Epilogue
Jay
The museum isat capacity with a line waiting to get in despite the freezing mid-February temperatures. Phoebe had the staff set up an enclosed tent with space heaters as well as free hot cocoa for opening week, but it’s still a testament to how well she’s publicized the Museum of Serendipity that over a hundred people are waiting in the bitter cold to get in.
The museum has been officially open for two weeks, and it’s a smash hit. That’s not a surprise to anyone on the board or staff. We all knew people would love it. We had the opening gala Saturday night, full of board members, their guests, and all kinds of VIPs, including Boaz and Abel Willard, who did not arrive in black tie. Not exactly, anyway. But they both attended in clean coveralls with a bow tie around the collar. All anyone could talk about were the rave reviews they kept hearing from everyone who had visited the museum so far.
I go looking for Boaz now, who volunteered himself as the docent for the quack medicine exhibit. And by volunteered, I mean he showed up the first morning, demanded a chair, and said he’d be telling people the real deal about the artifacts.Phoebe didn’t bother questioning him or arguing. She got him the chair, and he is now installed as the Grand Docent of Quackery whenever he feels like coming in.
It’s definitely drawing the biggest crowds. Could be it’s because he is so deeply knowledgeable about what makes a real remedy versus a junk one. That’s a strong possibility. Or it could be that he gives everyone who listens to his spiel a tiny plastic duck. I slide my hand in my pocket to touch the one I got—a blue duck with an eye patch.
Phoebe joins me, and I smile, because it’s a rare treat. She’s been in constant motion since we dropped the red sash and welcomed people in. She never looks flustered at all, but she doesn’t stop, moving from one exhibit to the next, answering questions, solving problems, checking on visitors, hearing their feedback.
She listens as Boaz explains how quacks claimed cures that couldn’t be proven by science, where true home remedies could be proven by science. “Now, take this brush.” He holds up a wooden hairbrush with black bristles. “It’s electric. Can’t plug it in, and it don’t take batteries. It’s made from trees that grow on the edge of the Arctic Circle, close as you can get to the North Pole and still have plant life. It makes the trees magnetized from growing so close to the magnetic field. That turns into electricity that stays in the brush. If you brush your hair with it every day, you will never have a headache, tooth pain, or need glasses. Is this quack medicine or a real remedy?”
“Quack,” says a young mother carrying a baby on her chest.
“That’s right.” Boaz hands her a duck. “Quack, quack. Now let me tell you about a real remedy. You ever seen elderberries growing around?”
Phoebe shakes her head as she moves toward the bottle room. “Who knew he’d be such a gifted history interpreter?”
“Who knew he’d want to be?”
She holds out her palm, where a duck wearing a top hat sits. “Not to brag, but …”
I produce my own pirate duck. “We should both feel special.”
“I do.”
“Good. Because you are. And so is this. You amaze me.”
She gives me a pleased smile. “Thank you, but you and the board have a lot to do with this too.”
I shake my head. “Just executing this vision. My grandfather would be so proud if he could see this. You’ve turned it into something beyond even what he had imagined.”
Ticket sales have exceeded even our optimistic predictions. We’re sold out through mid-spring, and the demand will only increase as word of mouth kicks in about the actual experience. There’s no detail Phoebe hasn’t seen to, no part of the city’s history that isn’t represented somewhere in the house or on the grounds. And if it’s represented in a general overview format, you can bet she’s already planned the exhibition that will delve into it more deeply at some point in the next three years.
“When do you have to get back to campus?” Phoebe asks.
“I need to leave in about an hour,” I tell her. “I have office hours before my afternoon class.”
“Does Amherst realize how lucky they are to have you yet, Dr. Martin?”
I smile at her. “I guess we’ll find out when I get my first student evaluations at the end of the semester. But I’m definitely feeling lucky to teach. I knew I’d love it from my time as a TA at Harvard, but it’s even better than I could have hoped now that I get to design my courses.”
“Who wouldn’t want to take ‘Conspiracy Theories That Almost Cost Us Sovereignty’ from a pet hypnotist?”
Amherst not only brought me in as a lecturer at Dr.Martinez’s enthusiastic urging, they agreed to let me pilot two classes my first semester designed to draw non-majors into history. It’s the most fun I’ve ever had in an academic setting, even if the students have already begun grumbling that I’m “way harder than I look.” If this goes well, I can start dreaming about getting on the tenure track.
But actually, I’m lying to Phoebe. Only for a few minutes, and only for a good cause, because I don’t have class today. It’s a campus holiday because they’re liberal in their interpretation of Presidents’ Day, and it’s somehow grown to encompass a five-day weekend in February.
“How’s the Heart of Serendipity exhibit going?” I ask.
“Gangbusters,” she says. “It’s not that interesting to the kids, but the adults love it.”
As they should. Through a partnership with the library, Phoebe solicited artifacts—keepsakes, letters, mementos—of the love stories of Serendipity Springs residents, whether from their personal or their family history. It turned out that people were delighted to share their family stories, and the exhibit is now in my grandparents’ old room. Phoebe is thrilled to have material for new exhibits under the same theme every spring for the next several years.
She pursued her vision for a living archive too. Last fall, the adjoining bathroom was converted into a small recording booth with easy push-and-play instructions for visitors to record oral histories of their relationships, and over a dozen people have already submitted theirs, turning them into a permanent part of the Martin archives.
