On Friday, I had the most meaningful beer I’ve ever had.
Most of you know what’s happening in the Cedars. Back in 2014, a lot of major buildings on Ervay (one of DHV’s borders) changed hands–with significant redevelopment plans. Promises were made with projected opening dates of 2016. All of those buildings remain quiet for a variety of complicated reasons.
Months after that initial flurry, Four Corners Brewing announced they were moving from their original location in Trinity Groves (West Dallas) to the Cedars. This was a different kind of development plan–an established business expanding–and though the last announced, they’re the first to open.
I don’t remember exactly when I first met Greg, one of the co-owners, but I remember how I approached that first meeting. Meeting new potential partners can be a little like dating–the main purpose is to get to know each other. You don’t want to reveal everything on that first date. What if your special brand of crazy shows too early? My goals for that first meeting were pretty simple–I really just wanted them to know who we are, that we like beer, and determine their timeline. Of course, I had lots and lots of other ideas. After all, I love craft beer almost as much as I love museums. But it seemed a little too forward to put all that out there on the first meeting.
But then Greg and I got to talking. I learned that he had volunteered at DHV as a kid back in the 1980s. I learned that he was already thinking about ways we could partner. So, I pretty much shared all of my ideas at the first meeting. And I don’t think I scared him too much, since we’ve kept talking.
Of course, with any construction project, there are delays. Their original opening date was supposed to be in March. But when the tap room opened for the first time on Friday, I was there. And I had a beer. And it was delicious.
But it’s not just about the beer. The completion of this project is such a clear articulation of the vision so many of us have for the future of the Cedars. They took an overlooked, historic building (it was originally the stables for the Ambassador Hotel across the street), beautifully updated it, and created a new community gathering space.
Last night, we hosted a DHV members happy hour. Many familiar faces were there, but by far, the most important person there was Ruth Ann. She’s one of our founders and has been involved with us for over 50 years. Ruth Ann graciously declined a beer, but she just had to see what our new neighbors had done with the building. She ended up chatting at length with Greg, both about the business and the neighborhood.
As we were chatting, she said to me “I’m so amazed at what you’re doing. You’re just one of the most clever people I’ve ever met.” And I turned to her and said “I don’t know, Ruth Ann. You’re pretty smart too. You saw what the museum and this neighborhood could be all those years ago, when there was absolutely nothing.” I guess our mutual admiration society continues.
Trying to ride the wave of all this neighborhood redevelopment is exhausting. Sometimes it is frustrating. It certainly requires a lot of patience! But the last few days have reminded me why we keep going. If the presence of Ruth Ann at a brewery on a Tuesday night doesn’t speak volumes to the faith and loyalty our supporters have in both the museum and the neighborhood, then I don’t know what will.
And it continues. Tonight, I had drinks with another neighborhood partner, also giving new life to a fabulous historical building. It will be an unprecedented partnership, one I can’t talk about quite yet. But it’s yet another reminder of how naturally collaboration comes to our organization. The difference now is geography. Finally having neighbors–and our mutual desire to work together–will transform the museum in ways that were beyond my wildest dreams when I took the Executive Director title 3.5 years ago. I think we can all drink to that.
But here’s a new answer: I don’t think I would have survived this past week without the past two years of increasing community involvement. And my museum would be in a very different place.
On Monday, we needed to make a call about whether or not to pursue a rain plan for our largest fundraiser, History with a Twist. During a two hour meeting, the forecast for rain on Saturday went from 40% to 80%. We decided to wait until Tuesday morning to make the call.
Usually, DHV can’t do much about rain. We can cram about 200 people into the Pavilion, but with 300+ expected guests, food, silent auction, and drinks, there weren’t any good options to keep it at DHV. However, when the 10 day forecast came out, with an 80% chance of rain, I emailed Karen, the ED at Vogel Alcove. I asked: “Is there any way we can move Twist to your building? I know you may have a lot of issues to consider regarding this request, but please think about.” I was expecting a long conversation because this was a very, very big favor. Within a few hours, Karen wrote back “Of course. Whatever you need.” I shouted Hallelujah at my desk. More than once.
First thing Tuesday, I had a long chat with my event chair, Don. Forecast varied depended on where you looked, but all said we would have severe weather on Friday night. This meant set up, particularly for sound and lighting, became more complicated. We knew Vogel would be a very tight fit, but I thought it would be better to spend the week stressing about things we could control, rather than things we can’t. I decided to ask Helen, my director of sales, how she would advise a bride and get back to Don. While I was on the phone with Helen, my phone rang. The last time I ignored a call from the Ticket Office, a reporter had shown up. So I picked up–another reporter had arrived. I texted Don as I walked over, letting him know it would be a little while before I got back to him.
As I was chatting with the reporter, he thought he had a scoop on the growth of the encampment behind DHV (nicknamed Tent Village) as Tent City was closed. I told him that he was the 3rd reporter this month. (Story 1,Story 2, and Story 3)
When I got back to the office, I called Don and we made the decision to proceed with moving Twist to Vogel. Helen and I had a quick meeting, and we got to work on contacting vendors and figuring out the setup.
In the midst of all this, I had a long conversation with Michael, one of my favorite neighborhood advocates–and a member of our board. The day before, there had been a rather contentious Public Safety Committee meeting at City Hall. CM Greyson asked a lot of questions regarding police plans regarding Tent Village, and they continued to state that it wasn’t a priority. But this was the first time someone besides our council member, Adam Medrano, had asked any questions. This seemed like a small glimmer of light in what has been a very long, dark tunnel.
Earlier that morning, I had received an email from Stephanie, who is our primary contact for schools. As a result of Friday’s Channel 8 story, schools were calling, concerned about their students’ safety if they came to DHV. Two schools requested to talk to me directly. A few schools cancelled. Late Tuesday afternoon, I sent an email to Mayor Rawlings and Adam letting them know that I had just reassured two schools that their students would be safe on their field trips.
That evening was the monthly CBD (Central Business District) crime watch meeting. I hadn’t planned on attending–I have been to a lot of crime watch meetings over the past year, and I can only tolerate them so often. Also, it was FYA book club night. But after hearing more about the Public Safety meeting and seeing a note that one of the agenda items was Tent Village, I figured I should probably go.
As I walked up, I happened to run into Adam. He told me that the letter writing campaign we launched on April 15 was working–and we needed to keep it up. He also mentioned the letter I had just written to the Mayor–and that he had already gotten a call from the Mayor’s office. Another glimmer of light in the tunnel.
The Dallas Police Chief was there, which I hadn’t realized when I made my decision to go. When the floor was opened for general questions, the very first question, not asked by me, was about their plans regarding Tent Village.
I want to pause for a moment to say this: at every single meeting I’ve attended regarding the current Dallas homeless crisis, I have never been the one to bring up Tent Village. Someone else always does it first. This isn’t by design–there’s no planning or coordination. It just happens. Do you know how gratifying that is? How good it feels to see all your advocacy work out in the community like that? I don’t think there’s a better expression of how the Cedars neighborhood feels about Dallas Heritage Village than what is said in these meetings.
Chief Brown said “I’d like to hear more about what’s going on down there.” The entire room tilted towards me. I introduced myself. I mentioned Friday’s story on Channel 8 and that schools no longer felt it was safe to visit DHV. He asked if the story was accurate. I said yes. And then I said: “My one question for you, Chief Brown, is why it’s not a priority for the City of Dallas to protect a city-owned cultural institution?”
At that, he and Chief Lawton (over our area) sat straight up and started to sputter. Chief Brown “I never said it wasn’t a priority.” And then the strangest thing happened: at least four voices, including my own, responded: “But your actions do.”
That may be the moment when all the momentum we’ve been building as a community–the letter writing, the tweets, the meetings, the news stories–finally began to turn the tide. Chief Brown promised to make closing Tent Village a priority. He asked us to help with creating barriers to make it a less enticing spot. I responded that we had neighbors that have been talking about a cactus/rock garden for months. Enthusiastic nods around the room. At 7:15, I left to head to book club. I really needed a beer.
Early Wednesday evening, I was chatting with my board chair, Trey, after a meeting. My phone buzzed, and I glanced at it. It was a direct Twitter message: a photo of a cleared area behind the Farmstead and the message “Thanks to all involved.” I stared at my phone, not quite believing what I was seeing. “Umm, Trey. . .” And then Michael posted something in one of the neighborhood groups on Faceboook. I clicked on that and saw this picture:
After a long trying process, most of tent Village is gone. This is been the culmination of the efforts of many many people. We hope we can remain that way. Some cleanup still has to get done Landscaping xcetera to prevent them from coming back. Many thanks to Chief David Brown Adam Medrano and all the people in The Cedars, DHV, and Farmers Market who made this happen over the past few months.thanks to all DPD and support from friends downtown.
Trey headed out as I called Michael. Several neighbors were in our small parking lot off Ervay, so I ran over there. We all kinda looked at each other in amazement, stunned that the city had finally taken action. We all know it was just a first step, that there is still much work to do–both to help the homeless and discourage the camp from forming again. However, we still decided that we needed a beer.
On Thursday, the forecast changed again. Late that afternoon a committee member asked the question I had been avoiding: can Twist be moved back to DHV? We started reaching out to key vendors to find out if they could change their set up schedule. They could. On Friday morning, I made the call–back to DHV! And I thanked Karen again, who responded “You know if you hadn’t made all those plans, the forecast wouldn’t have changed.” Nothing about the time her staff spent answering our questions, planning the setup, all the week before their own big fundraiser. As I said in my remarks on Saturday, they are the definition of neighborly.
That evening, I went to the monthly Cedars Neighborhood Association meeting. We are the default hosts, but on Monday, with my cloudy crystal ball, I asked them to find a different location as I didn’t want to ask anyone to stay late to host–and I knew I didn’t want to. But with all that had happened, I knew I had to go. While I was eating dinner, the official word was spread that Tent Village would be closed in conjunction with Tent City on May 4. I spoke briefly about the landscape/barrier plans, and then I said “There are certainly challenges in running a museum in our neighborhood, but there’s not another neighborhood in Dallas I would rather be in.” And then I totally started crying and quickly sat down.
My Saturday started pretty early by my standards–breakfast at 8 with the Mayor Mike Rawlings and selected neighbors. it was on the calendar before the events of the past week, but the timing certainly felt fortuitous. We talked more about Tent Village, the challenges of being in the Cedars and feeling neglected by the Powers That Be. It was a very good conversation, though I remain somewhat pessimistic about any radical changes. And then, I headed to DHV to start setting up for Twist.
Saturday ended up being just about a perfect day, weather-wise. Not too humid, not too hot. It was a beautiful night at DHV. Many, many neighbors were there too–along with Adam Medrano, board members that have definitely had my back through all of this, my parents, family friends, and museum friends. It was a good night–we raised some money, had some fun, and I didn’t tear up once.
So, why write this very long blog post on some issues that are perhaps unique to DHV? Well, first, I write to process–and there is a lot to process. But for my museum friends that are reading this, I ask you:
Could you ask a favor of one of your neighbors on the level of what I asked Karen?
If you were in the middle of a local political crisis, would your neighbors speak up for you?
If, as a director, you had to enter into some very tricky political waters, would your board have your back? (I should mention not a single board member has questioned the letter writing campaign. At least not to me.)
Would you be invited to a “neighborhood” breakfast with the mayor?
Lots of work still to do, and the Dallas homeless crisis continues. Tent City and Tent Village will be closed on Wednesday. It will likely be another crazy week, but perhaps a bit calmer since Twist is now behind us. And no matter how crazy it gets, I know I have some neighbors and friends that are willing to have a drink with me as we attempt to build a better community.
When I joined the staff here in 2004, our name was Old City Park. Consequently, I spent a lot of time on the phone explaining to people the following:
No, you can’t bring your frisbee.
No, we don’t have a swimming pool available for your birthday party.
Yes, you do have to pay admission even though you’re a Dallas taxpayer.
The “museum” is all around you, as soon as you walk through our gates.
In 2006, we changed our name to Dallas Heritage Village at Old City Park. Of course, name changes are never easy, and we still get asked all the time why we changed our name. My short (somewhat snarky) answer has always been: “Why would anyone want to go to an old city park?” And then people generally get it. Changing our name has solved many, many problems. We don’t get the above questions any more. But, of course, there are other challenges.
Changing vocabulary is hard. There are still lots and lots of people out there that still use our old name or just say “the park.” I never correct many of our long time supporters (after all, some of them have supported this organization longer than I’ve been alive. They can call us whatever they want), but if you got to know us post-2006, you better be not be calling us a park. As we began working with our new developer friends, I had to have a conversation about how they referred to us, emphasizing “history museum in park-like setting.” Over the years, I’ve learned the hard way that people that primarily think of us as a park aren’t going to respect our mission of preservation and education. For years, I’ve been working to eradicate the word park from our DHV vocabulary. But now I’m starting to have some second thoughts.
Yesterday was the 3rd Annual Dallas Jazz Age Sunday Social. This 1920s themed lawn party uses our grounds to their full potential. It’s certainly a day when we’re more park than museum. Thirteen hundred people showed up yesterday, the largest non-Candlelight event attendance we’ve had in 5 years. Though most people explored the museum, the prime attraction was sitting on our lawn, enjoying the first real spring day in Dallas. We closed at 5. At 6, we had to kick people off their picnic blankets. It was glorious. Matt, our partner for the event, uses the word park all the time–and he certainly used it from the stage yesterday. Sometimes I inwardly flinch, but I’m trying to get over it. Because he brought us 13oo visitors yesterday.
As the neighborhood around us changes, we’re going to have to rethink museum access. Today, 9,000 people live in the urban core, and 45,000 people live in one of the surrounding neighborhoods. More stunning, there are 5,500 new units under construction right now. Before I ever joined the staff, we offered a neighborhood membership option giving people after-hours access to our grounds. We are the largest green space in downtown, and we’re fenced–this is something worth paying for. In the coming months, we’re gong to be pushing the neighborhood membership option hard, in a way we never have before.
As I continue to ponder our options for long-term sustainability, I’m beginning to think that our land might be our greatest asset. We will always be a history museum, first and foremost, but I’m becoming more accepting of the word park. We’re not going to tear down our fences. We won’t become downtown’s largest dog park. As we ponder ways to increase access, we still have to protect our buildings. (as fabulous as Klyde Warren Park is, that can’t be our future. Our sweet wooden buildings would die.) But the word park is an important part of our history, and it’s an important part of our future as well.
I’m still conflicted about the word park. We are so much more than just a park. But, our historic land, so close to our urban core, certainly makes us special.
Dallas Heritage Village closes two months–January and August–every year. As much as I love our visitors, it can be really, really nice to be closed. This time gives us time to plan, work on some more involved projects and catch up on a few things–both at work and at home. This January, I was looking forward to tackling a few big projects at work, as well as finally organizing my home office.
And then, at the end of the first work week of 2016, I asked a very simple question that has uprooted all of my plans.
On Thursday afternoon, I was chatting with our neighbor Michael about a variety of things (per usual!). He said “You know that blue Victorian house on Griffin? Something is going on with it. All of the upstairs windows are open.”
Me: “Well, use your investigative powers and see what you can find out.”
The next afternoon, Michael forwarded an email to me from another neighbor (sent around 2:50 p.m.), reporting that there was a bulldozer parked in front of the house. Michael called me almost immediately and was already in his car to go check things out. I told him that I would call my friend David at Preservation Dallas to see if there was anything we could do. Dallas recently passed a demolition delay ordinance for any building over 50 years old, and our neighborhood is a part of that overlay. David, God bless him, picked up the phone late on a Friday afternoon.
My simple question: “Is there anything we can do?” David told me to call and email the preservation officer at the city. While I was doing this, Michael posted (around 3:15) pictures on social media of the bulldozer.
I copied them into the email I was writing and hit send. Within 30 minutes, I had a phone call from Robert Wilonsky from the Dallas Morning News wanting permission to use the photo. I gave him Michael’s number and headed to a meeting. Coincidentally, it was with a board member who happens to be a preservation architect–and we were talking about the deferred maintenance inventory at DHV. So, I figured if I was ever in a meeting constantly checking social media, this was the right issue and the right board member. Because social media was exploding.
That night, I had drinks with Michael and we strategized a bit: if we can stop the demolition, what options are there? Can this home get a new lease on life?
The next morning, I was minding my own business, sipping coffee, when this got published:
Throughout the weekend, I kept a close eye on social media conversations, jumping in when I felt appropriate. My goal: make sure that people understood that DHV couldn’t just rescue the house. With a huge needs list of buildings we already care for, the only way we could consider accepting the house would be with a very large check.
On Monday, I spent the morning filming a few of our early supporters as they talked about the early days of DHV. We were founded to save a house from becoming a parking lot. So when a colleague stood at my door and said “I just let in a reporter from Channel 8 news in. They want to talk to you,” the historical parallels just slapped me in the face. Here we are, at the dawn of our 50th anniversary year, and there’s another preservation battle. But this time, we’re not sure moving the house to a museum is the best choice.
The story aired on Monday night. And then they kept running it.
I had become the face of this particular historic preservation crisis. In the last few weeks, there have been dozens of conversations with people that want to save the house (and then realize the cost), people that have family that lived in the Cedars, board members, neighbors, and preservation friends. Though I know I have done other things this month (like have some important conversations about the growing homeless issue in Dallas. Or conversations with the board about growing our budget. Or important staff training.), I feel like all I’ve done is think about this lonely, threatened blue house.
In all honesty, I don’t think this particular preservation crisis wouldn’t have gotten the media attention if it hadn’t been for its location. It’s very visible from a major interstate, and it just looks totally out of place. It’s a gateway to the neighborhood–but also a symbol of all of the abuse the Cedars has endured over the years.
Though the media flurry has calmed down a bit, there have been other articles in recent weeks as we move towards the all important Landmark Commission meeting on Monday. My favorite might be this one:
We’re definitely still in the middle of this. But as I reflect on this month that didn’t go as planned, I know that dropping everything to work on this was the right decision. Even if the house ultimately comes down (and I don’t think it will), it will still be a victory. For once, a historic building in Dallas didn’t come down in the middle of the night. People across the city are talking about historic preservation, the Cedars, Dallas Heritage Village and Preservation Dallas. There’s a rising push to do more for the historic fabric that’s left in this city.
One of my recurring jokes is that there are no history emergencies. The stuff is already old, and it’s just getting older. But these events have reminded me that sometimes we have to act quickly to save the past. David, my colleague at Preservation Dallas, knows this quite well, but these aren’t the kind of battles that history museums typically get involved with. But maybe we should? It certainly seems like an important part of being a community anchor, even if we can’t save the house ourselves. Working side by side with David on all of this has been a great learning experience for me. He knows how to build the arguments about history relevance. He knows what to do in a crisis. We’ve worked together before, but this whole incident is taking both our personal and institutional partnerships to a new level. Very soon, I think we’re going to need to have an adult beverage. Or several.
So here it is, almost the end of January. Somehow, I’ve managed to complete the do-or-die portion of my to-do list, but other big projects remain on the back burner. And I’m so very tired. I was supposed to be rested as we head into spring. Oh well. I guess this is the life of an executive director in a changing neighborhood.
Highway design usually isn’t a thing that museum directors have to think about, but when your northern border is an interstate, it comes up. In my very first post here, I talked a bit about my surprising meeting with TXDoT officials as part of the CityMAP project. Since that meeting back in July, there have been several articles about the project, as well as a few public listening sessions.
There are so many remarkable things about this project. It apparently began with Commissioner Vandergriff in Austin noticing that Dallas has been having a lot of disagreements about highway projects (namely, whether the Trinity Toll Road should be built and whether I-345 should be torn down. For the record, I’m against the toll road and undecided on I-345). So, he realized that maybe there should be a series of conversations about what the community’s priorities are, so that when highway funding became available, he would know how to direct those funds.
Let’s pause for a moment with our collective gasp. A Texas politician is looking for wide, broad based community input? According to their one sheet guide “the goal of this effort is to develop a set of transportation, urban design, and adjacent development scenarios with associated investment considerations for the major urban interstate corridors identified.”
As I was waiting for the last of these listening sessions to begin about 10 days ago, I couldn’t help but think how shocking this whole process would be to those who planned I-30 over 50 years ago. Though I haven’t done the historical research, I’m pretty sure they didn’t do a single community listening session. Today, people are clamoring for more parks, green space and walkability. Fifty-plus years ago, they thought nothing of taking half of the land of the city’s first park. They thought very little of destroying homes and neighborhoods. For 5o years, the Cedars has been fighting to overcome the damage that highway caused. Only recently has real development begun, at least in our corner of the Cedars. And now, there are a chorus of voices asking for solutions to bridge I-30 and reconnect the Cedars, Dallas’ first residential neighborhood, with downtown.
During the meet and greet, I ran into one of the architects that had been at my meeting. He said two things to me that I found pretty amazing. First, he said “You know, I keep talking about our meeting.” Though I can’t know for sure, I’m wondering if that day back in July was truly the first time they had looked at the historic aerials and realized the damage I-30 caused to traffic flow in and around downtown. That comment sure supports that suspicion (and also causes me to do a bit of a fist bump for history!). And then he said: “One of my personal goals for this project is to make sure DHV is easy to find for anyone.” I, of course, thanked him profusely. And later, I thanked him again for being an advocate for the Village.
I did my duty and followed the rotation to each station, all highlighting a different area around downtown. And then I got to our map. I was with a friend who happens to live in the Cedars, so together we jumped right in. “This, deck it. Link DHV and Farmer’s Market.” And we just went from there. I think the moderators were a little surprised at our passion!
During the summary portion, the Cedars moderators stated at the very beginning “Every group mentioned the need to link DHV and Farmer’s Market.” (well, actually they called us Dallas Heritage Park, but I suppose I can get over that. Maybe.) And then, the very next day, Willis Winters, the director of Parks, was interviewed on NPR. He stated that he had 3 priorities for deck parks–and DHV and Farmer’s Market was #2. So, it was a pretty good 24 hour period.
Why does all this make me so happy, especially when the optimistic side of me knows it will probably be 15 years before any of this happens? Well, for years, this has been an idea DHV has been advocating, but we always felt kinda lonely. We’re not alone anymore–there are lots of people that also believe that healing the rift caused by the construction of I-30 is something that can and should be done.
We have a proposed strategic plan under review by the board right now, and one of the main focuses is community involvement. One of the supporting parts of this is the need to be active and engaged in conversations about the future of our city. During one of the conversations with the board, a trustee asked “But where’s the money in this?” I had a pretty good answer for her, with actual dollars, but the real reason why it’s in the strategic plan right now is this: The conversations happening in this city right now will shape the city for the next 50 years. Dallas is at a turning point. And if we don’t want to be left behind, we have to be at the table. The visitors will come, and the money will come. But right now, we have to attend a lot of meetings, participate in a lot of conversations, and plant a lot of seeds. And in the meantime, I’m learning an awful lot about urban design and highway planning.
I’m still not completely sure how I feel about Facebook’s memories that pop up unexpectedly in my feed. Over the last two weeks, four of them have been about what I was up to two years ago. I’ve never had Facebook hone in on a year quite like that before But how on earth does Facebook know that was such a turning point in my life?
Two years ago, I was in an Indianapolis hotel room, alternating between a comfortable bed and a very uncomfortable couch with my roommate, Natalie. Luckily, we became friends almost immediately (which certainly makes sharing close quarters easier!), and now, two years later, I certainly count her among my closest friends.
When I arrived in Indy, I was Interim Executive Director. But after a rather disastrous executive board meeting, I wasn’t sure if I would ever lose the word interim. In fact, my thoughts at the time were to get through SHA and Candlelight, and in January, I would start looking for a new job. Today, I’m most definitely Executive Director with the full support of my board.
Two years ago, I sensed that the neighborhood around us was changing. Vogel Alcove had begun construction on their new home at City Park Elementary, and I knew that there could be a good partnership there. DHV’s property at 1610 S. Ervay had been placed on the market, and there was almost immediate interest. We had certainly worried that it would sit for months, if not years. During SHA, I spent a lot of time talking about the future of these two redevelopment projects.
Last Thursday night, I accepted the inaugural Community Partner Award from Vogel Alcove for our ongoing partnership. Not only are we doing practical things, like sharing parking and mulch, the kids are using our museum regularly. There are twice a month, curriculum connected field trips. I presented on this partnership at AASLH in September and have been asked to write an article about it for The Public Historian. We’re currently working on a major grant together as well.
As for neighborhood redevelopment, two years ago, I was excited about 2 new neighbors. Today, five major redevelopment projects (all in historic buildings) are set to begin construction soon. Two of these are new cultural non-profit friends. Talk is beginning about a new cultural district for the city. Very soon, we will no longer be surrounded by big empty buildings. DHV will no longer be an island.
Two years ago, I lamented how difficult it is to have our voice heard, since we’re a small museum in a very big city. Last year, I led efforts to get Dallas ISD field trip funding reinstated for science and social studies. We were successful. By building better relationships with the city’s elected leaders, we got $45,000 to repair three leaking roofs. Through efforts that I’m a minor part of, overall city funding for the arts has increased each of the last two years. This has resulted in another $20,000 for our operating budget. And just the other day, I was complimented by a new board member for the role the museum is taking as we participate in the current swirling conversations about the future of Dallas.
Two years ago, I knew I had a great state and local network, but really didn’t know people nationally. This past summer, I was able to visit with two SHA friends during trips. And at this point, AASLH conferences can only be described as marathon slumber parties. But it’s not just SHA friends that have become part of that network–though those SHA friends are the best part of that network. We may have shut down a bar one night. In our defense, the bar did close at midnight, which seems early.
I can’t give credit to all of the good things that have happened in my career and at DHV to SHA two years ago. But I do know that SHA helped build my own confidence in my leadership abilities. I know I gained new tools to analyze and react to new opportunities. And, perhaps most importantly, I gained some pretty amazing friends. I’m the first of my museum educator peers to take the big step into leadership, and I was feeling pretty lonely–the museum world definitely looks different when you’re the boss. Two years ago, I found my people for this stage of my life and career.
So, I guess I should forgive Facebook for continually reminding me of where I was two years ago. It was a good place. And I’m in an even better place today.
A couple of years ago, I was sitting in a professional development workshop, taking a quiz about how connected we were with the community. The quiz deeply frustrated me—Dallas Heritage Village is located in one of the largest metropolitan areas in the country. Major institutions in the city routinely have close to a million annual visitors. Our annual budget isn’t even a million dollars. The second most visited history institution in Texas (behind the Alamo) is a few minutes’ drive away. And this quiz was asking me if the mayor had ever visited my museum? And how often other city officials attended events? I asked the facilitator: “If you’re a small organization in a big city, how can you begin to make those kinds of connections?” They stared at me blankly. Part of me wondered if perhaps there were some other ways to measure community engagement.
Museum people spend a lot of time talking about becoming engaged with their community, and I think most of us acknowledge that this is a key to future sustainability. For many museums, this may mean program partnerships, collaborations, and efforts to get your audience demographics closer to your community’s demographics. This is incredibly important work, but for me, the definition of a community anchor has become infinitely more complex—and infinitely messier.
Dallas Heritage Village is located on the edge of Downtown Dallas, separated by a major interstate. We are also in the middle of a redeveloping neighborhood known as the Cedars. This redevelopment has been a long time coming, but it’s also been incredibly rapid. Eighteen months ago, DHV was a virtual island; today, we’re working with 6 new partners within walking distance. When all of this began, I knew that we had to make sure we were a part of the conversations. New eyes were turning to the Cedars, and I wanted to make sure that everyone knew who we are, what we do, and that we had been here all along.
And I suppose this is where my thoughts about museums and community really began to change. Internal strategic planning was put on hold, because external factors were changing too rapidly. And I started to have meetings with people that history museum directors usually don’t interact with.
First, it was the real estate developers. They saw our land (27 acres in all) and said “Oh, look! A park!” And I said “Not exactly. A nationally accredited history museum in a parklike setting.” Then they said “Oh look! Parking!” And after multiple meetings drawing up a parking lease, we had to say “No, we can’t lease park land to a private developer.” Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that I would create a folder called “Parking Issues,” but that folder is resting happily in my files because the issue will likely come up again.
In January, there was a meeting called by city staff to discuss the formation of a task force for our neighborhood. But somehow, despite the fact that we are the largest landowner in the neighborhood and the fact that we are on city land, with city owned buildings and city funding, my invitation never arrived. A close relationship with our councilman and a neighborhood activist got me a seat at that very large, round table. Looking around, I was astonished to realize I was the only female at the table. And I was even more astonished when a developer (whom I had not yet met) said “No matter what our plans end up being, Dallas Heritage Village will always be the showpiece of the neighborhood.” And thus, my annoyance about not being invited in the beginning was tempered by the fact that I didn’t have to explain how valuable we are to the development plans.
Then it was the traffic and transportation people. In the winter, I got an invitation to a meeting to discuss updating a strategic plan regarding transportation issues for downtown. My first thought: this must be a mistake. My second thought: Even if it is, I’m going to show up. So, I did my homework, pulled up the existing transportation plan, and discovered that there was a proposed streetcar line through the middle of our property. On a street that had been grass for several years at the time this plan was released. And with that, I had no problem fitting that meeting into my schedule.
A few weeks ago, I got a call from the Texas Department of Transportation. They are currently doing a massive study and plan for all of the highways around downtown Dallas. I arrived to a meeting at a downtown high rise to be greeted by traffic engineers, urban planners and architects. Though I had been sent an official set of questions, we never got to them. They said “How does Interstate 30 affect you?” and I was off and running. I’m not sure they were expecting me to be able to talk about those bigger issues, but in the last several months, urban planning has become a lot more interesting to me. This meeting was supposed to be an hour; it lasted almost two hours, the day before a holiday weekend. But the most surprising aspect of this meeting is the way they kept asking “What did I-30 do to the neighborhood?” The last 30 minutes of the meeting were spent looking at aerial pictures of downtown pre-I-30 and talking about the damage that interstate did. (In my head, I was cheering “History at work!”) At one point, I made a comment to the traffic engineer “I hate to place all the blame on your predecessors,” and he said “Oh no. I don’t see any reason why they did what they did. This makes no sense.” In some way, that comforted me.
But it’s not all urban planning and real estate developers and traffic engineers. Last week, I had two meetings about the growing issue of homeless encampments along our perimeter. Our north border is the interstate, and there is a median between us and the access road. Just over a year ago, TxDoT rescinded the Criminal Trespass Affidavit it had with the Dallas Police Department. Now, the only way DPD can clear those camps is if they witness an active criminal act. Because it’s not our property, our hands are tied, but it’s deeply affecting us. Homelessness is an incredibly complex issue, and there aren’t a lot of answers for the service resistant. And yet, our historic buildings, our staff, and our visitors are at incredible risk. So, in one day, I had meetings with a VP of public safety for downtown, city attorneys, the office of our state representative, and the head of crisis intervention with the DPD. There aren’t a lot of answers, but at least I now have the assurance that we’re all working together for the same goal—finding the best solution for these individuals and the neighborhood.
As a former educator, my heart will always lean towards the warm and fuzzy stories of community engagement. But from a practical standpoint, community engagement means so much more. It means getting involved in local politics—not just making sure the local politicians are invited to your events, but making sure you’re being included in the important conversations shaping your city. Sometimes it means showing up at meetings that may only have a peripheral connection to your organization. Most importantly, it means educating yourself on the issues, whether it’s urban planning, homelessness, or traffic flow. My job has changed in profound ways as a result of these efforts, and it’s also changing my museum. We’re becoming more externally focused, more flexible, and more creative. We’re becoming a community anchor, not just for the Cedars, but for all of Dallas.
This blog will help me chronicle that story and hopefully provide some guidance for those that may be facing similar issues. Won’t you join me?