This week I decided to do some making, rather than writing, and got myself set up with Omeka and Neatline, thanks to Academic AMIs and Amazon Web Services. Spoiler alert: I won't be showing those off just yet.
The various steps involved reminded me of how far the web has comeāsomething-teen years ago, when I wanted to put up my own website in college, I had to code in the HTML myself, gradually forgot how to do such things over the ensuing decade, and nowadays the need to know that kind of knowledge is something the casual Internet user barely needs. In other words, I experienced some moments of frustration when I found myself opening an FTP client for the first time since the Clinton administration, but it was also interesting to do some nuts and bolts coding which, really, would probably be childās play for the average IT consultant.
I did all of this because Iāve thought for a long time that the Panic of 1907 lends itself to being presented as an event that unfolded in space and time and wanted to experiment with how this could be done. For today you can take a look at a Google Map I created that basically throws down some markers for notable sites of the panicāthe office of investment banker J.P. Morgan, the locations of some of the important banks and trust companies that were besieged by depositors, and homes of some notable individuals.
Plotting locations on a map, for example, shows that the panic was not only something Morgan was confronting at his office during the day but also in his own neighborhood; we can see that the Knickerbocker Trust Company, which shut its doors on October 22nd after a bank run, was barely three blocks away from his home.
But you quickly run up against Google Mapsā limits. For example, Herbert Satterlee, J.P. Morganās son-in-law and biographer, tells an anecdote of spending the night of October 23rd distracting James R. Keene, a notorious stock-market speculator, from meeting with Morgan and possibly learning in advance what his strategy for managing the panic would be. Satterlee even describes the route they took:
āMr. Keene was living at the Waldorf-Astoria, [and] I picked him up after dinner when he crossed Fifth Avenue⦠He and I talked about Newport and social matters, and so managed that we walked through Thirty-Fifth Street to Park Avenue, then up to Thirty-Sixth⦠We reached No. 37 [the Satterlee house] without attracting the attention of the reporters and curiosity seekers⦠[and] from half past eight until after eleven we talked about Mr. Keeneās boyhood,ā until Satterlee got a signal that Morgan had gone to bed and Keene made his farewells without having met Morgan, āexpressing himself as having had a very pleasant evening.ā1
As you can see if you scroll around the Google Map, I added a path retracing the walk Satterlee describes. I also added markers denoting two eventsāfirst, Morgan asking Satterlee to ākeep him awayā at dinner, before the walk, and then another to mark the three hours Satterlee spent talking with Keene. But thatās just about all I can do in Google Maps, which was not built for doing the kinds of things that historians might want to do with maps.
The great thing about Neatline is that I can draw that same path and add on photographs (a.k.a. illustrate it with items from Omeka) of Satterlee and Keene. But I can also change the underlying map so that it displays a historic map showing the actual street grid at the time (especially useful in downtown Manhattan). Finally, I can create a timeline so that a person who wants to step through the events of the panic, day by day, wonāt see that walk show up until October 23rd at around 8 p.m.
At least, eventually I think Iāll be able to do all of those things. For now, here's a brief snapshot of my rudimentary attempt to capture that same walk (the skinny green line) in Neatline.
There are other advantages to conceptualizations like those Neatline can offer. Most accounts of the panic lean heavily on three sources: Satterleeās biography, a memorandum of the event written by Morganās partner, George W. Perkins, and a reminiscence of the panic written by Federal Reserve banker Benjamin Strong for a biography of Henry P. Davison, another Morgan partner. The history of the panic, in other words, has been very much influenced by accounts written from the Morgan firmās point of view.
Yet there are other sources, written from the point of view of other bankers in memoirs and āauthorized biographies,ā told in testimony to Congressional committees and antitrust trials, or located in government records and private correspondence, that offer different perspectives. Thomas P. Kane, describes the panic in his book The Romance and Tragedy of Banking (which I wrote about last week) from his perspective as an official in Washington, worrying about the solvency of the institutions he regulated. Oakleigh Thorne, president of the Trust Company of America, another institution hit hard by depositor runs, bitterly argued that his bank was attacked because Perkins singled it out to newspaper reporters. (His descendants landed on their feet.)
The Panic of 1907, and J.P. Morganās role in responding to it, have been examined by many scholars as a template for actions undertaken during the 2008 financial crisis, yet there are considerable gaps in the story as itās currently told. The complex storylines that Neatline enables its users to present (see some demos here) allows us the ability to walk through the panic as both its āwinnersā and ālosersā experienced it, then, we might gain a different perspective on financial crises both past, present, and future.
Gee, that was still a lot of writing.
Satterlee, J. Pierpont Morgan: An Intimate Portrait (New York: Macmillan, 1939), 471.Ā ā©ļø