Lives of Museum Junkies, Second Edition

By Marilynne Eichinger

The second edition of Lives of Museum Junkies brings a behind the science look at science centers up to date with the confusion, fears, and budget constraints caused by COVID-19. By peering into the political and educational climate of the 1960s readers discover factors that propelled the hands-on education movement into prominence. Fol

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marilynne Eichinger
• Release date: Nov 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9780999892237

Marilynne Eichinger

Marilynne Eichinger has been an active supporter of hands-on learning throughout her career as both a mother and museum professional. Graduating magna-cum-laude from Boston University with an emphasis on anthropology, she went on to receive a master's degree in psychology from Michigan State University. In 1972 Eichinger founded Impression 5 Science Museum in Lansing, Michigan. She left in 1985 to become president of the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry (OMSI), one of the nation's oldest and most renowned science centers. During her tenure she spearheaded building a 250,000 sq. ft facility and workshop on Portland's waterfront. She acquired a submarine from the Navy, installed a large format theater and a planetarium. Eichinger is known for expanding OMSI's traveling exhibit service, education programs, and outreach to those in poverty. She worked with Native-American, African-American, and Hispanic groups to initiate activities that met their needs. With assistance from 22 national museums, Eichinger left OMSI in 1995. She established the nationally circulated Museum Tour Catalog in order to bring educational material to over two million households. Ever mindful of those without means, her company adopted an elementary school serving low-income families. Her business sold in 2014 giving her more time to paint and write. Works of art can be seen on her web site at eichingerfineart.com. In 2016 Eichinger published Lives of Museum Junkies-the Story of America's Hands-On Education Movement. In it she gives a humorous behind the scenes look at the difficulties of developing a large science center. In 2018 she contributed to Homeostasis and Novelty, a compilation for educators by Professor Phyllis Katz, University of Maryland. Eichinger is the mother of five adult children and eight grandchildren. She and her partner reached out to invite a twenty-year-old street youth to live in their home. Over the course of five years the couple mentored the young man, helping him overcome a traumatic childhood. His difficulties along with four years of research into runaways and youth homelessness are the subject of Over the Peanut Fence: Scaling Barriers for Homeless and Runaway Youths.

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Acknowledgements

Lives of Museum Junkies was made possible by family and friends who helped a naive woman mature. I thank my first loves, Dr. Ronald Rosenberg and Martin Eichinger, and my partner for the past twenty-five years, Ray Losey, my children Ryan, Kara, Julia, Jessica, Talik, and honorary son Seth. They are a source of inspiration who assisted me in my many ventures. Special acknowledgment goes to Dee Pumplin who was there at the beginning and helped turn a dream into reality.

With appreciation I mention editors Kristin Thiel and Karen Segal who cut, slashed and marked reams of paper, making me think about what I wanted to say. I also am thankful for the support I received from Portland’s chapter of 9 Bridges Writers Group for their critique as pages were read aloud. Their suggestions were invaluable.

The eleven men and women whose short biographies are included were generous with their time and emotional support. I felt a great sadness and loss when Alan Friedman, first president of the New York Hall of Science, died a few weeks after his biography was completed. He was a special person who contributed his wisdom and expertise to emerging science centers.

Sally Duensing, educator and past executive at the Exploratorium in San Francisco and Sheila Grinell, its first assistant director, filled in gaps the in Frank Oppenheimer story. Looking into the future of interactive museums, I spoke with Nancy Stueber, who at the time was president of the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry, David Heil, educator and museum consultant, and Al DeSena, a National Science Foundation program officer. Al showed me how creative the current generation of educators who go about the business of inspiring youth. Though retired, Nancy and Al stay abreast of developments in science museums.

The COVID-19 pandemic caused quite a hiccup for museums, making many vulnerable to closure. However, staff did not stayed immobile in the face of adversity. They created new on-line avenues to reach the public and spread the wonders of science. Their actions will impact the way science centers operate in the future.

Introduction

It always seems impossible until it’s done.

-Nelson Mandela

In the late nineteen-sixties there were a dozen science centers in the United States and another handful in Europe. Today, nearly three thousand dot countries around the globe focused on increasing science literacy. Each center has unique attributes that make it a novel place to visit.

When I was a young wife and mother, I started a science museum in my basement. It was 1972 when I incorporated Impression 5 Science Museum as a non-for-profit organization in Lansing, Michigan. That action heralded the beginning of an adventure that changed a timid, naive woman into one capable of running the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry (OMSI).

A wise man advised me, When the time feels right, go for it! Don’t wait for everyone else to agree with your dreams because that never happens. Grab your own opportunities. And that is what I did, though not alone. In Lives of Museum Junkies, I share the joys and difficulties I experienced, as well as the struggles of eleven men and women who were on the leading edge of an international movement to create experiential museums dedicated to science. Some of the names you might recognize, while others will surprise you. All were curious as children, and developed a way of looking at the world that kept us creatively engaged throughout our lives.

As pioneers, we were change agents influencing the country’s education ethos. And, as visionaries, we broke from tradition by combining art with science, engineering, and technology. We saw ourselves as promoters of lifelong self-improvement, practitioners of creative problem-solving, believers in equal opportunity, disseminators of the latest scientific information, and teachers who made learning so much fun that students were compelled to ask the next question. We wanted visitors to leave the museum yearning to know more.

Our passions were fired by a long list of psychologists, educators, and scientists that included Jean Piaget, Maria Montessori, Jonathan Kozol, John Hart, A. S. Neil, Carl Rogers, and Frank Oppenheimer. Putting their ideas into practice in a public setting was not without mishap.

We were unsophisticated when we started our museums and not skilled at fundraising, board development or staff management. We were artless in the way we constructed interactive displays and did not understand how chauvinism, race, poverty, and social class played a role in what we were doing. Included are sections called lessons learned so you will understand how the people I write about were changed by their experiences. Hopefully, these insights will be helpful to those attempting a new venture.

You’ll read about how the director of the New York Hall of Science fought Mayor Rudolph Giuliani on behalf of the Brooklyn Museum of Art and learn how directors dealt with deadly accidents, managed a devious press, and spoke to slippery insurance companies. You’ll see what it’s like to run a multimillion-dollar auction for the elite and read heartwarming tales about underprivileged children who were inspired by museum experiences. You’ll be introduced to dedicated volunteers like author Jean Auel of The Clan of the Cave Bear fame and staff in granting organizations like the National Science Foundation (NSF) who helped the movement grow.

Interwoven with suggestions about operating a museum, is the story of what my life was like at a time when women weren’t expected to seek advanced education or have professional careers. There is no doubt that early access to big city museums unleashed my interest in science and the arts. I was enrolled in classes in the basement of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, wandered its galleries, and listened to the crackle of gigantic electric sparks bouncing off the walls in the Franklin Institute. It was through these experiences that I discovered the meaning of passion, the feeling that comes from being totally immersed in something you love doing. Exhibits introduced me to artists, historians, and scientists, and I realized early that I wanted to be like them—inventive, clever, dedicated.

For twenty-five years I built and ran science museums. In my late fifties, I took a risk by leaving the comfortable cocoon I had spun around me. With the help of twenty-two national museums and several board members, I left OMSI and started the Museum Tour Catalog to spread science literacy to two million households. My goal was to provide parents with information and hands-on manipulative devices so they could help their children be actively engaged and questioning rather than retreating to mindless television programs.

Lives as Museum Junkies features entrepreneurs who followed their dreams and showcases the importance of staying motivated and dedicated despite setbacks. Though there will be times they wanted to give up, they couldn’t, for the game they were engaged in involved finding their way around obstacles. As Norman Stiles implied in his children’s book Everything in the Whole Wide World Museum, the entire universe is everyone’s museum and we just have to fine tune the way we see things to take advantage of all that is there. I hope these writings will encourage readers to do just that.

Woyaya

We are going,

Heaven knows where we are going,

But we know within.

And we will get there,

Heaven knows how we will get there,

But we know we will.

It will be hard, we know,

And the road will be muddy and rough,

But we’ll get there.

From a song by Loughty Amoa, Solomon Amarfio, Robert M. Baily, Roy Bedeau, Francis T. Osei, Whendell K. Richardson and Mac Tontoh Copyright 1993 Chappell & Co., Inc Warner Bros. Publications US, Inc. Miami, FL 33014 song ID WW009785370000. Reprinted with permission.

Dentistry at Impression 5

Section I:

In the Beginning

Creating an Interactive Museum: Naïve Beginnings

S top running and making so much noise! I shouted to five rambunctious children playing hide-and-seek in closets and under furniture. It was a cold day and my friend Dee Pumplin was visiting with her young son. She and I were having a difficult time hearing each other while we chatted animatedly in the kitchen. It was during this conversation that my homemaker days ended, for over coffee in my suburban house we brewed up the idea of a hands-on museum of science and art.

Children are not polite, studious little creatures set on this planet to impress and please their parents. Instead they are balls of energy who love to run, scream, and create bedlam. In short, they can drive a parent crazy, especially on a rainy day. As Dee and I talked, our children shouted and squealed, ignoring the storm roaring outside. The increased volume of noise was like a drum roll announcing a new idea—an indoor playground. This was well before McDonald’s built climbing structures or Gymboree opened play centers.

Wouldn’t it be magnificent to have a great big barn, we fantasized, and fill it floor to ceiling with ramps, poles, and climbing apparatus? What fun it would be for our kids and their friends. Their energy would be released away from home and our houses would be preserved. Dee and I talked about finding a barn and even took the next step of contacting a realtor.

As we learned more, the vision of in indoor play area expanded. The dimensions of a barn were so large that we decided to include interactive learning activities in-between climbing areas. We imagined children swooping down a sliding board to discover a light table, colored filters, and projectors. They would be able to project colored lights on the next child speeding down the slide. We imagined physical activities integrated with academic challenges in a never-ending cycle of learning.

After months of talk and concept development we located a barn, but it wasn’t long after that reality set in. The cost to acquire the property was more than we anticipated and building the inside play structure was going to be a monumental undertaking. The barn had to be heated, insulated, electrified, bathroomed, and water sprinkled, and once it was upgraded, the cost of monthly utilities would be astronomical. The permitting process was overwhelming and we wondered if the city would allow this kind of play-barn to pass inspection. Insurance was bound to be expensive, not only because we were dealing with a wooden structure but because we were planning to let children run helter-skelter throughout. We especially liked the idea of firehouse poles descending from one level to the next. Sound safe? Costs mounted, reaching an astronomically high amount before adding in the cost of exhibits and staffing.

However, we did not give up. Instead, we changed direction. As Dee and I continued our conversations, we talked ourselves out of the play-barn idea and into a more permanent facility. During those early days our enthusiasm increased as we imagined an inquiry-based science and art museum. It would be a yes, you can touch kind of place. We wanted to bring what we had read about self-directed education and teaching through sensory experimentation to a building we filled with hands-on exhibits.

Our first assignment was to select a name. While enjoying wine in front of an open fireplace Dee and I giggled our way through several possibilities. We wanted the center to be open-ended, exploratory, and adventurous. Though we both loved classical art and history museums, they are not the kind of institutions most young children enjoy. The word museum sounded fuddy-duddy, old world to our way of thinking, so we eliminated it from our vocabulary. We weren’t interested in amassing a collection of objects, but rather in developing interactive challenges. The word impression caught our attention as we imagined our museum making an impression on its visitors and its visitors leaving an impression with us. The name seemed perfect, though we discovered later it was difficult to brand Impression as a science center. It sounded more like a place to go to purchase embossing paper. Still, Dee and I were like proud parents giving birth to a beautiful baby concept. Having a name made us feel like we had accomplished something important. Developing Impression into a full blown science center was going to be fun and easy!

At the time, most science museums preserved and housed antiquities and artifacts. A smattering of them had industrial displays that permitted a modicum of interaction to complement passive viewings of objects behind glass. These museums, or centers of science and industry as they were often called, dabbled with ways to make exhibits interactive. Pioneering institutions, such as Chicago’s Museum of Science and Industry, The Franklin Institute, and the Los Angeles Science Center were supported by big businesses that controlled the messages in their displays. Essentially, they were advertisements for specific products. Visitors pushed buttons to view automated movements that could not be touched. There were a few immersive exhibits like the coal mine in Chicago, a steam locomotive in Philadelphia, and a walk-through a heart in Portland, Oregon. A few science centers featured hands-on physics exhibits, though these were the exception rather than the rule.

When Impression was started, there were few models of the type of museum we wanted to create. We mulled through possibilities and focused on basic science and art activities that provided sensory experiences. During our early brainstorming stage we were open to ideas from anyone who would listen to our crazy dreams. Many suggestions came from science and engineering friends.

We never thought to run Impression ourselves, but imagined it incorporated as a not-for-profit community organization with a board of trustees and a managing director overseeing operations. Both of us had other careers in mind and didn’t have the time or inclination to run a museum. Dee was looking for a job as a paralegal and I was enrolled as a graduate student in counseling psychology. We were confident that parents in East Lansing, a university town, would embrace the science center concept, so we planned with confidence. Dee’s first assignment was to develop a logo, print business cards, and create stationery. With the donated services of an attorney, we expected to hire a director and be in operation within a few months.

Marilynne’s Lesson #1: Nothing ever occurs as you might imagine.

A problem emerged from the start. Our lawyer told us there already was a business in Michigan named Impression. In those pre-computer years we had neglected to check corporate registration records. Suddenly we were confused about how to proceed. Design costs were significant for a start up with no money making us reluctant to throw away a logo we liked and start over. Instead of another session by the fire, we devised a practical solution and added the number 5 to the word Impression, five standing for the five senses. We found our direction. Impression 5 Science Museum would be organized around sensory systems involving sight, sound, touch, taste, and smell and proprioceptive systems that inform our body where it is positioned in space. The museum would be focused on science but integrated with the arts and humanities. Now that we had direction, we believed executing our plan would be a snap.

Marilynne’s Lesson #2: Talk alone does not make an organization succeed.

During the hours my children were in school, I discussed Impression 5’s plans at a place called Synergy, a drop-in center for hippy intellectuals. The founder, Bob, wanted to establish a country club-like facility in a wooded area of East Lansing by a stream. He imagined it having lounges, meeting rooms, photography and pottery studios, shops with tools for wood and metal working, and a lending library overflowing with books covering topics from inspirational teachings to crafts and politics. He envisioned several areas for relaxation where people could either sit and talk quietly or dance and move about energetically. He was an early thinker who would have been appreciated by Maker groups today. The notion, then as it is now, was for creative people to share equipped spaces in order to develop their crafts while in community. In Today, members join Maker Spaces for welding, working with electronics, computers, 3-D printers, sewing machines, wood and metal working. Companies like General Electric and Intel contribute to these gatherings that bring back images of the garages Bill Gates and Steve Jobs worked in as teens. In the early days of Synergy, we were less technical and had no money to purchase printing presses and build the darkrooms we wanted. Instead, we met in an empty room hoping Bob’s dream would miraculously be realized one day. We gathered for years under a restaurant across the street from Michigan State University (MSU).

Bob wanted Synergy developed as a for-profit organization with members purchasing shares and paying monthly fees to support operations. There was no particular purpose to his organization and members weren’t going to be pressured to produce anything or required to volunteer their time. Bob’s idea was that if we chilled in the company of friends, good things would happen. Alliances would be formed, friendships solidified, businesses initiated and, most important for this peace-loving generation, the world would become a better place—synergistically. His dream was contagious for he was an eloquent communicator who attracted many followers.

Synergy’s actual situation was not so elegant. Bob talked and espoused an idea that went nowhere while groupies reclined on pillows to listen in an empty, though softly carpeted basement room near the university’s main drag. Bob refused to put effort into his dream because of his belief that good ideas would come together synergistically. I thought the man was just plain lazy and learned a great deal by observing his lack of energy. Watching him was transformative, for though he talked about the value of co-action, I soon realized that leadership had to be combined with elbow grease.

Perhaps Bob understood more than I did, for as people wandered in and out of Synergy, I played with ideas and discussed Impression 5 with many opinionated listeners. Our gatherings attracted a local newspaper reporter to interview those of us hanging around the basement. Having heard of Impression 5, the reporter asked about my idea for a hands-on science museum. Totally relaxed on the floor, I chatted easily about the philosophy of play and how important it was for kids to have a stimulating environment where they could learn in their own way, in their own time frame. I spouted forth in what must have been a somewhat cohesive manner, for much to my surprise an article appeared in the paper several days later. Its publicity gave Impression 5 the boost that turned it into a reality.

Marilynne’s Lesson #3: When a concept is in print, it transforms brainstorming into action.

People started asking how they could get involved. Talk, as the saying goes, is cheap, but transforming an idea into something concrete takes commitment. I wasn’t sure I was ready for such an undertaking, but found myself too embarrassed to back out.

To promote the venture, Dee and I developed a demonstration exhibit. Michigan State University employed many brilliant engineers, mathematicians, scientists and artists who came forth to assist. Since my husband was on the faculty in the College of Engineering and Dee’s husband was a professor in the physics department, the people we knew were drawn from the more scientific end of the spectrum. We challenged them for ideas when we saw them at parties or picking up kids from daycare centers. People willingly gave advice (that came easy for this erudite crowd), and in some instances they came forward, volunteering to make displays explaining principles of physics and mechanics.

They built swing pendulums kids could sit on with chains of varying length attached to each seat. The children could swing back and fourth and experience variations in the period of each pendulum rather than learn about it in a book. Gordon, a friend of Dee’s, devised a large mobile of balancing bowling balls that appeared to defy gravity as additional weight was added without toppling the structure. This massive display demonstrated how science and art could be imaginatively combined. Gordon was a powerfully built man who looked like the type of person to devise a bowling ball mobile. He was as strong and as massive as the exhibit and like to play with tricks to fool the mind. When not volunteering, he ran a free school fashioned after Britain’s Summerhill that Dee’s son attended. Gordon who had a MS in Psychology, knew the importance of participatory, self-directed education and was an encouraging presence to his students.

I too had my hand in making exhibits. I learned how to use my husband’s power tools and with my eleven-year-old son made crude tabletop displays. We built light tables, Newton’s cradles, and a variety of optical displays explaining basic principles around light. Though we were enthusiastic about our contraptions, it was good that in later years Impression 5 could afford professional craftsmen. Carpentry was never my forte.

Dee and I gained access to military surplus, visited flea markets and went to secondhand shops to acquire oscilloscopes, strobe lights, and balance scales. We found wheelchairs that let us demonstrate the mechanical advantage of wheels in the back of the chair rather than the front as they did in the early 1900’s. Visitors used them on an obstacle course where they saw how hard it is to maneuver corners, use ramps, turn doorknobs and open doors from a chair. It is difficult to swerve backwards to put the chair in position for entry when a door opens inward.

We assembled challenging mathematical puzzles, optical illusions, and mechanical devices. Though they were poorly executed due to lack of funds, they were well disguised with bright paint. We rummaged for tube ends from cement footings to use as bases for tables with tops salvaged from wooden wheels that originally held cable. My children’s playroom disappeared as it was filled with an odd collection of tables and displays.

After months of building displays, it became time to let the community know what we were doing. We asked the mall’s manager for free space to have a weekend showing and was rewarded with a welcoming sure. Friends and their children packed several soccer-mom vans full to take to the weekend show. We took turns as floor guides and promoted the fledgling museum to shoppers who passed by, proselytizing to our audience about the need for hands-on learning, and encouraging them to try the exhibits and get involved as volunteers. We were euphoric watching visitors play with the displays in the way we thought they would, and became reinforced in our belief that Impression 5 would succeed. It was time to take next steps, expanding the board of directors and locating a building. We had reached the stage of needing cash.

During the late 1960s and early 1970s, students and faculty in most university towns were protesting the Vietnam war, experimenting with drugs, listening to loud rock music and sharing partners. Free sex was in vogue as were key parties, where women picked a key from a bowl to determine the evening’s nighttime arrangements. Friends blatantly shared stories about partner swapping and spoke openly about venereal problems that flared as a result. As a protected woman, I was fascinated by the gossip I heard. During this period of anything goes my home decor exemplified the off-beat style that was fashionable. The only items in our plushly carpeted living room were a low table and several large square pillows. The entire expanse was available for rolling, making music, dancing and acting. I remember the shocked look on a pizza delivery man’s face when he peered in the door of our classic suburban home to see my friends lounging on the floor. Cool, was his comment.

Not having furniture is freeing. An empty room can serve many purposes as it did when it became a launching site for my husband’s band, the Bluegrass Extension Services. Our house was a perfect practice location for a group of long-haired MSU professors skilled in music in addition to their professions. When a local pub hired the band for a weekly gig it was always full. Students and faculty came early and stayed late to hear them play and I loved clogging with friends and students or philosophizing and drinking our way through the sets.

I played the flute and competed with my husband for practice time and space. Two of the band members were also in my chamber music group. We organized Renaissance evenings that attracted classical musicians to come to come costumed to our house to sing, play instruments, and dance. Each guest brought a dish to pass representative of the period and children were full participants in the festivities. I played with a recorder group and filled the house with old festival tunes. After partying we’d tuck all the kids into beds upstairs and continue talking until early hours of the morning.

At the time Dee and I dressed in hippy haute-couture clothing that included long paisley skirts or bell bottom pants, beads, dangling earrings, and sandals. But when we were thrust into promoting Impression 5 we had to rethink our wardrobe and decide what image we wanted to portray?

Sharing plans outside our immediate circle meant visiting influential members in the community who were more conservative than we were. I wanted advice from the president of Michigan State University, the superintendent of Lansing and East Lansing school systems, the president of Oldsmobile, state and local politicians, real estate moguls, and community businessmen. Men were the power brokers at the time and I was intimidated by them. I was not used to people in positions of power and was worried about making a fool of myself. But, by then Dee and I were hooked on starting a museum and knew we had to move forward despite our insecurities.

I dressed in the most professional clothes, jewelry, and heels I owned. The hemlines were a bit short for business ensembles but I thought them to be good enough. Dee, staying true to her nature, choose comfortable sandals, long skirts that accentuated her tall graceful figure, and tops accented by strands of beads. In this manner, mismatched as we were, we promoted the museum. We must have been quite a sight entering wood-paneled offices looking like female versions of Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny Devito in the movie Twins.

To my surprise it was easy to get appointments and once we began talking the men were helpful, sharing information and ideas. Requesting money was not part of the agenda at this stage, but as fundraisers know, the first step of a project is to take the temperature of the community. Initial meetings are useful to uncover potential sources of funding. Though I was new at fundraising and didn’t understand how it worked until years later, my instinct to meet with community leaders was solid.

Marilynne’s Lesson #4: The person at the top does matter.

The mayor’s office is imbedded in my memory because it was so unwelcoming. The mayor’s assistant grudgingly allocated fifteen minutes of her time before saying we would have to get in line behind a long list of projects. We were told it would be four or five years before our proposal was high enough on their list to be considered. With a plastered smile and a firm good-bye she walked us to the door. Under that mayor, overworked staff was uniformly unfriendly and cold, supporting his we cannot do attitude. It was evident that what we set out to accomplish had to happen without city hall’s involvement.

A year later Terry McKane, was elected Mayor and within a few months the atmosphere changed. His administration was welcoming and helpful. It was hard to believe that the civil servants we met were the same people we spoke to months earlier. Watching the transformation that took place taught me how powerful the person at the top is when it comes to establishing attitudes. A positive atmosphere makes