This post is authored by Emily Rose Clayton, a second-year graduate student in the NYU Archives and Public History program and graduate student assistant in the University Archives.

I grew up fifteen miles from the middle of nowhere, and moved to New York City.  For a small-town girl, working in the New York University Archives has given me a uniquely intimate perspective as I acclimate to my new home and the challenges of graduate school.

I was raised in Pulaski, TN, a town of roughly 8,000 people better described as “I live about an hour south of Nashville.”  There is an intimacy in small-town life, in knowing the community around you; the gas station on that corner used to be a Dairy Queen, and I know without looking that the historical marker in front tells the history of my alma mater.  The past year at the NYU Archives has allowed me to build that same intimacy and comfort with the surrounding area. When I walk through the streets today, I am able to meet New York on familiar ground: its history.

As a research assistant, I have the opportunity to dive into all corners of the archival holdings as I compile data for administrative requests, conduct preliminary research for an exhibit on campus, or assist off-site researchers with their questions.  With that in mind, I’d like to share a few of my favorite findings over the past year that follow me through the streets of NYU.

At the center of NYU sits Washington Square Park, a favored hang-out spot for students with a rich history of its own.  Passing under the arch, it’s worth looking up to remember a late January night in 1917 when six artists climbed to the top of the arch and declared the liberation of Greenwich Village from the United States of America.

Arch Conspirators by John Sloan, 1917; New York University Archives Photograph Collection; Box 473; Folder 1;
New York University Archives, New York University

Dubbed the “Arch Conspirators,” the group of artists, poets, and actors gained access to the top of the arch through an internal staircase. Their bohemian coup was marked with paper lanterns and balloons, and celebrated with a wine-fueled picnic that culminated in the declaration of Greenwich Village as a free republic.  The repercussions of this secession can still be noted today: the door to the staircase, located on the western side, has been kept securely locked in the hundred-plus years since.

Fifty years later, a more serious declaration of freedom took place one block away at Weinstein Residence Hall.  Shortly after beginning work at the archives, I assisted with research for “Violet Holdings: LGBTQ+ Highlights from the NYU Special Collections,” currently on exhibition through December 2019 at Bobst Library.  I spent hours combing through administrative records, correspondence, and student publications looking for references to queer life on campus, watching as subtle hints became front-page headlines in a deeply personal struggle for recognition and equal rights.

Washington Square Journal, September 28, 1970. RG 391.87. New York University Archives, New York University Libraries.

In the aftermath of Stonewall, NYU students formed the Student Homophile League, which soon became the Gay Student Liberation (GSL).  In 1970, GSL organizers clashed with university administration over a series of dances held in the Weinstein sub-cellar. While the GSL claimed they had received proper permission to hold the events, university administration objected to the involvement of outside groups.  When the administration attempted to shut down the dances, activists staged a five-day sit-in of the Weinstein sub-cellar to protest the intolerance being shown towards gay groups. Eventually, the protestors were forcibly removed by the police, which gave queer activism the spotlight on NYU’s campus.  When I walk past Weinstein, I often wonder how many of today’s residents are aware of its important role in the changing landscape of NYU.

Wandering a block southeast leads to an unassuming street corner with a dark history, and recollections of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire.  One morning, I opened a research question and was confronted with the stark reality of those 146 deaths, as a researcher asked for help locating a specific building nearby.  Attached to the email were photographs of the bodies of victims, some already transferred into coffins, others being placed side-by-side on the brick sidewalk by uniformed men. 

Triangle Shirtwaist Factory (Brown Building), 1911; New York University Archives Photograph Collection; PHOTO.00001; Box 69;
New York University Archives, New York University

Today, the Asch Building where the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory was located is known as the Brown Building, and houses academic offices and classrooms.  Across the street, the building where the victims were laid serves as NYU’s Academic Resource Center, a bustling hub of student life. Sitting in the cheerful windows of the tea shop on the corner gives no indication of the sad events which transpired in 1911.  The simple bronze plaque on the Brown building acknowledges the history, but the images of those simple wooden coffins in my mind drives home the chaos and grief of that March evening.

Being dropped into a new place without context or connection, especially one as overwhelming and ever-changing as New York City, is an unsettling experience.  As a Public Historian in training, I often find myself grappling with the best way to create personal connections between the past and the present. For me, the answer came in working through NYU’s history in the archives.  The experience has allowed me to learn what happened a hundred years before I stood on the same corner, so that I feel at home walking through the streets.