By David Ware, director and state historian
When I first arrived in Arkansas in 1999, I found a state
full of surprises. Like the beauty of its open spaces. Or its unexpectedly
complex history. Or the variety of good barbecue to be found within its
borders. Or the warmth and welcome of the people I met here.
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| Arkansas State Capitol, 1916, courtesy of the Library of Congress |
It was like nothing I had ever seen before, certainly not in
or around a public building. Within two years, I would be part of the team that
prepared and executed the event. For 19 holiday seasons I helped with the great
lighting ceremony by creating displays, assisting with logistics and assembling
an historical overview for the event — doing its “family history,” if you will.
It was in connection with this project that I first spent significant amounts
of time researching in the State Archives or, as it was styled then, the
Arkansas History Commission.
I knew, in a general way, that Christmas decorations in
public places, particularly on public buildings, did not have a long tradition;
they were not much of a public factor before the 1920s. As for Christmas trees,
a custom that took hold in the middle of the 19th century, these
were private, family affairs. The first White House tree was set up either in
1854 or 1889, and many years there was none in the presidential mansion. The
first “national” Christmas tree was erected 1923, during the first year of the
Coolidge presidency.
As far as I could discover, looking through dim microfilmed
copies of the Arkansas Democrat and the good, gray Gazette, the
capital city’s dueling daily papers, the elegant neoclassical Capitol, erected
between 1899 and 1915 atop the old Penitentiary Hill, was not embellished for
the Christmas season.
In 1938, however, things changed.
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| C.G. "Crip" Hall |
Hall practiced law privately in Little Rock and in 1934 ran
for Arkansas Secretary of State. He was defeated, but Crip Hall had game: He ran
again in 1936, on a simple platform including a promise to make the state
Capitol a showplace for the state. He won, handily — and set to work to make
good. In 1938, he ran for re-election and won easily. In the wake of the
election, Hall may have wanted to celebrate; he did so in a way that created a
tradition.
Just south of the Capitol, across 9th street,
stood the Arkansas Children’s Home and Hospital. From its windows, the young
patients could see the limestone dome of the Capitol. Hall had a soft spot in
his heart for the young patients, perhaps a consequence of his own early ill
health; his celebration took the form of a Christmas greeting for the young people
stuck in the hospital at Christmas time. He ordered his staff electrician to
rig red and blue or green lights on thin sheet metal strips; these were hung
from the Capitol’s cupola, their weight causing them to conform to the curve of
the dome. In front of the Capitol, Hall erected a fir tree, sprayed silver,
mounted on a rotating stand with colored lights playing on it at night.
In the days before Christmas, Hall’s staff collected money
for Christmas gifts for infirmary-confined children. A party out by the shiny
Christmas tree was scheduled for Dec. 22; children from the hospital were
invited, as well as Capitol workers and their families. On the day, though,
rain arrived — but Hall was undeterred. He had a second tree brought inside and
decorated. That evening, 145 children, plus many state employees, enjoyed what
would be the Capitol’s first holiday decorations, a friendly gesture and good
deed that has endured.
Establishing the story of the Capitol’s holiday decorations
would have been nearly impossible, had it not been for a series of scrapbooks
kept by Crip Hall, preserving the story of his many years’ service as Secretary
of State. Nearly two decades ago, Commission staffers brought me the
microfilmed copies of Hall’s scrapbooks and carefully loaded each roll onto my
reader; I was to insert tiny paper strips into the film as I rewound it,
marking the location of frames to be copied. I took my notes, asked for a few
copies to be made and resolved to come back to the scrapbooks, when time
permitted, to learn about how something so simple changed into something so
elaborate, so widely loved.
The scrapbooks contain clippings, photographs and letters;
they document the evolution of the event and the good publicity it generated. After
that first winter, Hall garnered warm praise for his friendly initiative: One newspaper
accolade quipped “By George, it took “Crip” to come out and “hall” out the
Christmas spirit, didn’t it?”
In the years to come, the Capitol’s decorations would
become more elaborate, and ceremonies a little more involved. In 1940, blue
lights outlined the building, with strips of amber lights on the dome, and the
first of several Nativity scenes was installed on the Capitol steps. As a
festive flourish, loudspeakers were set up in the rotunda to play Christmas
music.
1941, though, was another affair. The Capitol was to be illuminated
on Dec. 10, a Wednesday; a Gazette story of a few days before noted that
“a religious exhibit will cover the front entrance to the building, and
loudspeakers will carry seasonal music to residents of the nearby neighborhood.”
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| Christmas lights at the Capitol, approximately 1950, courtesy of the Arkansas Secretary of State's office |
What’s significant, I think, is this: The Capitol’s
illumination was held as planned. Three days earlier, the United States had
been forcibly jolted into joining the global conflict, but on Dec. 10, Crip
Hall opted to go ahead and light the lights, in spite of the brand-new state of
war. He told a local paper that in such unusual times, the people of Arkansas
needed to have a little reassuring normalness.
Since then, the Capitol’s holiday lights have been
dependable December markers. They went dark in 1943 and 1944, by federal order,
and once again during the energy crisis of the 1970s, but otherwise they have reached
out against the early dark of winter skies. In 2001, in the shadow of the
attacks of Sept. 11, Secretary of State Sharon Priest faced the same sort of
question faced by Crip Hall, six decades before: In the face of a national
emergency, should the Capitol’s lights be turned on? They were; like Hall
before her, Sharon Priest understood that in the face of uncertainty, something
normal and reassuring was what Arkansans needed and should see. On Dec. 1, the Capitol’s
lights snapped on as they had in 1938 and 1941, one of Crip Hall’s enduring
legacies.
vvv
Memories of C.G. “Crip” Hall’s administration are for the
most part preserved in his scrapbooks, which were begun as keepsakes for his
daughter Nancy. Four of these compilations are held by the University of
Arkansas Special Collections; another 12 are preserved in the Arkansas State
Archives. For context, researchers may consult the Archives’ unequalled
collection of Arkansas journalism preserved on microfilm or, weather
permitting, indulge in a leisurely walk around the Capitol, located just east
of our Little Rock premises. Timing is, of course, everything: If one walks
around in late afternoon, between Dec. 5 and Dec. 31, there’s a good chance of
catching the moment when the Capitol lights are switched on. Enjoy them as
reminders of a good deed done nearly eight decades ago.
