Over the past few months, this blog has covered some recent acquisitions, a little collections care advice, and a bit about how and why museums do some of the things they do. The problem is that it’s all been stuff that I’ve wanted to say—and not necessarily stuff you want to know.
So, here’s me asking—what would you like to see covered in this blog?
I’m happy enough to keep going with a mix of artefact profiles and museum practices, but if there’s anything you’ve ever wanted to ask about museum work in general, or about Medicine Hat’s history in particular, I’d be happy to address that too!
Friday, March 18, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
Collections Care 101 - Environment
A lot of people collect something. Coins and stamps have been popular for over a century, souvenir plates and spoons for decades, and I’ll bet there are still big collections of Beanie Babies to be found out there. Collections can be as diverse as collectors, but they all have one thing pretty much in common—most collections suffer damage from same environmental sources. Today I’m discussing three common factors that will damage most collections, whether they’re in the British Museum, or in your living room—and what you can do to minimize them.
Light
Thanks to sunscreen and sunglasses commercials, a lot of people know that Ultraviolet (U/V) light is bad. And it is—it’s the most damaging component of the light we normally encounter. U/V waves can cause fading and weakening of molecular bonds, leading to cracking—even total disintegration in some cases. Natural sunlight and fluorescent bulbs emit a lot of U/V—best not to let either of these shine directly on your collectables. If that can’t be avoided, you might want to look into U/V filters for your windows and light fixtures.
Remember U/V isn't the only harmful component of light. Visible light will also contribute to fading/yellowing and embrittlement, and all light damage is cumulative and irreversible. For maximum preservation, keep the room dark as possible whenever you're not there to enjoy your collection.
Relative Humidity
With Relative Humidity (RH), too dry can be just as bad as too humid. Below 35% RH, organic materials (such as fur, leather, pulp paper, etc.) become increasingly brittle. As RH increases, fibres in wood, fabric, paper, etc. swell as they absorb moisture from the air. As RH decreases, the fibres shrink as they dry out. If this swelling or shrinking happens too quickly, the fibres will break and weaken the object. So, the key to managing Relative Humidity is to keep it stable (ideally, less than 5% fluctuation per day), and in a range between 35% (below which things start to get brittle) and 65% (above which mould growth can occur).
Temperature
Temperature itself isn’t as crucial as RH. However, there is a direct inverse relationship between temperature and RH (that is, as temperature drops, RH increases), so temperature should be kept stable as well. Lower temperature is better than higher, since chemical reactions and biological activity (like mould, or insects—both of which can eat most organic materials) both slow down in cooler temperatures. Just as long as it's not so cool that you need to turn the thermostat up whenever you're in to view your collection! In the Museum, we keep our storage temperatures at 20ºC, because that’s most comfortable for the people who work with the collections.
Generally, basements (as long as they’re dry and not susceptible to flooding) are good places in the home for collectibles—the temperatures tend to be cooler and more stable, and they’re usually naturally darker. If you’re really concerned about environmental damage, you might consider collecting glassware, glazed ceramics, or rocks—all of which are pretty much resistant to the effects of household light, humidity and temperature.
Light
Thanks to sunscreen and sunglasses commercials, a lot of people know that Ultraviolet (U/V) light is bad. And it is—it’s the most damaging component of the light we normally encounter. U/V waves can cause fading and weakening of molecular bonds, leading to cracking—even total disintegration in some cases. Natural sunlight and fluorescent bulbs emit a lot of U/V—best not to let either of these shine directly on your collectables. If that can’t be avoided, you might want to look into U/V filters for your windows and light fixtures.
Remember U/V isn't the only harmful component of light. Visible light will also contribute to fading/yellowing and embrittlement, and all light damage is cumulative and irreversible. For maximum preservation, keep the room dark as possible whenever you're not there to enjoy your collection.
Relative Humidity
With Relative Humidity (RH), too dry can be just as bad as too humid. Below 35% RH, organic materials (such as fur, leather, pulp paper, etc.) become increasingly brittle. As RH increases, fibres in wood, fabric, paper, etc. swell as they absorb moisture from the air. As RH decreases, the fibres shrink as they dry out. If this swelling or shrinking happens too quickly, the fibres will break and weaken the object. So, the key to managing Relative Humidity is to keep it stable (ideally, less than 5% fluctuation per day), and in a range between 35% (below which things start to get brittle) and 65% (above which mould growth can occur).
Temperature
Temperature itself isn’t as crucial as RH. However, there is a direct inverse relationship between temperature and RH (that is, as temperature drops, RH increases), so temperature should be kept stable as well. Lower temperature is better than higher, since chemical reactions and biological activity (like mould, or insects—both of which can eat most organic materials) both slow down in cooler temperatures. Just as long as it's not so cool that you need to turn the thermostat up whenever you're in to view your collection! In the Museum, we keep our storage temperatures at 20ºC, because that’s most comfortable for the people who work with the collections.
Generally, basements (as long as they’re dry and not susceptible to flooding) are good places in the home for collectibles—the temperatures tend to be cooler and more stable, and they’re usually naturally darker. If you’re really concerned about environmental damage, you might consider collecting glassware, glazed ceramics, or rocks—all of which are pretty much resistant to the effects of household light, humidity and temperature.
Friday, March 4, 2011
New Acquistion--Ross Rifle
Today we feature a true legend of Canadian military history—the Ross rifle.
The Ross is an excellent example of how legends are not always built on positive associations.
The rifle was invented by Sir Charles Ross in the 1890s. Ross, an army officer, sharpshooter and big game hunter, designed the rifle with automatically-rotating bolt locking lugs, similar to the mechanism found on many artillery pieces. This allowed the bolt to be operated with a simple pull/push action—two movements, instead of the four required to manually rotate the bolt of a Lee-Enfield or Mauser rifle (respectively, the standard rifle of the British and German armies of the time). In addition to the higher rate of fire this feature delivered, the Ross scored high points for accuracy, and was a full pound lighter than the Lee-Enfield.
The attributes of the Ross rifle looked good on paper, but field-testing the weapon revealed some serious drawbacks. One is that the rifle was susceptible to jamming under rapid-fire conditions, or when using dirty ammunition. Another problem was that the complicated bolt could easily be assembled incorrectly, and upon firing could blow back into the face of the shooter. Redesigns of the rifle in 1905 and 1910 intended to correct these deficiencies. The Ross, championed by Minister of Militia Sam Hughes, was officially adopted, and equipped the first waves of the Canadian Expeditionary Force in the First World War.
Upon arrival in Belgium and France, it was clear the Ross was still plagued with problems. In addition to jamming easily in the mud and dirt of the trenches, it was found the rifle’s bayonet had a tendency to fall off during firing. Many Canadian soldiers at the Second Battle of Ypres (April, 1915) threw aside their Ross’ at the first opportunity to acquire a Lee-Enfield from British casualties. In July 1916, Sir Douglas Haig ordered the replacement of all Ross rifles with Lee-Enfields.
That wasn’t quite the end for the Ross, though. It remained popular through World War One with snipers for its long range accuracy, providing it could be kept clean. In World War Two, the Ross was issued to home guard units, training depots, the Royal Canadian Navy, and to Veteran’s Guard units. Following the Second World War, large numbers of Ross rifles were sold as military surplus—which was the fate of the rifle pictured above. It was acquired by a farmer near Hilda, Alberta, and used to hunt deer which supplemented the farm’s income. Many such rifles had their wooden stocks cut down to lighten them as hunting rifles—this one is almost in complete military configuration. The one concession made to adapt it to hunting was to cut off the foresight hood, as it was found too confining when trying to target game. Like so many other Ross rifles, it remained in use on the farm…until it was replaced by a Lee-Enfield.
The Ross is an excellent example of how legends are not always built on positive associations.
The rifle was invented by Sir Charles Ross in the 1890s. Ross, an army officer, sharpshooter and big game hunter, designed the rifle with automatically-rotating bolt locking lugs, similar to the mechanism found on many artillery pieces. This allowed the bolt to be operated with a simple pull/push action—two movements, instead of the four required to manually rotate the bolt of a Lee-Enfield or Mauser rifle (respectively, the standard rifle of the British and German armies of the time). In addition to the higher rate of fire this feature delivered, the Ross scored high points for accuracy, and was a full pound lighter than the Lee-Enfield.
The attributes of the Ross rifle looked good on paper, but field-testing the weapon revealed some serious drawbacks. One is that the rifle was susceptible to jamming under rapid-fire conditions, or when using dirty ammunition. Another problem was that the complicated bolt could easily be assembled incorrectly, and upon firing could blow back into the face of the shooter. Redesigns of the rifle in 1905 and 1910 intended to correct these deficiencies. The Ross, championed by Minister of Militia Sam Hughes, was officially adopted, and equipped the first waves of the Canadian Expeditionary Force in the First World War.
Upon arrival in Belgium and France, it was clear the Ross was still plagued with problems. In addition to jamming easily in the mud and dirt of the trenches, it was found the rifle’s bayonet had a tendency to fall off during firing. Many Canadian soldiers at the Second Battle of Ypres (April, 1915) threw aside their Ross’ at the first opportunity to acquire a Lee-Enfield from British casualties. In July 1916, Sir Douglas Haig ordered the replacement of all Ross rifles with Lee-Enfields.
That wasn’t quite the end for the Ross, though. It remained popular through World War One with snipers for its long range accuracy, providing it could be kept clean. In World War Two, the Ross was issued to home guard units, training depots, the Royal Canadian Navy, and to Veteran’s Guard units. Following the Second World War, large numbers of Ross rifles were sold as military surplus—which was the fate of the rifle pictured above. It was acquired by a farmer near Hilda, Alberta, and used to hunt deer which supplemented the farm’s income. Many such rifles had their wooden stocks cut down to lighten them as hunting rifles—this one is almost in complete military configuration. The one concession made to adapt it to hunting was to cut off the foresight hood, as it was found too confining when trying to target game. Like so many other Ross rifles, it remained in use on the farm…until it was replaced by a Lee-Enfield.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Researching Museum Objects #1 – General Dating
At the Museum, we try to collect as much information as possible on artefacts from the source. Sometimes, though, that’s just not an option—either the source doesn’t know, or an item may have been in the collection for 40 years, and the source just isn’t around anymore to ask. This is always a shame, because once the specific history of an item is lost, it’s almost impossible to reconstruct it. But, there’s usually some basic information we can research—and the first thing we generally try to do is establish a time frame for the item.
The material a thing is made of sometimes provides useful information, although this can be deceiving—plastics have been around since the 1850s! Generally, though, most 19th Century goods were made of wood or steel; aluminum was commercially available starting around 1910; bakelite (a certain type of hard plastic) was most extensively used between 1920 and 1940.
The decorations on an item can prove useful as well. Black cast iron painted with gold details was common on 1890s sewing machines, typewriters, etc.; the bold lines and sweeping curves of the Art Deco style date mostly to the 1920s and ‘30s; plastic items with gold flecks were popular in the 1950s and ‘60s; the colours avocado green and harvest gold almost certainly point to the 1970s.
The Industrial Revolution was old news by the time Medicine Hat was established in the 1880s, so most objects we see have been mass produced. The maker’s names, and sometimes the city they were located in, are often painted, or sometimes cast, right into the item. Then, as now, this was an important means of advertising. With a little e-digging, finding out when a company was in business will at least provide a date range of when the item was made. If no record of the company can be found, knowing where they were located might point to a museum or historical society in that area that may have further information.
A lot of products have their patent numbers on them somewhere; these can be looked up on websites such as the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office (http://patft.uspto.gov/). This not only often yields information on when the item was made, but can also tell us what it’s supposed to do, and how to use it.
The material a thing is made of sometimes provides useful information, although this can be deceiving—plastics have been around since the 1850s! Generally, though, most 19th Century goods were made of wood or steel; aluminum was commercially available starting around 1910; bakelite (a certain type of hard plastic) was most extensively used between 1920 and 1940.
The decorations on an item can prove useful as well. Black cast iron painted with gold details was common on 1890s sewing machines, typewriters, etc.; the bold lines and sweeping curves of the Art Deco style date mostly to the 1920s and ‘30s; plastic items with gold flecks were popular in the 1950s and ‘60s; the colours avocado green and harvest gold almost certainly point to the 1970s.
The Industrial Revolution was old news by the time Medicine Hat was established in the 1880s, so most objects we see have been mass produced. The maker’s names, and sometimes the city they were located in, are often painted, or sometimes cast, right into the item. Then, as now, this was an important means of advertising. With a little e-digging, finding out when a company was in business will at least provide a date range of when the item was made. If no record of the company can be found, knowing where they were located might point to a museum or historical society in that area that may have further information.
A lot of products have their patent numbers on them somewhere; these can be looked up on websites such as the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office (http://patft.uspto.gov/). This not only often yields information on when the item was made, but can also tell us what it’s supposed to do, and how to use it.
Friday, February 18, 2011
From "Thing" to "Artefact"
Have you or a relative ever donated an item to a museum, and wondered what the museum did with it? Or, ever just wondered what the difference is between something in a museum and something in an antique shop? Ever notice a little number painted or glued onto an artefact in an exhibit? Today, I hope to give you some answers about those.
First, we in the museum always want to speak directly to the donors. This is sometimes at odds with the donors, who’d rather just drop the item(s) off and be on their way. We want to speak with them in order to get a full history of the items, as well as to get legal title to the items signed over to the museum (so 40 years down the road, a relative can’t come in and say, “Hey, that was my grandmothers—give it to me!”). Once we have the signed Gift Agreement, the objects usually go into a quarantine room. Here, we check them over, give them a light vacuuming if they need it, and make sure there aren’t any bugs in them that might infest the rest of our collections.
After quarantine, the pieces are “accessioned”—formally brought into the museum collection. This is when the objects get their own identification numbers, something like 2011.2.1, where “2011” is the year the item came in, “2” means the second collection brought in that year, and “1” is the individual item within that collection. The number is painted on the object using permanent ink over top an archivally-stable strip of plastic—the number can be taken off again with a few swipes of acetone, if necessary. From this point on, that number (the “Accession Number”) becomes the item’s identity—all documentation regarding source, history, inventory, etc. is tied to the object through that number. Once an object has an Accession Number, we consider it an “artefact.”
The numbers are usually applied to part of the artefact that won’t show when it’s on exhibit. When I visit museums, I try to spot the numbers on artefacts in the display—try it yourself next time you’re in a museum!
The artefact is then described (“catalogued”) in our artefact database—we have about 60 data fields to record information in (dimensions, materials, colours, maker, age, etc.). We snap a photo of it, and link that in to its database record. All the source information is recorded in another database and linked to the artefact’s record in the artefact database. The artefact is then placed in storage, and its location is added to its artefact record. Both the source information and the artefact catalogue information gets printed out, and stored in paper folders—this is intentional redundancy, in case our computer systems get fried.
The artefacts and their information are then accessible to anyone looking to research that type of artefact, or building an exhibit, etc. The whole process takes about an hour per artefact—one of the reasons why we don’t take everything that might be offered to us. With almost 25,000 artefacts in the Esplanade Museum’s collection, just registering items into the collection has taken about 13 years of effort!
First, we in the museum always want to speak directly to the donors. This is sometimes at odds with the donors, who’d rather just drop the item(s) off and be on their way. We want to speak with them in order to get a full history of the items, as well as to get legal title to the items signed over to the museum (so 40 years down the road, a relative can’t come in and say, “Hey, that was my grandmothers—give it to me!”). Once we have the signed Gift Agreement, the objects usually go into a quarantine room. Here, we check them over, give them a light vacuuming if they need it, and make sure there aren’t any bugs in them that might infest the rest of our collections.
After quarantine, the pieces are “accessioned”—formally brought into the museum collection. This is when the objects get their own identification numbers, something like 2011.2.1, where “2011” is the year the item came in, “2” means the second collection brought in that year, and “1” is the individual item within that collection. The number is painted on the object using permanent ink over top an archivally-stable strip of plastic—the number can be taken off again with a few swipes of acetone, if necessary. From this point on, that number (the “Accession Number”) becomes the item’s identity—all documentation regarding source, history, inventory, etc. is tied to the object through that number. Once an object has an Accession Number, we consider it an “artefact.”
The numbers are usually applied to part of the artefact that won’t show when it’s on exhibit. When I visit museums, I try to spot the numbers on artefacts in the display—try it yourself next time you’re in a museum!
The artefact is then described (“catalogued”) in our artefact database—we have about 60 data fields to record information in (dimensions, materials, colours, maker, age, etc.). We snap a photo of it, and link that in to its database record. All the source information is recorded in another database and linked to the artefact’s record in the artefact database. The artefact is then placed in storage, and its location is added to its artefact record. Both the source information and the artefact catalogue information gets printed out, and stored in paper folders—this is intentional redundancy, in case our computer systems get fried.
The artefacts and their information are then accessible to anyone looking to research that type of artefact, or building an exhibit, etc. The whole process takes about an hour per artefact—one of the reasons why we don’t take everything that might be offered to us. With almost 25,000 artefacts in the Esplanade Museum’s collection, just registering items into the collection has taken about 13 years of effort!
Friday, February 11, 2011
Care of Silver
Many heirloom pieces such as flatware, candlesticks and trophies may be made of silver, or silver-plated base metal. With a few precautions, silver objects can be enjoyed for generations.
The best way to preserve silver is to avoid over-polishing it. Even the gentlest polishing processes remove metal—over time, this will obliterate fine detail and etchings on solid silver, and can wear through the silver layer on plated items. In the museum, we usually allow silver to tarnish, and leave it that way. The tarnish layer, mostly black silver sulphide, is created by the reaction of bright silver to sulphur-containing compounds in the air. Once the bright silver is covered, the tarnish layer acts as an inhibitor to further tarnishing. But, as blackened silver is not necessarily the most attractive, the key to avoiding excessive polishing lies in how the silver is used and stored.
Some foods contain sulphur, particularly eggs and mayonnaise—these will tarnish silver in the same way airborne sulphur compounds will, and should be avoided. Citrus and other acidic foods will not affect pure silver, but can affect the copper used in making sterling silver and silver plate. Harsh detergents will cause pitting on silver, and humidity will accelerate tarnishing, so silver should be hand-washed, and not put into a dishwasher.
If silver must be displayed, it should be kept free of dust—ideally, in a closed cabinet or display case. Silica beads or gel (like the packets that say “Do Not Eat” that you get with a new pair of shoes) may be used to absorb humidity, and slow down the tarnishing process. Otherwise, silver is best stored wrapped in acid-free tissue, then sealed inside polyethylene bags. Even better, the silver can be wrapped in a tarnish-inhibiting cloth, such as Pacific Silvercloth, before being placed in the bags. These cloths contain silver particles that will attract and hold sulphur, leaving your treasures untarnished.
When your silver does have to be polished, use a product specifically formulated for silver—general metal cleaners are too abrasive, and will remove too much silver. Chemical dips should be avoided, as they can pit the metal, and the chemical can become trapped in components such as hollow stems or handles. Electrochemical reduction (using a warm soda bath and an aluminum plate to chemically convert silver sulphate back into silver) should also be avoided, as the soda solution will also pool in hollow components, and the reaction is difficult to control (and can cause plating to be stripped right off an object!). Various waddings, pastes and foams available are generally the safest to use. If any residue is left on the object after polishing, this should be removed by buffing with a soft cloth or brush.
Lacquering or waxing polished silver is not recommended, as it is difficult to apply evenly. Thin streaks or small holes in wax or lacquer can tarnish worse than if no coating had been applied at all.
The best way to preserve silver is to avoid over-polishing it. Even the gentlest polishing processes remove metal—over time, this will obliterate fine detail and etchings on solid silver, and can wear through the silver layer on plated items. In the museum, we usually allow silver to tarnish, and leave it that way. The tarnish layer, mostly black silver sulphide, is created by the reaction of bright silver to sulphur-containing compounds in the air. Once the bright silver is covered, the tarnish layer acts as an inhibitor to further tarnishing. But, as blackened silver is not necessarily the most attractive, the key to avoiding excessive polishing lies in how the silver is used and stored.
Some foods contain sulphur, particularly eggs and mayonnaise—these will tarnish silver in the same way airborne sulphur compounds will, and should be avoided. Citrus and other acidic foods will not affect pure silver, but can affect the copper used in making sterling silver and silver plate. Harsh detergents will cause pitting on silver, and humidity will accelerate tarnishing, so silver should be hand-washed, and not put into a dishwasher.
If silver must be displayed, it should be kept free of dust—ideally, in a closed cabinet or display case. Silica beads or gel (like the packets that say “Do Not Eat” that you get with a new pair of shoes) may be used to absorb humidity, and slow down the tarnishing process. Otherwise, silver is best stored wrapped in acid-free tissue, then sealed inside polyethylene bags. Even better, the silver can be wrapped in a tarnish-inhibiting cloth, such as Pacific Silvercloth, before being placed in the bags. These cloths contain silver particles that will attract and hold sulphur, leaving your treasures untarnished.
When your silver does have to be polished, use a product specifically formulated for silver—general metal cleaners are too abrasive, and will remove too much silver. Chemical dips should be avoided, as they can pit the metal, and the chemical can become trapped in components such as hollow stems or handles. Electrochemical reduction (using a warm soda bath and an aluminum plate to chemically convert silver sulphate back into silver) should also be avoided, as the soda solution will also pool in hollow components, and the reaction is difficult to control (and can cause plating to be stripped right off an object!). Various waddings, pastes and foams available are generally the safest to use. If any residue is left on the object after polishing, this should be removed by buffing with a soft cloth or brush.
Lacquering or waxing polished silver is not recommended, as it is difficult to apply evenly. Thin streaks or small holes in wax or lacquer can tarnish worse than if no coating had been applied at all.
Friday, February 4, 2011
The Ivan Rand Desk
Museums are about more than just collecting things—what we really collect are stories. That’s why we recently acquired the rather plain looking desk pictured here.
The desk is a bit small by today’s standards--five feet, or 1.5 meters long. It might remind you of the kind of teacher’s desk that stood at the front of every grade school classroom (at least in the 1970s and early ‘80s, when I was in grade school myself). It’s solid wood, likely oak, from around the turn of the 20th Century—and otherwise looks rather unremarkable.
But, this was a lawyer’s desk. Specifically, it’s the desk of Ivan C. Rand, of the firm Laidlaw, Blanchard & Rand, Medicine Hat. Rand himself was from New Brunswick, and graduated from Harvard Law School in 1912. That same year, he, like a good number of other people, headed to Medicine Hat, “the smokeless Pittsburgh of the west,” to make his fortune in the city that was a booming manufacturing centre due to its huge reserves of cheap natural gas. Unfortunately, his timing wasn’t great; Medicine Hat’s boom went bust by 1914; world war, drought and depression followed.
Rand stuck it out in Medicine Hat longer than a lot of other people, though. He continued to practice law here, at this very desk, until 1920, when he returned to New Brunswick (leaving the desk behind). He did well for himself—named Attorney General of New Brunswick in 1924, and served as a member of New Brunswick’s Legislative Assembly. In 1943, he was appointed to the Supreme Court of Canada, and developed the “Rand Formula,” a cornerstone of Canadian labour law, in 1945. Following World War Two, he was on the United Nations Special Committee on Palestine, chaired a Royal Commission on improper stock trading, and was the first dean of the law school of the University of Western Ontario. He was made a Companion of the Order of Canada shortly before his death in 1969.
So, Rand wasn’t a native Hatter, didn’t stick around town all that long, and all of his major accomplishments were made elsewhere. But, Medicine Hat is where he first practiced law, which laid the foundation for his illustrious career. More importantly, though, this piece represents all those who brought their hopes and dreams to Medicine Hat during the boom years of 1908 through 1913, only to leave again when the ‘Hat fell on hard times.
So much more than just a plain, old, small desk….
The desk is a bit small by today’s standards--five feet, or 1.5 meters long. It might remind you of the kind of teacher’s desk that stood at the front of every grade school classroom (at least in the 1970s and early ‘80s, when I was in grade school myself). It’s solid wood, likely oak, from around the turn of the 20th Century—and otherwise looks rather unremarkable.
But, this was a lawyer’s desk. Specifically, it’s the desk of Ivan C. Rand, of the firm Laidlaw, Blanchard & Rand, Medicine Hat. Rand himself was from New Brunswick, and graduated from Harvard Law School in 1912. That same year, he, like a good number of other people, headed to Medicine Hat, “the smokeless Pittsburgh of the west,” to make his fortune in the city that was a booming manufacturing centre due to its huge reserves of cheap natural gas. Unfortunately, his timing wasn’t great; Medicine Hat’s boom went bust by 1914; world war, drought and depression followed.
Rand stuck it out in Medicine Hat longer than a lot of other people, though. He continued to practice law here, at this very desk, until 1920, when he returned to New Brunswick (leaving the desk behind). He did well for himself—named Attorney General of New Brunswick in 1924, and served as a member of New Brunswick’s Legislative Assembly. In 1943, he was appointed to the Supreme Court of Canada, and developed the “Rand Formula,” a cornerstone of Canadian labour law, in 1945. Following World War Two, he was on the United Nations Special Committee on Palestine, chaired a Royal Commission on improper stock trading, and was the first dean of the law school of the University of Western Ontario. He was made a Companion of the Order of Canada shortly before his death in 1969.
So, Rand wasn’t a native Hatter, didn’t stick around town all that long, and all of his major accomplishments were made elsewhere. But, Medicine Hat is where he first practiced law, which laid the foundation for his illustrious career. More importantly, though, this piece represents all those who brought their hopes and dreams to Medicine Hat during the boom years of 1908 through 1913, only to leave again when the ‘Hat fell on hard times.
So much more than just a plain, old, small desk….
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