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This year, we will hold events the weekends of May and Oct. Classes holding reunions can use these weekends, which will include such activities as golf, a 5K run, all-alumni Mass, to give their reunion weekend some added structure and opportunity for fraternity. Of course, our homecoming weekend always features the popular Friday night postgame tailgate party in our fieldhouse. The May reunion weekend, however, will feature a fun Friday night alternative—an All-Alumni Revue variety show, performed by Noll alumni, on our auditorium stage.

We hope our alumni classes take advantage of this opportunity this year and in the coming years, and we hope whenever the opportunity arises, you stop home and say hello. God bless,. Bishop Noll Institute, a diverse Catholic college preparatory school, partners with local faith communities to empower young adults to live their faith in Christ through ministry, scholarship, and leadership.

Hying Bishop Dr. Kevin Scalf, C. Would you like to receive your issues of Noll Today electronically? That is easily done! Noll Today is available in PDF format and could be e-mailed to you upon completion. Noll Today is also available on the website, www. If you would like to be placed on the e-mail list for Noll Today, please e-mail jsandoval bishopnoll. Please take a few minutes and let everyone in the Bishop Noll family know how you are doing.

Our alumni enjoy hearing news about their classmates, their accomplishments and important events in their lives. Send us pictures of weddings, children and grandchildren.

E-mail information to jsandoval bishopnoll. You will receive notifications of all that is happening at Bishop Noll. Visit our website at www. Making reservations for events or making donations to Bishop Noll is easily done through the BNI website.

When I took this job almost two years ago, I made it my mission to make our school unique, cutting edge, and attractive to students and parents from all communities across this region. Historically, people have picked Bishop Noll Institute for its college preparatory focus grounded in Catholic values since we opened as Catholic Central High School in Our students will be entering a college landscape and workforce that wants people who reflect 21st Century Skills.

STEM is an acronym for science, technology, engineering, and mathematics. STEM is not about offering an extra science class, or having an engineering club. Our school is partnered with Dr. Our teachers, administration, and Dr. Johnson have been selflessly dedicating their time the past few months to write curriculum, create curricular themes, and develop vision and mission statements for STEM at BNI. STEM is a student-centered approach for delivery of rigorous curriculum that engages students in real-world problem solving as a way to apply content in meaningful ways to better prepare them for life beyond high school.

The STEM mission for BNI is to transform learning to be anchored in a real-world context where students are engaged with solving global problems through mastery of core content knowledge and 21st Century Skills. The vision for STEM at BNI is to equip our students with 21st Century Skills needed to be real life innovators who are prepared to solve world problems and make meaningful contributions to society. BNI graduates will be exceptionally prepared to be successful in college, the workforce, and life.

We will continue to add STEM classes and themes over time to ensure that our students have these experiences throughout their academic career at BNI. This is an exciting time for Bishop Noll Institute! I ask that you keep Bishop Noll Institute in your thoughts and prayers. I also ask all of you to extend a hand to your alma mater, and share your talents, time, or resources to make STEM a success for all current and future students.

Although we will have a new focus, our school will be mindful of the time honored tradition of producing graduates who have strength in mind, body, and soul. May God bless you and your family each and every day. Thank you for your continued support of Bishop Noll Institute. The Big Event—a new celebration, with the same purpose as our previous events—raising money to support student scholarships at Bishop Noll Institute.

A relaxed, casual evening filled with great food, drinks, music, dancing, several raffles, a live auction, and even a bags tournament. A new price that is more affordable for everyone! We hope that many alumni, friends and parents will join us for this fun-filled evening! Winners will be drawn announced at The Big Event on April 24, Winners need not be present and will be notified.

Cash prizes may be reduced based on number of tickets sold. Postmark by April 17, License Hammond, IN Congratulations to the Class of top academic seniors! Graduating seniors with a 4. This year, we have 12 seniors who have earned a 4. These grades also determine the Valedictorian and Salutatorian. They are prime examples of young people using their God-given talents to be successful in mind, body, and soul.

The Bishop Noll Institute community is very proud of their accomplishments, and we look forward to seeing them become productive adults. Trafny has served 30 years at Bishop Noll, where he teaches U. He is a resident of Highland with degrees from Calumet College of St. Joseph and Purdue University. He also has been a lecturer at Purdue University Calumet. Congratulations to John for this special honor. On a local level, kits were donated to St. Unilever has donated more than a million pounds of soap to Clean the World Foundation, a nonprofit that aims to prevent millions of deaths worldwide caused by hygiene-related illness by collecting and recycling soap and bottled hygiene products discarded by hotels.

Volunteers from the Unilever Hammond factory joined students at Bishop Noll to set up packing stations, and ship the finished kits off. About 90 students assembled hygiene kits consisting of bars of soap, small shampoos and other toiletries.

Each year a different charity benefits from the event, and this year sophomores—the winning class—chose to donate to the Carmelite Home, which is in its nd year serving children, ages birth to 18, who are in crisis. BNI students form an assembly line in the Whelan Activity Center to make over 5, hygiene kits to be delivered to local and national charities.

Bishop Noll Institute students teamed up Uniliver employees in October to assemble 5, hygiene kits for local and national charities. The event was staged in conjunction with Global Handwashing Day, to raise awareness about how regular handwashing prevents the spread of viruses and other diseases.

The production featured a cast of more than 17 students. Both ladies have their hearts set on marrying a man named Ernest. During the Catholic Charities Gift Drive each homeroom was given a family member. Working from a wish list provided by a family member, the class was responsible for getting the family member gifts.

For many, gifts from Bishop Noll were the only real gifts received at Christmas. Students purchased gifts, wrapped them, and delivered them to Catholic Charities.

During the Christmas season, Bishop Noll students were active making sure that the greater community experienced a positive holiday experience. The spirit of giving and caring for the world around them is alive and well at Noll. Hats off to Mr.

In addition to the beautiful music they perform at our many school liturgies, the BNI choir also performed concerts at St. Mary School in Griffith, St. This was the first competition for the band since the early s. Admission to march in the parade is by invitation only. The Warriors made a great showing on television! Over students from N.

Indiana competed. The Bishop Noll band members all received gold and silver medals for their performances. In February, the Bishop Noll jazz band competed and performed at the South Suburban College jazz festival, receiving a 1st place gold medal rating as well as outstanding soloist wards for Emily Rojas, guitar; Daisy Abuzead, trumpet; and Jazmin Encarnacion, baritone sax.

They are real. And our students care enough to ask. And wait. No sex? No power? So I will briefly mention to them that the Catholic priesthood finds its origins in the great high priest himself, Jesus Christ, whose life in the Gospels was one of poverty, chaste celibacy, and obedience to his Father.

When a person is married their first commitment is to their married partner and to their children with God being preeminently inexorable. The love between members of a family must be that exclusive. As it should be. So the Catholic priesthood takes its cue from Jesus on how to manifestly serve the people of God through a somewhat ordered rhythm of celebrating the Sacraments, daily personal prayer and service to Christ and his Church.

They just want to know why someone -- occasionally sane -- would willingly choose this kind of life. And I try and respond.

Some faint. Others run. A few laugh. Kevin M. Scalf, C. On retreat, our students are learning how to be vulnerable and reflective with one another to learn more about themselves, their relationships, and their faith. Retreats are much less frequently thought of as merely a graduation requirement, as students are looking forward to their retreats and itching to become student leaders.

For Kairos 4 this past October, we had 25 applications for our eight-student team, and over 50 students applied to lead our new-and-improved Freshmen Retreat last fall. On campus, more and more students are getting involved in our liturgies. Additionally, Mr. As faith takes a deeper, broader root in our students, they reach a crossroads where they have to take action and respond on their own, and doing service is how our students must rise to the occasion.

Students need to build on things offered directly by Campus Ministry, like The Margins trips, our service-learning immersions to Chicago offered several times each year, monthly visits to Hammond-Whiting Care Center, and other school projects helping groups like The Port Ministries and Carmelite Home. The Port Ministries staff invited students to come by anytime they are available.

The St. Columbanus Parish Food Pantry put a picture of our students on their home page. I hope that as our students move through Bishop Noll, toward college and an adult life in which they must increasingly take personal responsibility for themselves and their faith, that they will find and sustain service connections. I hope we can teach them how to serve in solidarity with those in need and build relationships that bind them to those whom society marginalizes. I hope we can whet their appetites for making God known, loved, and served so that they can do their faith communities proud by their belonging and serving.

I hope we inspire our students to live out the reality that Christ has no body now but yours. Loyola Press. Henry Holt and Company. Paulist Press. Orbis Press. Bishop Noll defeated Winamac in 3 sets: , , to capture the regional title. No surprise with her most impressive stats.

This season, she had kills, setting a school record that helped her reach the career mark of 1,, and ranking third on the state list. In addition to the school record in kills, she also owns the career record in digs with 1,, and set the single-season digs record as a sophomore, with Photo printed courtesy of NWI Times. It has been a while since the sound of Bishop Noll skates were heard on the ice.

With the help of the administration and athletic department, Sobilo organized and is coaching the Bishop Noll Hockey Warriors. Senior Evan Peirce is one of the players who is excited to lace up his skates for his school. We have strong chemistry. We focus on going out there and playing hard for 42 minutes. There are growing pains. But there are great expectations for the future of the hockey program at Noll. On Saturday, January 10th, Jesus Loe won the individual title in the lb.

Loe became the first county champion from Bishop Noll since On February 7th Loe placed second in the Crown Point regional, advancing to the Merrillville semistate in the lb weight class.

The Penny War for charity between the classes raged once again and the sophomores were triumphant when all was said and done. That night was the homecoming game where the Warriors lost a heartbreaker to Calumet. Saturday was the homecoming dance where almost students danced the night away under the Milky Way really just Milky Way candy bars. One of the most anticipated events of the year is the Annual Homecoming Tailgate Party held after the football game in the BNI fieldhouse.

Over friends and alumni gathered for a dinner of pulled pork, chicken and hot dogs, a beer garden, a great DJ playing lots of oldies—but most importantly, the pleasure of seeing old friends.

Many reunion classes kick-off their reunion weekend at the tailgate party. Reserved tables are set aside for those classes celebrating reunions. Alums arrived early to decorate their tables with balloons, glitter and old photos! Mark your calendars for Friday, October 2, , for the next Tailgate Party. Junior spirit! Freshmen show their school spirit and enthusiasm on Wacky Tacky Day In truth, the standards for impurity are set too high here.

There are good reasons to look for behavior that bears some resemblance to tourism before the arrival of the cash economy, and there are also good reasons to look for motives that are not always tainted and exploitative in post-lapsarian, conventional, modern tourism. So however you think of early Indian travel, one has to recognize it as curious, active travel, and recognize in it at least a small degree of kinship with the tourism of the last century and a half.

Part of that more recent travel is, after all, Indian travel to Europe and to the eastern United States, a revealing counterpoint to the travel, in the opposite direction, of Europeans and Euro-Americans visiting Indian territory. In the first half of the nineteenth century, Anglo-American explorers-writers introduced a practice more directly connected, and, indeed, precedent-setting for what we now think of as tourism. Fremont, the West was the exotic place of their adventuring and self-testing.

They treated their western experiences in a manner very similar to the way later Anglo-Americans would treat beaver pelts, buffalo hides, minerals, trees, grasses, and soil. The explorers extracted western experience and packed it out of the West.

They then processed and refined it into the form of reports. When explorers wrote their reports, their literary activity was directly parallel to the activities of the felters and hatters who made western beaver pelts into hats, parallel to the activities of the men who refined western minerals in mills and smelters.

The explorers supplied these refined and processed parcels of experience to readers eager to learn about the Far West. These were writers of remarkable intellectual confidence. In their travels, they traced only a narrow line across the West, and yet they wrote confidently of the character of the whole region.

If, over the centuries, we have taken a long time to reckon. For these travelers, their relationship to their audience made it necessary to cast the West as that exotic place "out there. The explorers of the first half of the nineteenth century thus built the foundation for later tourism.

Offering an image of the West defined by its separateness from the familiar, the explorers' reports provided a portrait of a place that was, if dangerous and threatening, also very interesting. It is important to note that none of these explorers traveled through empty or "virgin" space. All of them made frequent references to inhabitants, particularly Indians, Mexicans, and the mixed-blood families of fur traders.

Explorers may have been laying the foundation for tourism, but they were government men, federal agents, people on official business, and not exactly tourists. Sometimes accompanying them were people closer to the model of tourism: gentlemen, sometimes European aristocrats, sometimes artists or naturalists, out to see the sights in the West.

Some of these fellows do give the impression of taking part in a mid-nineteenth-century anticipation of Outward Bound. My own favorite for this category has been Sir William Drummond Stewart, a Scottish nobleman who took the artist Alfred Jacob Miller along on his outing to the Rockies in the s.

In an archetypal moment of early tourism, Miller told the story of the party's approach to a fiercely overflowing river, with tree trunks and branches bobbing wildly in the flood. They reached the river, and Stewart plunged in.

Miller plunged in after him, and, miraculously, made it to the far shore. As he fought his way up on the bank, Miller said to Stewart, "You know, sir, I do not know how to swim. I am surprised that Outward Bound has not taken this as its founding moment, surprised that Stewart's words are not the celebrated slogan for adventure tourism all around the planet.

But as advertising slogans go, "You know not what you can do until you have tried," has its weaknesses. One does not have to contemplate Miller's story very long or especially to contemplate his drawing of the fiercely flooding river to realize that this story could easily have delivered up the opposite ending, with Miller and Stewart both drifting downstream and off the pages of history.

An enthusiasm for tourism on Stewart's scale of strenuosity was slow to develop. Indeed, to see the emergence of tourism on a sizable scale, one has to. The completion of the transcontinental railroad in and the expansion of luxury travel by palace cars and Pullman cars unleashed a tourism boom on the West. This was, of course, insulated travel, insulated both from nature and from natives. These tourists were people of means, people who wanted comfort and service, people for whom the era of conquest was a little too recent and raw.

Predictably, much of the effort of recruiting these tourists rested on reassurance, repeating the promise that the West was safe now, with tame hotels, parlors, and verandas from which the wild scenery could be calmly viewed.

This enterprise in promotion also played on the nineteenth-century American inferiority complex. By one common perception among intellectuals and the upper and middle classes, the United States, in comparison to Europe, was simply too new, too young, too short on history; by the same pattern of thinking, western scenery was too different, too big, too stark, too dry. Thus tourist promotion in the late nineteenth century sought legitimacy through European analogies: California was the Mediterranean, a transplanted Italy; Colorado was Switzerland, with replicas of the Alps.

Western resort hotels had, by the same token, to match European luxury; for this elite and well-financed type of tourist, European-like scenery had to be accompanied by European-like buildings and services. These mid- and late-nineteenth-century tourists had an influence and impact far beyond their numbers. Quite a number of these people had contacts and ties with publishers and editors, and thus they found a direct channel to influencing public opinion. These were journal-keepers, diarists, impression-recorders, and word-mongers, and many of them could not look out a train window at a wide open western horizon without reaching for their pens.

The result of their compulsive literacy was, by , a western landscape blanketed by words, covered two or three inches deep with the littered vocabulary of romantic scenery appreciation. By , a place like Yellowstone had already been the scene of so much published scribbling and emotion that it was extremely difficult for anyone to have an immediate, direct response to the landscape, without a chorus of quotations going off in the head.

Before the eye could take in the walls of Yosemite, the mind had already provided the caption: soaring, sublime, uplifting; grandeur, glory, and spirit. With the script of response already written, one's only remaining task was to try to feel what one already knew one was supposed to feel. My own favorite example of this pattern has long been the southern Californian George Wharton James, former minister, reborn promotional writer who, at the turn of the century, unleashed a flood of words promoting everything possible in the Southwest.

As a literary hired hand of the railroads and resorts, George Wharton James said, in pages of text one could measure by the pound, that everything—deserts, mountains, oases, Indians, Mexican American villagers, irrigated farms, growing towns and cities—was colorful. No threats here, every page of James's slick and slippery prose said; the threats are all gone; it's your playground now.

This enterprise was, of course, a little more complicated than it seemed at first. It was not easy to hit the balance in this constant effort of packaging and manipulating the image of the West.

The West had to be cast as tame and safe, with no features that would seriously scare tourists. At the same time, it could not be so tame and safe that it went over the edge and became dull and familiar. This pressure, by the turn of the century, brought a withdrawal of many of the European analogies and a move toward a greater accent on more interesting and distinctive elements of westernness.

This shift in accent appeared in the proliferation of dude ranches, and the recognition that one could sometimes make more money by herding tourists down a trail than by herding cattle. One could see the shift, as well, in the rise of rodeos as tourist entertainment, where skills once used for work now became skills used for show.

As both these examples indicate, the accenting of western distinctiveness was a very selective matter. The process worked by freezing a moment in an imagined past, disconnecting cattle-working techniques from their reallife context, and locating them instead in a timeless moment when real westerners were cowboys, when the mark of real westernness hinged, by everyone's understanding, on a certain close, cooperative, and even affectionate relationship with a horse.

In much more recent times, the movie City Slickers reinvigorated the appeal of dude ranches. Dude ranching bookings accelerated; and the old formula—by which one is repaired from the injuries of urban, industrial civilization with an interlude of simple, rural western life—gained new force. As historian Earl Pomeroy has observed, this had long been a very illuminating choice: developers marketing western rural authenticity to urbanites chose to sell them the experience of simulated work on a cattle ranch, and not simulated work in a copper mine or on a sugar beet farm.

The rise of this kind of western tourism, at the turn of the century, might well strike some historians as a watershed moment in western history, perhaps the best indicator of the end of the frontier. When places and people who were once frightening and threatening turned quaint and fun, when Indians did war dances for tourists at train stations and skipped the attack on the invaders that might logically follow a war dance , when visitors flocked to the stores and restaurants of San Francisco's Chinatown, when painters set themselves to extracting the charm from the Indian and Hispano people of Taos, when deserts, which had terrified overland travelers, turned pretty and appealing in their colors and clear lines, then it might well seem that the frontier was over and the distribution of power clearly settled in the American West.

Here, one could think, the violent history of conquest ended, and a new, tame history of buying souvenirs and taking photographs began. To my mind, the unsettled issues of conquest did not disappear, even if tourists could not see them. But I can get a glimpse of why other historians might think that the flood of tourists into the West provided the clearest and most dramatic statement: the war was over; white people had won; the West was subdued; the West was an occupied terrain, and the tourists were the army of occupation.

With the gradual shift away from the railroad and toward the automobile as the vehicle of tourism, the flood of tourists only broadened and deepened. For the first two decades of the twentieth century, the automobile remained primarily an additional toy for the vacationing rich. But by the s, the automobile was serving as the agent for the democratization of tourism, for the redefinition of western tourism as a mass experience. There were still a lot of poor people left out of this mobile festival, since one still needed the resources to afford a car, leisure, gasoline, shelter, and food.

But the group on the road, from the s on, was much broader in its origins and occupations than the nineteenth-century tourists had been. With auto camps, motels, gas stations, roadside restaurants, and commercial strips, as J. Jackson has argued, a new kind of landscape came to exist in support of automotive tourism. Western tourism has been in a long phase of expansion, pressed by the power of the word "more"—more motels, more gas stations, more attractions, more communities trying to figure out how to get in on this action.

More confusion and more discontent have also been a part of this expansion. A coherent history of the resistance to and rejection of the tourist industry is a hard thing to come by, but it is an enormously rich topic. The signs of rejection are fairly widespread today. In November of , the voters of the state of Colorado rejected a tax, in existence for ten years, that supported a state tourism board and a range of promotional activities.

In the Northwest, the permanent residents of La Conner, Washington, recently began a campaign to institute a "tourist-free zone" in the center of their town, with a La Conner resident, the novelist Tom Robbins, also proposing that developers wear identifying tags so that they might be properly shunned. One suspects that quite a number of residents of western tourist towns understand the appeal of this idea.

As a number of them have said, living in these towns is like always having houseguests, guests who may rotate but who never go away. Certainly, Edward Abbey was industrial tourism's most persistent and audible critic. Tourism, Abbey wrote in one essay, "is always and everywhere a dubious, fraudulent, distasteful, and in the long run, degrading business, enriching a few, doing the rest more harm than good," and this is one of his.

And yet Abbey, in his vigorous and appealing writing about the southwestern deserts and especially about the Colorado Plateau's canyonlands, had a significant impact in increasing tourism in the area, putting a little-known area squarely at the center of the reading public's attention. Abbey was equally important for denouncing tourism and for recruiting more tourists, and that is only one of the many paradoxes that run through western tourism.

The national parks have long represented the best documented case of the puzzles and paradoxes of tourism. From the beginnings of the National Park Service in , its officials knew that they had to sell the parks. Unless they could get significant numbers of Americans to visit the parks, the parks would be without a political constituency. And so the Park Service was placed, from the beginning, at the sharp edge of the divide between the goals of "providing for the enjoyment" of the parks, and preserving the parks, in some more or less intact form, for "future generations.

The sharpness of that edge has not been blunted over time, as the Park Service hops between increasing tourist access with more roads and more facilities, and regulating and restraining crowds and traffic. A survey asked national park visitors what factors governed their choice of which parks to visit. First on the list of the public's criteria was natural beauty. Second was the factor, "how crowded the park is," and there is some kind of deep and puzzling irony in the workings of this factor that I cannot begin to untangle.

Spend a few hours behind a parade of Winnebagoes heading in to Yellowstone, and you might begin to think that this criterion of "crowdedness" functions in the opposite way one might expect: the more crowded the park, the more people want to go there. But third on the list of decision-making factors was the availability of restrooms, and fourth was the availability of parking.

When one first contemplates it, this survey provides one of the occasions for a "Hmph! Is this the best that members of the American public can do? They are presented with the opportunity for moving and instructive encounters with nature, and their attention stays fixed on the prospect of restrooms and convenient parking spaces?

But this survey also presents an opportunity to go beyond the "Hmph! Who, among us, has not felt some desperation in midtown Manhattan, confronting an urban wilderness with neither restrooms nor parking spaces? Just how high is the ground we can occupy in judging the crassness and baseness of the tourist mind?

Should there not be a little more in the way of solidarity among philistines? In last place, as a reason to visit a park, came "educational program. A few years ago, I learned an important lesson about the word "educational," thanks to Kevin Costner and Dances with Wolves. When Dances with Wolves looked like it might win some Oscars, the Today Show sent a camera crew out to talk to a western historian about the film.

The cameraman and the reporter set up their equipment in my office, and then we started in on the interview. The two men looked increasingly cheery; this was a pretty lively professor, and their gloomy expectations of grim, tiresome, and pedantic mini-lectures were not being fulfilled. But then my moment of learning came. It was wonderful, I said, that public audiences were so interested in western history, but was it completely beyond imagination to think that a popular feature film might also be educational?

There was nothing particularly striking or insightful about what I said, but what was remarkable was the look on the faces of these two men, a look of disappointment and almost repulsion when they heard the word "educational.

But does it have to be this way? Does the word "educational" have to provoke such a powerful impulse to despair, or flight? Could not education, reconceived and redirected, make for more vigorous tourism, with more productive social consequences? I think of my childhood visits to the California missions, which were pretty, but finally quite dull.

In truth, the story of the California missions, as places of forced labor and considerable human suffering, was anything but dull. I do not know what the guides are doing at the California missions today, but one hopes they are using the complexity and tragedy of the missions' history to increase the interest in—and even the education provided by—the tours.

And, as a part of the agenda of tourism, could we not widen the concept of sites worth seeing? I think here, especially, of the photographer Richard Misrach's work on a northern Nevada naval bombing range. This piece of the Great Basin absorbed bomb after bomb, with quite a number of them still lying unexploded on the site, and with shells and devastated bombing targets all over the place.

Misrach has photographed the bombing range extensively, but his book Bravo 20 goes beyond collecting images to suggest the creation of a Bravo 20 National Park. This would be a "unique and powerful addition to our current park system," Misrach says. In the spirit of Bull Run and the Vietnam Memorial, it would be a national acknowledgment of a complex and disturbing period in our history.

Working with landscape architects, Misrach has drawn up the plans for this park. Like most parks, this one would have a loop road, this time called Devastation Drive; to view the somewhat risky terrain of unexploded bombs, the tourists would walk along a boardwalk, very much like the boardwalk leading through the geysers of Yellowstone, but called the Boardwalk of the Bombs.

Misrach has even made plans for the gift shop, with books and videos on military and environmental issues, as well as "imprinted clothing such as camouflage-style caps, t-shirts, pants; 'Nevada Is Not a Wasteland' and 'Bombs Away' mugs, tote bags, and bumper stickers; and for the kids, Mattel models based on the most advanced, top-secret military designs—up-to-date delivery systems and Stealth bombers.

It is impossible to look at Misrach's proposal without thinking that we have, as a society, been very limited and unimaginative in our thinking about the possibilities of tourism. I myself never took a more interesting tour than the one we had a few years ago, of the Hanford Nuclear Reservation in eastern Washington.

Begun in to produce the plutonium for the Manhattan Project's bombs, Hanford now has eight retired nuclear reactors, a number of retired production facilities, and a lot of radioactive and chemical waste. The day at Hanford was the most memorable and unsettling day of my life as a tourist. The impact of that visit tells me that western tourism will have arrived, become mature, gained its full meaning, realized its deeper possibilities, when Hanford, the Nevada Test Site, and the northern Nevada Bravo 20 pull in as many visitors as Disneyland or Las Vegas.

But, for now, we remain stuck in a mode in which a visit to an important site in western history is still supposed to mean escape from the world's problems, and not a way of reckoning with them. The history of western tourism does provide the material for explaining one of the most complicated issues of historical thought today.

For one example, consider the experience of the wildlife at the base of Pike's Peak. In the s, in Colorado Springs, the local coyotes got the jump on postmodernist theory. General W. Palmer of the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad had planned the town of Colorado Springs as an upper-class resort, and participants at an upper-class resort had to have proper entertainment. So they had dinners and dances, and they played polo, and they rode to hounds.

But if the tourists at Colorado Springs were going to play the part of British aristocrats, who would play the part of the fox? This is where the Colorado coyotes stole the march on postmodernism; in the absence of proper foxes, coyotes had to fill in. This is one element that all theoretically inclined historians can celebrate in the topic of western tourism: this is the subject that makes all the abstractions of cultural theory—construction, authenticity, appropriation, identity, representation, performance—concrete and clear.

Nearly everyone associated with the subject of western tourism has had moments where they looked like, acted like, talked like case studies designed for the express purpose of illustrating postmodernist theory. As one of the best possible examples of what I mean here, consider the interesting recent mobility of the Grand Tetons.

The Tetons are, usually, located right next to the site of Jackson, Wyoming. They have been in that neighborhood for some millennia. But, in the late s, they hit a phase of remarkable mobility.

A handsome photograph of the Tetons appeared in a brochure advertising Amtrak, which does not run through Wyoming. The Tetons appeared, as well, in an ad for a resort in Montana.

And, in what seems to have irritated Wyomingites the most, the Tetons then moved south, to lend their authority and appeal to a condominium project in the Colorado Rockies. The manager of the Montana resort was more willing to admit errors of judgment: "I was totally against using the Tetons, but we had to get something out on the market immediately. If you have a student or colleague who does not understand the meaning of appropriation of identity or the politics of representation, then let that individual contemplate the restlessness of the Tetons, and contemplate the jealous possessiveness of the Jackson Chamber of Commerce, tugging away for commercial and emotional control of an image.

Or consider my neighboring city of Denver. Every year or so, Denver collapses into a fit of anxious self-consciousness and worries about its image. Should it surrender the fight for sophistication and package itself as a cow town? While the smell of a feedlot is not a much-sought-after experience, tourists love many of the associations of cow towns: handsome men on horse-.

But just as a wave of enthusiasm for embracing the role of the cow town begins to build, then the anxieties break right behind. If Denver capitalizes on its frontier history and advertises itself as a cow town, will it not, by that act, move toward the past and away from the future, rendering itself into a backwater town, a town of the nineteenth century where no twenty-first-century high-tech company would want to locate?

Every year or so, a group of consultants pitch into this problem. Poor Denver sits like a hopeful star, forgotten in the green room, overlooked and immobilized while the make-up and costume experts debate what look would best distract attention from the subject's many flaws. Or consider the example of Cheyenne, Wyoming. In , the mayor of Cheyenne tried to address the problem of tourist disappointment in the city.

Cheyenne is a town heavily dependent on the federal government and defense spending, and it is a town that suffered from the slump in oil and energy production. Despite its modern complexities, Cheyenne has still chosen to dramatize its Wild West identity, adopting the slogan, "Live the Legend. But the rest of the year, tourists pulling off the interstate experience considerable disappointment. Live the Legend? What Legend? As one young visitor said, "There's got to be some cowboys around here somewhere"; instead, there were businesspeople and secretaries, service station attendants and waitresses.

To ease this disappointment, the mayor in recommended that all residents offer their visitors various signifiers of westernness. They should wear western dress and say "howdy" instead of "hello. Once again, it would take only three or four "howdies" from real estate agents dressed, perhaps more authentically than the mayor intended, as bandits and outlaws for even a very prosaic student to begin to get a firm grasp on the notion of constructed and appropriated identity, and on the contested meanings of authenticity.

In Kellogg, Idaho, the rush of towns capitalizing on westernness brought forth an even more remarkable demonstration in cultural theory. Kellogg had gone into a terrible, possibly terminal, slump from the recession in mining and logging. The landscape in large areas around Kellogg spoke of those earlier industries, with large sections "deforested from acid rain and pollution from a smelter that is no longer in use.

Would the town adopt a western theme to accompany its ski resort? Too many towns in the area had already made that choice. Kellogg settled on "old Bavarian" as its image of choice. Not everyone was enthusiastic. Isn't a bit of Alpine bric-a-brac a small price to pay compared to those earlier prices of acid rain, pollution, deforestation, and cyclical economic collapse? Here is the central question of western tourism, past and present. Given the instability and even decline of the conventional, rural western enterprises, given the economic troubles afflicting mining, logging, ranching, and farming, does not the lesson of history point in the direction of tourism?

The lesson of western history is that extractive industries have provided a treacherous foundation for permanent and stable communities. If one looks for a different, and more reliable, kind of foundation, all roads seem to lead to tourism, to the preservation and publicizing of local natural and cultural resources, as a permanent attraction for visitors with deep pockets.

Here, the theory goes, is the clean industry, the sustainable industry. By this thinking, the residents of Kellogg, Idaho, may feel a little goofy in their pinafores and lederhosen, but wearing silly clothes is a small price to pay for the escape from environmental injury and economic instability represented in the town's old smelter.

Whether one calls it the end of the frontier or not, some sort of major shift is indeed under way in the American West today. The rural extractive industries are undeniably on the ropes. Under those circumstances, it is hard to find economic options other than tourism. In tourism's Third World labor arrangements, in its often terrible disparity between rich and poor in places like Aspen, in its various environmental impacts from sewage to air pollution, and in its ongoing vulnerability to the swings of the American economy, tourism may be an unappealing alternative to mining, logging, ranching, and farming.

But what else is there? At this point in my reflections, I come face to face with a powerful, if unexamined, urge among historians of my generation to steer their narratives toward some sort of happy or, at the least, promising ending. The lessons of western history, one feels certain in saying, tell us that the extractive uses of western resources come with a very definite limit in time and extent.

On that count, one cannot fudge. But my own inclination to fudge evidently becomes more powerful when it comes to the appraisal of tourism as an alternative to these dead-end enterprises. I would like to believe that there are better ways to do tourism, ways that give greater respect to the dignity of the.

I would like to believe that at the heart of tourism is a very understandable human curiosity, a sympathetic impulse to go beyond the limits of one's own familiar world, and to see and to learn about new places and new people.

I would like to believe that this curiosity is not intrinsically damaging and degrading. Consider, for instance, the pattern adopted by visitors to Utah and Salt Lake City before The one feature of local society, on every non-Mormon visitor's mind, was polygamy. Visitors to Salt Lake were thus the living, walking embodiments of the component of snoopishness in tourism. If visitors walked past a Mormon house and the door happened to be open, they would peer in, hoping for a glimpse of polygamy in private life.

This was tourism at its peak of snoopishness, tourism as intrusion, tourism as psychological and domestic invasion. But this is also where a suspension of the casting of the tourist as contemptible, intrusive other seems in order. Is there anyone among us who does not find polygamy very interesting? Jessie Embry's fine book on Mormon polygamous families is a case in point.

One turns the pages of Embry's book in a spirit not entirely separate from the eagerness with which tourists hoped that a door would open and they could get a glimpse of a polygamous family at home. The curiosity that drives the historian and the curiosity that drives the tourist have a certain amount in common. The spirit of inquiry with which the historian pokes into the lives of people of the past bears a certain resemblance to the spirit of inquiry with which tourists have poked into the lives of their contemporaries.

Historians had better put some effort into a sympathetic understanding of the interior world of tourists, because tourists are, in some not necessarily very agreeable way, our kinfolk. But the relation of historians to tourists is even more tangled than this, because contemporary tourism relies heavily on the marketing of history. When you track the history of western American tourism, you arrive, ironically, at a branch of tourism that rests on the marketing of the romance, color, and interest of western American history.

To use the term employed by professionals in this field, you confront heritage tourism, tourism that capitalizes on the attractions and interest of the past. This kind of tourism has a way of rendering western history in pastel colors, sketching a cheery and inconsequentially quaint past. And yet the messages of heritage tourism reach a much larger audience than writings of academic historians will ever reach; it does not seem entirely justifiable for historians to turn on our heels and retreat in contempt from the impurity of heritage tourism.

But I recognize that, even with this reconsideration, what tourists want from western history and what historians are willing to give them may be fundamentally at odds. This is a struggle not likely to dissolve in friendly, reciprocal empathy and understanding. When art tourism hit Taos, New Mexico, early in the twentieth century, Anglo-American artists rushed in to paint Indians and Mexican Americans, producing appealing images that in turn inspired further waves of tourism.

When I am starting to get too cheery and soft-headed in my appraisal of tourism, it helps to remember a story that anthropologist Sylvia Rodriguez tells in an article on the Taos Art Colony. Joseph Sandoval was a child in Taos Pueblo when art tourism hit the area. Sandoval's father served as a model for the artists, and then, at age six, Joe himself began to pose.

Years later, Joseph Sandoval described his start in modeling. However, he was soon overtaken by Mrs. Couse who brought him back, chained him around the waist to a chair within easy reach of a great bowl of luscious fruit and a tempting mound of cookies.

A blanket was draped over the chain, says Joe, and Couse, without further complications, completed the painting. I end with this story to counteract any tendency toward the suspension of critical judgment that I may have shown in this essay.

This image of a chained child, with a blanket placed over the chain to make the picture pretty, is part of the heritage of western tourism.

As we examine the rising influence of tourism in the western economy, we return to pay attention to that chain. In , a hiker, walking among the dunes of central California, tripped over the head of a sphinx, which the windswept sands had uncovered.

The artifact was something that Cecil B. DeMille—not an Egyptian ruler—had conceived long ago. Before filming his first version of The Ten Commandments, sixty years earlier, DeMille had constructed a series of sets in the desert. One of these sets re-created the city of Ramses the Magnificent. Twenty-four sphinxes, weighing five tons apiece, and four foot-tall statues of the pharaoh, made of concrete and plaster, had been erected and photographed, then dismantled and buried.

Although film historians had subsequently searched the region for years, it took decades before the sands revealed where the lost city lay. In , ten years after the hiker had rediscovered the head of one sphinx, a team of experts was still slowly digging to see what else was there.

The U. Ben-Hur , one of the best-selling novels of the late nineteenth century, tells the story of one man, a Jew, who escapes Roman bondage, finding personal salvation at the foot of Christ's cross.

In addition to using the southwestern landscape as a substitute for the deserts of Palestine, Wallace based the action in his novel on contemporary local historical incidents. While he was working to make the recently acquired U. The novel glorified the decline of a barbaric culture and the dawning of a new Christian age at the same time that U. However, a decided ambivalence—an identification, first with the agents of "civilization," then with the forces of "savagery"—plagued Wallace throughout his life and careers.

Ben-Hur was the best-known but not the only example of Wallace's mixed views on the subject of empire, both at home and abroad. Lewis Wallace was born in in Brookville, a small town on Indiana's frontier.

His father, David, after training and teaching at West Point, had given up the military, returned to his home state, and gone into politics. In the early s, before his father became governor and moved to the capital, Wallace's family lived in the small town of Covington. Here, near the Indiana-Illinois border, Indians had begun to wage war. The Illinois state militia, fighting on behalf of white settlers, had tried to remove native peoples from land near the border. The warrior Black Hawk, however, having rallied five tribes of Indians, had declared war on intruders.

In the spring of that year, tribes had killed two settlers not far from Covington. Because of his military experience, the townspeople elected Wallace's father whom they nicknamed "the Colonel" to train a defensive militia. Although the militiamen never faced war, they prepared for encounters with Indians in a field next to town.

In his autobiography, published in , Wallace recalled watching the troops and then going home, inspired by this dress rehearsal to sketch "real" battle scenes in chalk on his slate. Wallace would later use the same materials to compose the first draft of Ben-Hur. Wallace enjoyed watching and reproducing scenes of men armed for combat.

The reproduced scenes, in fact, realized the bloody encounters in which Covington's men never fought. Reared on the literature of Irving and Cooper, Wallace could sympathize with the victors and with the vanquished as well. When he read about the death of Uncas, for example, it caused him "the keenest anguish," he claimed. As a child, Wallace sympathized with both sides in battle.

As an adult, he demonstrated the same conflicting loyalties, both in life and in literature. Although he never saw action, he nevertheless supported the cause of Manifest Destiny, which claimed divine title. Having earlier defended the right of the U. His first novel, The Fair God, demonstrated that Wallace could side first with the conquerors and then with the conquered in what was now Mexico.

Set in the past, the epic narrates the conquest of the Aztecs by Spain. At times Wallace seems to sympathize with the Aztec leader, whose courage and cunning in war help the Aztecs win several battles.

But at times Wallace seems to identify with the Spaniards, whose triumph is destined by history. The author, sometimes referred to on the title pages of his books as "General Lew Wallace," was a military man who had fought on the winning side in two recent wars.

His family, along with the rest of the nation, had also been waging an undeclared war on American Indians who refused to give up their land. For example, while he was governor, Wallace's father had ordered hundreds of Indians sent west to Kansas; traveling by a route called The Trail of Death, captives had died on the way. Spain's victory over the Aztecs, in Wallace's novel, if not intentionally justifying U.

The political imprint of one culture on that of another was sometimes accomplished using the stamp of religion. In , President Rutherford B. Hayes appointed Wallace, a well-known war hero and loyal Republican, to govern New Mexico. Until then, the Catholic Church, led by Franciscan friars, had enjoyed only partial success in their efforts to convert Pueblo Indians. In The Land of the Pueblos , Wallace's wife, Susan, depicted the Pueblos as a passive race, yearning for Anglo-European missionaries to rescue their souls.

Perhaps because her husband was writing Ben-Hur at the time, she compared the Pueblos to the Jews who had been converted by Christ. Although they were as different from the white settlers as "the Jews are from the other races in Christendom," the Pueblos were one day.

Wallace himself, however, entertained conflicting opinions about the "civilizing" role that religion should play. In a lecture entitled "Mexico and the Mexicans," delivered in , Wallace blamed the Catholic Church for making the people complacent, arguing instead that the Mexican peasantry should protest against members of the landowning elite who exploited them.

While the Catholic Church was trying to convert the Pueblos, the U. In transit, approximately three hundred Indians escaped from captivity. Although some eventually turned themselves in, the rest, led by the Apache warrior Victorio, remained at large for four years, running south into Mexico and returning periodically to attack U. He has held his own against us from that day to this.

Wallace had good reasons for respecting Victorio. By comparison, some of the white invaders who appropriated Indian land were themselves less than admirable. The recent acquisition of California and the Southwest by the U. Establishing their own rings of influence, these vigilantes and entrepreneurs had murdered men, rustled cattle, and conspired in their efforts to wipe out competitors. In Lincoln County, in southeast New Mexico, during Wallace's tenure as governor two factions held sway; and in , shortly after Wallace took office, violence.

Wallace declared a state of insurrection and then offered amnesty, but neither his threats of force nor his promises of forgiveness stopped outlaws who would continue their depredations for the next several years. Finally, Wallace attempted to prosecute some of the worst offenders in court. As part of a program to make witnesses testify, Wallace struck a bargain with Billy the Kid, a hired gun who had worked at different times for various gangs.

In exchange for his testimony, Wallace allegedly promised not to punish Billy for his own role in the war. Billy had killed one man in Lincoln and was thought to be implicated in the deaths of at least several more victims.

But after appearing in court in , Billy escaped from jail and went on a killing spree, violating the terms of his amnesty. After being captured and jailed several more times, Billy was eventually tracked down and killed in by sheriff Pat Garrett. History reveals Billy to be not a noble hero who fought selflessly for a worthwhile cause but a ruthlessly violent and pragmatic man. The facts, few though they are, cast a harsh light on Wallace as well. Some critics have argued that Wallace tricked Billy into testifying in court by promising to give Billy amnesty, and that Wallace then revoked or conveniently forgot the promise once the case was resolved.

Others have contended that Wallace made the promise in earnest but that Billy's later crimes violated the terms of his amnesty. Letters exchanged between the two men suggest that both of them, being in difficult straits, tried to strike the best deal that they could.

Billy, a troublemaking loner who fought for both sides but who had no stake in the feud, gave his testimony not because he cared whether justice prevailed but because he wanted to save his own neck.

Wallace, a former military leader who had no experience governing disorderly citizens and a political novice who had little initial understanding of the complex rivalries of New Mexico's gangs, also seemed desperate to find a solution that worked. Negotiating with an unsavory criminal was a means to this end. The man who, when he first came to New Mexico, declared a state of insurrection and then proclaimed amnesty, again switched back and forth, threatening and conciliating Billy in letters that he wrote to the outlaw-in-hiding.

In a letter dated March 15, , Wallace told Billy that he had arranged for them to meet on neutral ground so that the two men could talk.

To do that the utmost secresy [sic] is to be used. So come alone. Instead, two men, who desperately needed each other for their own distinct purposes, came together under the cover of darkness to transact their shady business in a small frontier town.

The clear-cut victories and. Wallace's career as a soldier-politician was shaped by some of the most important events of the mid- and late nineteenth century: by the Black Hawk War, the Mexican War, the Civil War, various local Indian skirmishes, and the famous range wars in Lincoln County, New Mexico. Wallace's novels, however, were set in the long distant past. Writing at a time when literary realism was beginning to come into prominence, Wallace clung to romances that he had read as a boy, writing adventure tales that were situated on foreign frontiers.

Having fought, Wallace could realistically describe the grisly horrors of war in his autobiography. Having governed in peacetime as well, he could chronicle the historical process of conquest and rule with the calm detachment of one who knows which side is destined to win. But in his historical fiction, looking back on the past, he tended to idealize and romanticize those who were doomed to defeat.

Wallace made various careers for himself, first as a soldier, then as a politician, and finally as the author of one of the most popular historical epics in American literature. But sympathy for the losing side sometimes caused him to criticize institutions that had contributed to Wallace's success in real life. The army, the government, and even the Catholic Church could appear as instruments of oppression, used by the conquerors to impose their will on the conquered.

Wallace's identification with one side, then the other, continued throughout his life and his literature. But nowhere did it play itself out more dramatically than in his famous novel, Ben-Hur. Because Wallace wrote parts of Ben-Hur while he lived in the West, and because he based it on a conflict between "civilization" and "savagery," the novel in certain respects resembles the formula western, which was then in development.

No western, no matter how representative, fulfills every requirement of the genre, and Ben-Hur, because it isn't a member of the genre but merely a relative, lacks certain signs of affinity. But in addition to its resemblance to the historical epic and religious conversion tale, the novel manifests three traits whichJohn G. Cawelti claims all westerns share. According to Cawelti, one of the most influential critics to posit a formula, the typical western is characterized, first, by an action that "takes place on or near a frontier.

Ben-Hur's defeat of the Romans in battle, his victory in the chariot race over his former friend and rival, Messala, and his conversion to Christianity at the end of the novel, which redeems the Jewish hero as well as his followers, mark successive stages in the dismantling of Rome's evil empire and the founding of a new holy society.

In Wallace's novel, these three types of characters are represented by the Jews, the Romans, and Ben-Hur, respectively. The hero lives among Jews, who are destined to be converted to the new Christian faith, and among Romans, who are heathens and blasphemers.

Subscribing first to the Old Testament law of an eye for an eye, he seeks revenge against Messala and schemes to attack Rome with his troops; accommodating himself later to the New Testament teachings of Christ, he scuttles his plans for further destruction and dedicates himself instead to constructive good works.

Just as the western hero performs acts that are alternately ruthless and civilized, so he finds himself attracted to women who are both morally dangerous and honorable.

Simultaneously drawn to the heroine a schoolmarm, for instance and to the villainess typically a saloon girl or prostitute , the hero identifies equally with characters who exist both inside and outside society.

Moving back and forth between "civilization" and "savagery," Wallace's hero also finds himself drawn to two different women: Esther, a Jew, who is modest and loyal, and Iras, a Roman spy who betrays Ben-Hur while seducing him at a desert oasis.

Finally, Cawelti insists that the western be staged against the backdrop of nature 39— The desert or high plains, a sweeping prairie or mountain range, dramatizes the fact that pioneers could easily become stranded, dwarfed, or engulfed by the wilderness in the process of attempting to tame the frontier. In addition, the harsh extremes of the climate and the hostile "savages" who inhabit the unfriendly environment contribute to the impression that the chances for white survival are slim, that the struggles confronting a new civilization are great, even epic.

Wallace modeled his Middle Eastern landscape on deserts in the southwestern U. While living in New Mexico, he observed that the Rio Grande Valley looked more like "the region of the Nile" than did any other place he had visited; his wife noted that scenes of "low adobe houses" and herdsmen with their flocks, gathered to drink at a stream, reminded her of illustrations of biblical stories set in far distant lands.

As Cawelti's work demonstrates, westerns share many of the same characteristics on film and in literature. Reading Wallace's novel, one can understand why Ben-Hur was filmed more than once. Because of its depiction of exploits, crowd scenes, and spectacles, many of which exist in the reader's imagination as indelible images, the novel anticipates the later techniques of cinema.

At times, Wallace's audience seems to function less as reader than as spectator, not so much processing narrative as simply witnessing scenes. In the chariot-race scene, for example, the reader becomes one of the crowd in the Circus seats, watching and cheering Ben-Hur.

The un-. In the race scene, again, the narrator says: "try to fancy it;. Unlike Cawelti, the critic Will Wright, limiting himself to a discussion of films, argues that westerns follow one of four basic plots. In the "vengeance" plot, the hero is a member of civilization who temporarily leaves it in order to protect it from villains. But at some point during the struggle, a member of society asks the hero to give up his quest for revenge. Only after defeating the villains, however, does the hero return to society.

The hero first seeks revenge when Messala sends Ben-Hur into slavery. While in exile he fights, as an individual and as a representative of Jewish society, against bondage to Rome. The word "vengeance" appears more frequently than just about any other word in Wallace's novel. The hero swears "vengeance" when his mother and sister are cast into prison ; he threatens "vengeance" when he thinks that his family is dead ; he tells Sheik Ilderim that he is racing against Messala for "vengeance," not money ; and he spends three years training troops to fight against Rome because he craves "vengeance" in war Only at the end of the book, when he witnesses Christ's death on the cross, does the hero realize that he must accept God's will and lay down his arms.

Cawelti and Wright agree that the western hero moves back and forth between the worlds of his friends and his enemies.

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External columns and stone balustraded balconies are popular features, too, and most feature colourful painted facades typically yellow and blue. Their interiors feature large rooms, extensive wooden and stone detailing and decorative tilework. Rio de Janeiro was the capital of the Portuguese colony of Brazil from to In , the Portuguese royal court transferred from Lisbon to Brazil and, for 13 years, Rio de Janeiro functioned as the capital of Portugal, which had a profound effect on the city.

Victorino explained. Most remain single-family homes, with larger properties being used as hospitals, schools and corporate headquarters. Other draws are the square footage and their locations since some are in sought-after city areas.

Its owner bought the house in a dilapidated state with jungle-like gardens and a dirty and leak-filled interior and renovated it. That entailed new garden palms, paths and a swimming pool, and commissioning replicas of stained-glass elements by a specialist. Cockenpot said. Cockenpot said that most colonial houses typically fall into the average price range for an area, with only the very luxurious and exclusive homes commanding a premium. The location of a property in Rio de Janeiro is key in determining its price.

Victorino said. She added that prices depend a lot on the location, listed building consent, and whether it has already been renovated inside or not.

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