But Monticello and Jefferson scholarship have both changed significantly since then. Monticello now does not allow cars up near the house at all ... you have to park at the visitor center, pay a hefty admission charge for timed tickets, and take a shuttle bus or walk up. And Jefferson's relationship with Sally Hemings has been highlighted recently, as it should. He fathered six children with one of the black women he claimed ownership of, the first when she was 14. And this fact has become a major part of the evaluation of his life.
A slightly larger picture is that he claimed ownership of 607 people in his lifetime. Many of these people were treated brutally. There was severe competition among these men and women to learn a craft and stay employed in a profession up at the main house. But the great majority of them were sent to labor in the fields and were whipped routinely. He freed only 7 of the 607, all men who were loyal to him, though at the very same time he sold their wives and children to other slaveholders. When he died in great debt, his "property" was auctioned off ... the last scene of Jefferson's life at Monticello was a slave auction on the majestic West Portico.
As you can see, I've gotten started. And I don't want to get started. Touring Monticello was a very emotional experience. I have to say that the interpretation there was fantastic ... they sure elicited a personal reaction from me. Jefferson did some things for which he should be admired, such as synthesizing Enlightenment thinking into the American experience. But he was also an unjustly entitled, immoral, vastly imperfect man who perpetrated horrors on others. And I saw evidence of this all over Monticello.
Forgive me for my digression from a strict narrative approach here, but highlighting my reaction to the harsh inequities of Jefferson’s world (in contrast to my blind acceptance of a “founding father” in my past visits) is essential to understanding my day. And I need to mention two other things, one huge and one subtle.
Our visit to Virginia, with its reminders of slavery and the Civil War, and even more so our subsequent visit to Washington DC, was played out against the background of the illegitimate, immoral Trump presidency. And specifically the latest act of that horror show, the nomination of Brett Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court and the forced confirmation of that against the will of the American people. We watched the distortion of our ideals into our current political reality actually happening on the streets and within those marble buildings. We couldn’t not notice this happening in huge images on our phones, on our TVs, and right in front of us. Perhaps in Shenandoah we could avoid the feeling that the world was falling apart, but in Charlottesville and Washington that feeling of dread was unavoidable.
And here’s the subtle thing: I think this is related to a large degree to a reality skew. History writers, news reporters, and teachers tend to see the narrative of the world as driven by significant thoughts and actions of specific people. I feel that in many cases, and in microcosm, this can be seen as true: Martin Luther King, Jr. was greatly responsible for the leap in civil rights during the 1960s and George W. Bush’s lies about weapons intelligence were directly responsible for the killing of many thousands of people in the invasion of Iraq starting in 2003.
But I feel history is the trend of beliefs and the accumulation of knowledge, and is driven by massive changes in how people live and how they perceive reality, morality, and justice. If Marie Curie hadn't discovered radium, it would have been discovered soon by someone else (in fact, maybe she just published first). The Declaration of Independence was inspired by Jefferson’s deep study of Locke and Rousseau, but the American colonies would have separated from England without this. It marked a significant milestone in time, was unarguably eloquent, and was successful in capturing the Zeitgeist among American intellectuals. But this was an affect rather than a cause.
Well anyway. We woke up that morning in Waynesboro and it was another brilliant day, with a few wisps of high clouds and the sun burning down even early in the morning. Went up the hill to their classic American Breakfast Buffet, where we all bellied up to the waffle maker and the coffee machine and knocked down shots of diluted orange juice in plastic cups. Wait a minute, I thought I was going to stop criticizing America. We had a fine breakfast (the miniature chocolate donuts looked like turds) and planned a bit.
Packed up quickly and we all crossed the street to the mall, where cars had started gathering around Roses, signalling that it was open. This was your typical discount shop with heaps of stuff you wouldn't be caught dead wearing and perhaps a few "gems." SarahP was looking for shorts again and found an acceptable navy blue pair. SarahE found some cheap, plain, baseball caps, Jim was frustrated in his search for shorts, and I found an acceptable shirt and a half. In all, it was a successful excursion.
The interesting thing was that two of the storefronts in the mall had been occupied by the local Democratic and Republican parties and they both looked comically identical. They were only separated by an abandoned tobacconist's. I wonder if the staffs go for lunch together?
But the big thing was that a local farmer had set up an amazing display of apples and jams on long tables in the vast parking lot. I counted 13 varieties and he was glib about all of them, even when he realized we weren't going to buy large amounts. I'm allergic to apples, but the other selected a few (not much room in our car) and talked to a Chinese couple who's tour of the U.S. had led them to Waynesboro somehow.
Time to get started and we loaded quickly and were off, back up Route 250 and over the gap to Monticello, in the Southeast reaches of Charlottesville. The GPS had us there by 11:30 or so. The parking lots were already pretty packed by then but the real peak of the crowds hadn't occurred yet. There are a lot of people who want to see this beautiful spot. We purchased their basic tickets, figuring that once we had a tour of the house we could show ourselves around the grounds and/or take advantage of their ancillary tours.
Watched a short introductory video and then shuttled onto the shuttle bus for the ride up the hill. It was already a very, very hot day. We'd had the air conditioner on in the car, and there was air conditioning in the shuttle bus, but the air outside could be cut by a knife and I was already approaching ball-of-sweat status, and we hadn't even moved much.
We were up there about a half hour before our scheduled tour at 12:25 and so had time to go see the Sally Hemings exhibit in a room she and her family possibly shared in the South Pavilion. Now don't get me started again ... just the facts. She was sent over to Paris when Jefferson was stationed there as a diplomat and needed a "mature" servant and companion for his daughter Martha (a.k.a. Patsy Jefferson, the subject of Mom's book). She was 13 at the time. Jefferson had recently lost his wife and Hemings was soon pregnant. The word "rape" was used in several displays and I think that's fair, especially when talking about impregnating a 13-year old girl.
Hemings was heroic enough to refuse to return to the States unless Jefferson promised to free her future children. Four of the six fathered by Jefferson lived to adulthood and the family lived in a small, windowless room in the South Pavilion like the one in which we saw the presentation. Jefferson never acknowledged them as his offspring, though he never sent them to the fields and he eventually freed them (they were all male).
Soon our tour started and I was already in a state. I tried to concentrate on the magnificent architectural details inspired by Roman ruins, the furniture inspired by his time in France, the paintings he liked to discuss with his peers when they came to visit, and the quirky inventions that I'd been so delighted by when I visited in the 70s, like his clock, his coordinated doors, and his wine dumbwaiter. But there was a presence in the house that hadn't been there for me before, the ghosts of the enslaved people. And the interpreters made it clear that this magnificent house was just a hobby of an eccentric man: there were no working wells on the hill and water had to be hauled up, his inventions were quirky but impractical, the house must have been brutally cold for those who stayed the whole Winter there, and in the Summer it was even more roasting than it was that day.
Geez, that tour was a bit depressing. We grabbed a water at the end of it and took the bus back down the hill straightaway, looking for some lunch and rejuvenation. The snack bar there had some very nice chicken salads and a nice beer. We got a fine table and cooled off a little in the shade, though the bees (and a few scavenger crows) tried to scare us off from the ends of our lunch.
Back into the fray! We were refreshed and really wanted to see more of the plantation, and decided to walk up the hill, stopping by Jefferson's grave on the way. Unfortunately, security guards apparently decided we were suspicious people when we strayed a bit from the beaten path, and they made us return to get re-inspected before they deigned to let us walk up to the house. Imagine people doing something other than taking the bus uphill and walking down, that's not done in Trump's America. I couldn't help but swear under my breath, wondering if they heard me and if I was old enough to be dismissed as a doddering fool.
Jefferson's grave was mobbed itself and so we kept in uphill, walking more and more slowly in the hot sun. Luckily, a beautiful white-tailed fawn pranced over the grounds just behind us and I was delighted again. Then we got to "Mulberry Row" and saw exhibit after exhibit about the industries Jefferson and his managers had attempted to run at the plantation to make a few bucks, and the enslaved people he got to run them, at an incredible human cost. They stayed twelve to a cabin on this row at all times of year, stacked like cordwood when they slept and sometimes sharing their cabins with blast furnaces or dangerous machines, and then freezing in the winter. And these were the lucky ones who were adept enough to avoid the fields, down the hill and across the river.
We saw a presentation on slavery at Monticello, and there wasn't much good to say. There was a quote from Jefferson in which he dismissed the intelligence of Africans, as if that entitled him to enslave them. He was also quoted as saying that yes, all men *were* created equal, but that the freeing of slaves was a task for a future generation.
There were several interesting euphemisms used by the interpreters, such as them always saying "enslaved people" rather than "slaves." Perhaps this was the same as saying "Asians" rather than "Orientals," naming a group of people by a specific adjective rather than by a generalized noun. But I'll tell ya, looking at this analytically did nothing to dispel the stink of the place.
Monticello was beautiful and we spent some time looking at the trees, the flowers, the great architecture, the views over the piedmont from the top of the hill, and marveling at the self-sufficiency of the plantation (they brewed their own beer there (when they found the right slave to do it)!). I had commented to my traveling companions about how depressing the place was and they all agreed, though we also agreed that we loved traveling with each other and were glad to see this site. But it was a godawful experience to a great degree and I don't think I'll ever go there again. Don't burn Monticello down, keep it around and keep those great interpreters explaining it to us. But be warned before you visit, this is not a happy place.
OK! Time to walk back downhill, get back in the car, get the hell out of Monticello, and drive through downtown Charlottesville, where an enraged white supremacist had killed an innocent bystander last year (SarahP spied a memorial to her)!! We had a nice drive through town, though it was a warren of streets and we don't know how many times we spun around before we twisted out the other side near the hotel we were going to stay at. Charlottesville is a fine, large university town, though we never really found a center to it other than some squares at UVA.
But we finally ended up at the Country Inn and Suites, a great hotel with a nice lobby and some nice rooms. We were on the fourth floor and Sarah and I had a great view of the adjoining Interstate cloverleaf. No lie, it was actually kind of fun to watch the cars spin around this well-landscaped cloverleaf, like your own full-sized model car set. We decided not to take a dip in their 85 degree salt water pool however. Why would anyone want to do this after roasting in the hot sun all day??
Anyway, I decided it was time for me to express myself a bit, and complained that we hadn't been to a restaurant yet with a great beer list. Here we were in a University town, couldn't we be a little selective by that standard on where to eat dinner? My traveling companions were great about this, though of course it didn't work out the way we expected. Perhaps the lesson is that single criteria can lead groups astray.
We jumped in the car and headed down to the pedestrian mall in the heart of Charlottesville, past the University campus, which was rocking. We miraculously found a parking space on a dark side street and toured the mall for a bit, rejecting a few restaurants right away. Then we saw Draft, a pour-your-own-beer establishment, and I admitted that this place would fulfill my dreams of a great beer list, and even exceed them. The food there was pitiful and the funk was eclectic, but the beer selection there was excellent.
The restaurant was ringed with taps and TVs and we had burgers and beer. The Bruins' opener was on one set of displays, the Yankees-A's wild card playoff was on another set, college football was all over the place, and the taps were flowing. And in the corner a folk-rock act had started their set with Dylan's Tangled Up In Blue and then went loudly downhill from there. In some ways this was heaven ... and it sure drove thoughts of Monticello out of my mind at least, I was concentrating on what kind of beer I was going to try next. But in other ways it was pretty hellacious and we got out of there and back to the hotel before we lost our sanity.
Oooh, another bolt of lightning here when we passed some concert venue on the mall in Charlottesville and there were some hippies milling about outside. Melvin Seals and JGB were playing and the guys told us that there weren't that many people inside, that we could walk right up to the stage! Decided not to though, we were a bit tired.
Nice night at the Country Inn and Suites, listening to the low hum of traffic outside and trying not to dwell on what we'd seen that day.
