Statues Of Limitations
Erecting Memorials To Public Figures Becoming A Thing Of The Past?
By WILLIAM WEIR
Courant Staff Writer
March 9, 2008
Since late last year, the statue of Noah Webster in West Hartford has returned to its perch in front of the town library, overlooking South Main Street.
Newly lit, on a pedestal, and with a new forefinger where once there was a stump, it's a new start for Noah. Like a lot of public art, the memorial to the pioneer lexicographer and West Hartford native has had an unusual relationship with his community. For one reason or another, monuments can elicit an odd mix of reactions from the public.
It was tough from the beginning in Noah's case, and we can trace his troubles back to sculptor Korczak Ziolkowski.
Unknown at the time, the young artist moved to town from Boston and volunteered his services in the 1930s to build the statue after reading of Webster's work on the American dictionary. The town didn't have much to offer Ziolkowski, but officials agreed to pay for the expense of the limestone monument.
From the get-go, things were a little shaky. Arguments erupted over whether Noah should sit or stand. Construction added to the rancor, because of the all-day noise of drills and hammers. Ziolkowski's working on Sundays didn't go over well, either.
The completed work didn't end the Webster memorial's troubles. Specifically, there was his pointing forefinger. Considered vaguely phallic by many, some thought it was Ziolkowski's attempt to get the last laugh on the town. In any case, it was all but an invitation for pranks.
West Hartford resident Howard Falkin, 73, remembers taking part in "the rite of passage" among high school students of placing a condom on the finger. It happened mainly between the start of school and Halloween.
It went on for years until someone broke the finger off. "One myth about the finger is that it was broken off by high school students, or that it was broken off by police officers who were tired of taking condoms off of it," says West Hartford resident Nan Glass, who has written about the statue's history. "That could be apocryphal."
The finger has never been recovered, and the culprits remain at large.
Last year, Francis Miller of Conservart in Hamden fashioned a new finger with stone taken from the core of the statue. The coloring is slightly different from the rest of the statue, but Miller says that should change with a little weathering. With strategic carving, a steel pin and some epoxy, he's confident it's not going anywhere soon.
But after a decadeslong lull, an old tradition may have already returned. Town historian Tracey M. Wilson says she heard that a condom was found on the finger earlier this month. Police, though, said they can't confirm reports of any pranks on Webster recently.
For his part, Ziolkowski eventually left town and went on to help sculptor Gutzon Borglum carve the Mount Rushmore monument. He's best known for the Crazy Horse Memorial, one of the largest monuments in the world. Carved into a mountain of the Black Hills of South Dakota, Ziolkowski started the memorial in 1948. Family members took over the project when the sculptor died in 1982, and it's still in progress.
That project, too, has had its troubles. Native Americans say they believe Ziolkowski had good intentions but that the memorial goes against the spirit of Crazy Horse, who always refused to be photographed.
Statues Can Invite Controversy
Statues, when they've been around long enough, take on a strange role in their communities. Ostensibly built to honor certain folks, they often end up ignored, just another part of the landscape. Sometimes they become the butt of jokes.
Last year in Coventry, ne'er-do-wells capered off with the statue of Nathan Hale in front of the Nathan Hale Homestead. Broken off at the ankles, the 3-foot-high, 100-pound statue disappeared for days. An anonymous call a few days later tipped off officials to its whereabouts, and the statue was recovered
"That was quite a dizzying experience for us," says Sheryl Hack, executive director of the Landmarks Committee. Now that Hale's in good hands, Hack says officials are discussing how to put the statue back up for display.
No one thinks that theft was ideologically motivated, but history isn't always kind to those cast in bronze, and their memorials can come in for ill treatment.
Christopher Columbus statues are a common target for those protesting his actions against Native Americans.
In the 1990s, a statue of the relatively obscure Capt. John Mason was driven out of Groton after a long debate about the 17th-century settler's role in the killing of Pequot Indians. Less than a month after the statue found a new home on the Windsor Green, vandals splashed red paint on it.
One generation's hero is another's villain. That may be one reason we don't see too many new statues of sword-drawing guys on horses. Or we're just tired of them.
Public Art Has Evolved
Stephen Persing, administrative assistant to the director's office at the Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art, says he doubts we'll see many more of them "until someone can really invigorate the concept, instead of doing the same old thing. That's really the challenge."
As it is, most public art that goes up now is the abstract, newfangled kind. When you do see representational sculptures of people, it's rarely the military or political figures that once dominated the field of memorials.
These days, you're more likely to see pop-culture icons, like Marilyn Monroe, or even fictional characters, like the Rocky statue erected in Philadelphia.
Often, it's nameless, regular folks.
Sculptor Seward Johnson has made a career memorializing the everyman with his sculptures of people doing everyday things. A sharp contrast to the heroic images of traditional statues, Johnson's works are usually popular with the public, though much less so with critics.
After the unveiling of a collection of Johnson's statues in Washington, one critic called it "the most mind-numbing, head-spinning, belly-flipping experience you're likely to come across." Another called it "graceless crap."
Johnson's "Match Point," a sculpture of two fellows in tennis gear, graced the lawn of Clinton Town Hall in the late 1990s. It was on loan from the Hollycroft Foundation, a nonprofit arts-education organization in Essex whose outdoor exhibits have generated plenty discussion — pro and con — in the state.
The two tennis players seemed to exemplify the touch-and-go relationship the public has with outdoor art. Residents considered the sculpture novel and fun and greeted it warmly — at first. After a few months, though, people in town started grumbling about when it was finally going to go away.
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