Cowboy Baby Daddy

“He said something about looms,” she said.

“Indeed he did,” I nodded. “Do you know what he is famous for?”

“Not a clue,” she shrugged.

“Based on what he learned during his travels, he established a water-powered cotton mill that allowed him to complete all the steps needed to manufacture fabric under one roof,” I said, showing her paintings of Lowell’s factory, which would become Boston Manufacturing Company. “By 1815, the cloth that was made in Waltham was on sale in Boston. Do you know what that was the start of?”

“Um, the fashion industry?” Nina guessed.

“No, but that’s a good guess,” I chuckled. “It was the beginning of the industrial revolution, which changed everything in this country.”

“Wait, making cloth changed everything in this country?” she asked.

“No, the creation of the water-powered mill did,” I said, smiling as a look of wonder spread across her face. “It allowed manufacturers to use power rather than humans

to do the work of manufacturing. It led to the creation of many other forms of early technology, and led to the expansion of mills in Waltham and the surrounding areas.”

“That’s pretty amazing,” she said, as she bent over a case that contained pieces of the water-powered loom and studied them. I waited to see if she had more questions, but after a few minutes, I moved away and let her move through the exhibit at her own pace while I explored the new section on immigrant labor in Waltham during the second half of the 19th century.

“There’s so much I didn’t know about this city,” Nina said, as she stepped up next to me and looked at the map that was highlighted to show where the immigrant workers came from during the Industrial Revolution. “It’s incredible to see the way that people migrated for jobs back then, too.”

“A lot of people think that immigration is a new issue, but it’s really something that this country has been figuring out how to deal with since its inception,” I said, as I thought about the ways in which French, Canadians, and Italians were the groups that were looked down upon back then.

“Did the people who lived in Waltham dislike the immigrants back then?” she asked.

“Oh goodness, the Irish were seen as the blight on Boston and the surrounding cities when they began arriving in large numbers during the Potato Famine,” I said, thinking about how different groups had become the scapegoats for national fear and loathing. “There were signs that said ‘No Irish Need Apply’ in windows all over Boston because the ‘true’ Americans believed that the Irish, and the Catholics, were drunken criminals, and local workers were angry because the Irish were desperate for jobs and would undercut the American workers when it came to wages.”

“But weren’t they just trying to survive?” Nina asked, as she looked at the pictures of the Irish workers gathered around a mill wheel.

“Yes, that’s pretty much what all immigrants try to do,” I nodded. “It’s just that it takes time for those on the inside to adjust to outsiders. Part of it is that they compete for jobs, and part of it is that they have different customs and traditions that don’t always match up with the way people are used to living.”

“They’re scared of new things,” she murmured. “It’s always fear that makes people enemies, isn’t it?”

I nodded, not knowing what else to say to her since she’d hit the nail on the head. Nina silently moved away as she looked at more pictures and examined the artifacts connected to the mills.

“Ms. Fowler!” Nina called from the other side of the room. “Did you know they had classes designed to Americanize the immigrants? They had to attend the during their lunch hour!”

“Yes, indeed,” I said, smiling to myself because I could hear the excitement in her voice as she discovered something new that related to things she could see were still going on in the world around her.

“How can companies do that to people?” she asked. “How can they expect them to spend their own time becoming something they’re not?”

“I don’t think the companies saw it that way,” I said, as I looked at the various flyers that announced classes on how to properly cook American food or raise children the American way. “I think they viewed it as helping their workers adjust to the new world they were living in.”

“But it assumes that the American way is the only way to live!” she cried. “Like one way is the right way!”

“Yes, that’s a problem, isn’t it?” I said.

“A huge problem,” she muttered, as she returned to the display. She was quiet for a long time, and I’d made it through most of the rest of the room taking notes on what they had and thinking about how I could weave this into my future history lessons. When I looked up again, I saw Nina staring up at a photo of a group of women who were standing in front of loom inside the BMC.

“I wonder where they came from and what happened to them,” Nina said softly. “I wonder what their hopes and dreams were.”

“I think you’ve just gotten to the heart of what’s behind museums, Nina,” I said, resting my hand on her shoulder. “They’re here to make us remember, and to wonder about who came before us and how they lived their lives.”

“It’s pretty amazing when you look at it that way, isn’t it?” she said, turning to look at me.

“It’s exactly why I wanted to teach History,” I nodded.

“I can totally see why you would want to do that,” she said, looking back up at the picture. “People’s lives need to matter, but man, these clothes are a trip!”