From the Archives: The Riddle of the Lalbyrinth
I have three-quarters of a new blog post written about a fascinating woman you probably don’t know a lot about. I also have a nasty cold and my head is so full of “stuff” that I’m struggling to write. So instead, I’m sharing this post from 2013, in which I reviewed a book I really enjoyed. The Riddle of the Labyrinth combines a subject I’ve been fascinated by since I was a kid and a woman who deserves to be better known. Good stuff!
In The Riddle of the Labyrinth: The Quest To Crack An Ancient Code, Margalit Fox adds a new layer to the story of how the ancient script known as Linear B was deciphered.
In 1900, archaeologist Arthur Evans uncovered a cache of clay tablets in an unknown script on Crete. For fifty years, scholars across the world struggled to decipher Linear B without even knowing what language it encoded. In 1952, an amateur named Michael Ventris solved the puzzle with what is often presented as a single stroke of inspiration. In fact, Ventris’s inspiration was based on the work of another, largely forgotten, scholar– classicist Alice Kober. Working alone in her Brooklyn home, Kober created a new methodology for decoding the unknown script without the benefit of a bilingual text or a computer. She also identified the keys that allowed Ventris to make his imaginative leap.
In The Riddle of the Labyrinth, Fox returns Kober to her rightful place at the center of the story. She divides her story into three parts, focusing on the charismatic digger, Evans, the methodical detective, Kober, and the brilliant architect, Ventris in turn. She handles the mix of biography, archaeology, cryptology and linguistics with a sure touch. Technical discussions of how to decipher an unknown script written in an unknown language are as engaging as the lives of her protagonists.
In a satisfying conclusion, The Riddle of the Labyrinth ends where it begins, with the tablets themselves and what we have learned from them.
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PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT
If you want to get rid the the annoying and often inaccurate AI “summary” that appears at the top of your on-line search type “-ai” at the end of the search term, like this
Alice Kober -ai .
At least for now, it works! Many thanks to Denise Kiernan for including this tip in her recent newsletter.
Maggie Lena Walker Opens a Bank
Circling back once again to the theme of women entrepreneurs, allow me introduce you to Maggie Lena Walker (1867-1934)[1] , the child of a formerly enslaved, illiterate mother who became the founder and president of an important Black-owned bank.
Walker was born in Richmond, Virginia, the capital of the Confederacy, two years after the end of the Civil War. Her mother married less than a year after she was born and for the first few years, Walker enjoyed some financial security. But after her stepfather died when, she was nine, her mother struggled to support the family by taking in washing. Walker helped by delivering the laundry to clients and looking after her younger brother. She would later say, “I was not born with s silver spoon in my mouth, but with a laundry basket practically on my head.”
Despite these challenges, Walker managed to stay in school, graduating from the Richmond Colored Normal School in 1883 at the age of sixteen. (She was already a shin-kicker: she organized Richmond’s Black students to strike against the unequal graduation ceremonies held for Black and white students.[2] ) For the next three years she taught grade school in Richmond’s public school system. That ended when she married Armisted Walker, whose father owned a successful brick-making and construction business.
Instead of trying to fight against the laws that made it illegal for married women to teach in the public schools, she found her cause in the Independent Order of St Luke (IOSL) , a fraternal insurance society established by a free Black woman named Mary Prout in Baltimore in 1867. IOSL was devoted to mutual aid for its members as well as providing life insurance policies, which were originally intended to make it possible for families to afford funerals and burial plots.
Walker joined IOSL at the age of fourteen. After her marriage, she began to quickly rise through its ranks. In 1890, she was named the Right Worthy Grand Secretary-Treasurer of the organization. IOSL was in financial trouble, with $31.76 in assets and more than $400 in unpaid bills, and on the verge of closing. Walker brought the organization back to solvency: by 1927, IOSL had 103,000 members in 24 states and more than $450,000[3] in assets. It had paid out more one million dollars[4] in death benefits.
Walker wanted IOSL to do more. At its annual meeting in 1901, Walker outlined a bold vision for financial security beyond the ability to buy a burial plot. She said that the organization should open its own department store, which would provide jobs for the community and support black-owned supplies. They should publish a newspaper, which would allow them to share news about the order and the community—and attract new members in the process. But she told her listeners “first we need a savings bank. Let us put our moneys together; let us use our moneys; let us put our money out at usury among ourselves, and reap the benefits ourselves. Let us have a bank that will take the nickels and turn them into dollars.”
Over the course of the next few years, Walker successfully opened the St. Luke Emporium, the St. Luke Herald, which rapidly became a platform for civil rights advocacy, and finally the St. Luke Penny Savings Bank. Walker was the bank’s first president. Under her leadership, the bank helped hundreds of Black families, who had found it difficult if not impossible to borrow from white-owned banks, to buy homes, start businesses, and build wealth, helping to build a Black middle class by creating generational wealth.
Walker continued to lead the bank and IOSL even as her health failed from diabetic complications. When she became confined to a wheelchair, she had a desk built that would accommodate the chair and carried on. She successfully led the St Luke Penny Savings Bank through the Great Depression, when many other banks failed. When she arranged for the bank to merge with two other Black-owned banks in Richmond, she became chairman of the board, a position she held until her death.
Not surprisingly, Walker was an advocate for civil rights in general and a supporter of the women’s suffrage movement. She advocated for education and jobs, especially for Black women—a position on which she led by example at the St. Luke Penny Savings Bank. She supported voter registration drives and a boycott against the segregated street car system in Richmond. She was a co-founder of the Richmond chapter of the NAACP and organized the first black Girl Scout troop in the South.
Today her home in Richmond is a historic site, run by the National Park Service. I’m adding it to my list of places to visit.
[1] No relation to Madame F. J. Walker (1867-1919), founder of the eponymous hair care products company and the first self-made female millionaire in the United States. I feel like Madame C.J. Walker’s story is well-known enough that I don’t need to tell it here. If I’m wrong, let me know.
[2] I went down a rabbit hole on the question of whether I should also capital white in this context. There are a lot of different opinions out there. But the position taken by the Columbia Journalism Review made sense to me. To quote the Review’s style guide: “
At the Columbia Journalism Review, we capitalize Black, and not white, when referring to groups in racial, ethnic, or cultural terms. For many people, Black reflects a shared sense of identity and community. White carries a different set of meanings; capitalizing the word in this context risks following the lead of white supremacists.”
I’m sticking to this position until someone convinces me otherwise. If you want to read the Review’s analysis, you can find it here.
[3] More than eight million dollars today
[4] More than 40 billion dollars today
From the Archives: Walking Hallowed Ground
Recently My Own True Love and I were at dinner with friends and the conversation turned to the Gallipoli campaign in World War I . [1] The next day he requested that I run this post again. It originally ran in 2011, when History in the Margins was brand-new. I think it holds up.
In response to my recent post on the American Civil War, blog reader Karen Eliot talked about her experiences visiting Gettysburg.
Her comments left me thinking about what makes battlefield visits such a powerful experience. I’ve certainly walked my share of Civil War battlefields: Gettysburg, Antietam, Pea Ridge, and my hometown battlefield of Wilson’s Creek. (Not to mention a few Revolutionary War and War of 1812 sites. I’m an equal opportunity history nerd.) My Own True Love will tell you that I tear up at every battlefield I visit. Or at least get a lump in my throat.
But thinking it over, I’m not sure that the experience would be quite so powerful if the National Park Service weren’t there to lead me by the hand. I think it takes a special person to be able to walk into an empty field and see the sweep of a past battle. I’m not that person. I need a guide, an exhibit, or at least a few historical markers. (Have I mentioned how much I love historical markers?)
Which brings me to the battlefield visit that hit me hardest: Gallipoli.
Fought at the Dardanelle Straits, where Turkey has one foot in Europe, the Gallipoli campaign of World War I was the first major amphibious operation in modern warfare. The British and French hoped to drive Turkey out of the war and gain control of the warm water ports of the Black Sea. The campaign started out as a slapdash naval expedition in which the big powers expected to blow Turkey out of the water–so to speak. It turned into the grimmest of trench warfare. Trenches were close enough together that soldiers could toss a live grenade back and forth across the lines several times before it exploded in a horrible parody of the childhood game of Hot Potato. Water was so scarce on the European side that they tanked it in from Egypt. ( That’s a long water run. Look at a map.)
The campaign was a military stalemate paid for by heavy losses on both sides, but it was a formative event for three modern nations: Australia, New Zealand and Turkey. Today the Gallipoli National Historic Park is a pilgrimage site for all three countries.
My Own True Love and I traveled to Gallipoli from Istanbul in a tour bus. Many of our fellow travelers that day were New Zealanders and Australians whose father/uncle/grandfather/great-grandfather had fought at Gallipoli. (ANZAC Day is a national holiday in both Australia and New Zealand commemorating the landing of Australian and New Zealand forces.) Our tour guide was a retired Turkish naval captain for whom Gallipoli was a lifelong passion. The museum was heart-breaking. You could walk the trenches in the battlefield. The memorial honored the soldiers from both sides. The combination was magical.
But the thing I remember most clearly is the end of the day. Every tour of the Gallipoli National Historic Park ends in front of a statue of the oldest Turkish survivor of the battle and his young granddaughter, who holds a bouquet of rosemary for remembrance. He is said to have told his granddaughter that every man who died at Gallipoli is part of Turkey now and should be honored. Visitors add rosemary springs to the granddaughter’s bouquet from bushes that surrounded the memorial. Because My Own True Love held the highest military rank of anyone on our bus, Captain Ali invited me to step forward to add a spring of rosemary to the bouquet on behalf of our group. Did I get all teary? You bet. [2}
Remembrance is, ultimately, why we visit battlefields. Remembrance of those who died and those who survived, of causes lost and causes won, of the reasons we go to war, of greed, honor, bravery and shame. Remembrance of the world we have lost on the road to today.
What battlefield visits made an impact on you?
[1] You take your chances when you go to dinner with us. Between us we are able to geek out about many, many things.
[2] Did I get all teary re-reading this fifteen years later? Yep.
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If there’s a post from the past that you would like to see again, let me know.





