaugural speech and impeachment? Their track record still beats Ohio, though, which has too many dogs like Harding and Hayes.

Nancy and I stopped at the  grave of President James Polk, the first for the first time since my second week in Nashville. I've always been a Polk fan; find me another one-termer who accomplished so much (albeit without doing anything to slow the descent toward the Civil War).

For all the craziness that erupts from the building during the annual legislative session, it was placid this Sunday, even as a sawrm of humanity snaked toward those historical papers several blocks away.