I got to see some pics of the finished installation, and it turned out really well. The folks in our campus broadcasting department did one heck of a job on the video, too. In addition to the stuff from LMU’s museum, they’ve borrowed some pretty cool artifacts from other institutions. If you’re going to be in Washington between now and June, swing by Ford’s Theatre and give it a look.
On March 2 at 2:00 P.M., the East Tennessee Historical Society will host a screening of the documentary Civil War: The Untold Story, followed by a discussion with the film’s director and NPS historian James Ogden. Admission is free.
If you can’t make the screening, the film will be airing on public television this year, so keep an eye on your local listings.
One of my best friends summed it up with this text message: “It’s a little less cool in the world today.”
Groundhog Day has a permanent place on my list of all-time favorite films. It’s notable that folks of every religious persuasion, from Catholics to Buddhists, have embraced that movie; I think it’s because it taps into some elemental truths about the human condition. Not many movies can do that while being so darn funny.
This story out of Connecticut is more than a little bizarre.
The state mental health commissioner is fighting efforts by freedom of information advocates to undo a law — which they say passed under last-minute, “murky circumstances” in 2011 — that blocks historians’ research into Civil War soldiers afflicted with what’s now called post-traumatic stress disorder.
The Connecticut Council on Freedom of Information, the state FOI Commission and the Connecticut State Library all gave legislative testimony this past week in favor of H.B. 5124, a bill that would change the law so that medical and mental-health records could be released 50 years after the death of the person involved.
History professor Matthew Warshauer of Central Connecticut State University also testified and said that the state’s position is frustrating valuable historical research into the treatment of veterans a century before the term PTSD was invented to describe the lingering results of wartime trauma.
Warshauer and his students have fought in recent years for access to state mental hospital records of Civil War veterans. They prevailed in a 2010 case at the FOI Commission, which ordered release of the records. But the state Department of Mental Health and Addiction Services (DMHAS) fought back in a different way, persuading legislative leaders to tuck the current prohibition into a 98-section public health bill in the 2011 end-of-legislative-session rush.
Why the sensitivity about Civil War-era medical records, you ask?
Rehmer said in her testimony: “Though the individuals … are deceased, it is our firm belief that records of this nature are very sensitive and that family members of those who have been in state hospitals would not want that information disclosed.”
…Deron Drumm, executive director of Advocacy Unlimited Inc., said, “While historical accounts of what treatment entailed fifty years ago would be valuable to the public — releasing the names of individuals involved with psychiatric services will result in discrimination against their relatives.”
Historians shouldn’t be allowed to access the mental health records of Civil War soldiers because it will result in discrimination against their relatives? Can anybody out there actually imagine a scenario where that would be possible? Is somebody going to get turned down on a job application because his great-great-grandfather developed PTSD after the Overland Campaign?
Look, I think we can all agree that people’s health records should be kept private for a good, long while after their death. But in this case we’re talking about a span of multiple generations. Indeed, many Americans do not even know the names of their Civil War ancestors, let alone harbor any sensitivity over those ancestors’ mental state.
Is fifty years after someone’s death too soon to open their private records to the public? Maybe, maybe not. But I dare say that a century is quite enough water under the bridge. Amend the legislation accordingly and open those files.
It’ll be at the Museum of Early Trades & Crafts in Madison starting Feb. 25, and it’s about the war’s impact on NJ civilians. Too bad I’m not within driving distance; I’d really like to see it.
If only I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard this one.
This time it’s Cracked.com that’s accusing Steven Spielberg of making a steep drop appear out of nowhere during the T. rex attack.
There’s clearly nowhere for them to go. If they stay on the road, they’ll be eaten. If they run into the jungle, they’ll probably catch some kind of awful tropical parasite. And then be eaten.
Cut To …
Oh, wait, no: They can climb down this sheer cliff face, which just appeared out of absolutely nowhere.
And we say “appeared” because it literally appeared there during the edit between those two scenes. The tyrannosaur breaks through the fence, then the heroes crawl through the broken fence the dinosaur just burst through, only to find the concrete wall….
Oh, you think the greatest scene ever committed to film has a glaring mistake, do you? Well, I’ve got some news for you.
If you’re standing in the spot where the kids’ car is stopped and facing the fence, the goat tether would be directly in front of you, and that steep drop would be slightly to the left, along the edge of the paddock that’s perpendicular to the road. After the T. rex overturns the car, she nudges it to the left, past the spot where the goat was tethered, and then pushes it into the drop. Okay?
There. I’ve done my good deed for the day.
And don’t get me started on people who can’t figure out how the T. rex got into the Visitor Center when there’s obviously a ginormous opening in the wall.