The Stuff of the Bicentennial: American History Kitsch

 

 I try not to collect many things these days, but I have a handful of Bicentennial/American History things that I've picked up here and there.

This serving tray is the only thing from my personal childhood celebration of the Bicentennial. Made of the plastic melamine by the Brookpark Company in 1976, it was purchased by my mother, probably on clearance sale after the 4th, knowing her. The company manufactured multiple versions in various shapes and sizes.

If you haven't guessed, 1776 is one of my all-time favorite movies. It's so great and so historically accurate and astute that I used it to teach the Declaration in my US History classes. Consequently, I've seen it at least 50 times. A year or two ago, we were privileged to attend an appearance by William Daniels, John Adams on Broadway and in the movie, and his wife Bonnie Bartlett, in which they discussed their lives and memoirs. Both are still with us; he is 99. It was an honor to meet them and to have him sign the poster I purchased on Ebay, along with the books.

These are "toby mugs". Toby mugs date back to 1700s, but they became popular collectors items in the 20th century, with Royal Doulton being the most famous manufacturer. The Indian on the right is a Doulton from 1967, the left one was produced in 1973 by a company called Byron Molds. The George Washington model, with rolled up Declaration of Independence as the handle, was produced by Royal Doulton in 1982 to mark the 250th anniversary of his birth.

Another of the few American History/Bicentennial related vintage items that I've picked up here and there: a chalkware plaster Uncle Sam. Probably from the early 40s, when Uncle Sam rolling up his sleeves, whether to get to work or to open up a can of old-fashioned whoop-ass, was a common theme. It was most likely a carnival prize. Chalkware statuettes of various characters were popular prizes for winning various midway games from the late 1800s to the late 1940s.

The famous pottery manufacturer McCoy produced Uncle Sam planters, in a variety of colors, but mostly yellow and green, during the early 40s. However, the pictures of McCoys that I've found have the stars in a different pattern than mine. Pictures of planters like mine are usually called McCoys by the people posting them, however. Mine has no marks or labeling, so I'm guessing it's a knockoff, but from the same time.

For some reason, highly decorated beer steins became big collectors items during the Bicentennial, and I own 3 different versions, all made in 1975 or 1976. The white mug/stein was manufactured by the well known company Fenton. The manufacturers of the other two are unknown.

Erasure

 

        Histocrats is apolitical.  It started when a small group of history teaching friends decided to use social media and blogging to spread our love of history and to make history more accessible.  That was our agenda, and I continue Histocrats with that philosophy.   However, thanks to social media and artificial intelligence, the world is so much more different than it was just thirteen years ago when Histocrats began.  Both sides now have engaged, and continue  to engage,  in efforts to obscure, eliminate, rewrite, and even to weaponize history for their own purposes.  Recent news of the removal of all references to slavery at The President's House historical site in Philadelphia, steps from Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell have prompted me to make a statement unequivocally condemning the erasure of history.  The only erasure I want in my world is that great British synth-pop duo formed in the 1980s.

Erasure, "A Little Respect"

    (Full disclosure:  I gave my thoughts to ChatGPT and allowed AI to shape and to polish them. I think it did a pretty good job.)

History must be presented honestly and completely because it is not a tool for comfort or propaganda—it is a record of human choices and their consequences. When societies selectively tell history to fit a preferred narrative, they trade truth for convenience. That trade always comes at a cost.

An honest account of history includes triumphs and failures, courage and cruelty, progress and injustice. These complexities are not weaknesses; they are the very features that make history useful. By confronting uncomfortable facts, societies gain the ability to recognize patterns, avoid repeating mistakes, and understand how present conditions came to be. Sanitized history, by contrast, offers false reassurance. It teaches citizens not how the world works, but how they wish it had worked.

Burying parts of history to suit an agenda harms society in several ways. First, it erodes trust. When people eventually discover that facts were omitted or distorted—and they almost always do—confidence in institutions, education, and leadership declines. Second, it silences those whose experiences do not align with the dominant story. Ignoring certain voices or events does not erase their impact; it merely deepens resentment and division. A society that refuses to acknowledge past harm cannot credibly claim to value justice or reconciliation.

Moreover, incomplete history weakens critical thinking. Democracy depends on citizens who can evaluate evidence, weigh competing interpretations, and tolerate discomfort in pursuit of truth. Teaching history as a curated myth discourages questioning and rewards conformity. It prepares people to defend narratives rather than understand realities—an especially dangerous habit in an era of misinformation.

Honest history does not mean assigning collective guilt or denying genuine achievements. It means accepting that progress often coexists with wrongdoing, and that understanding both is essential. Mature societies do not fear their past; they examine it. They recognize that acknowledging errors is not an attack on identity, but a sign of confidence and moral seriousness.

Ultimately, history belongs to everyone, not to those in power at a given moment. When it is presented fully and truthfully, it becomes a shared foundation for learning, empathy, and informed decision-making. When it is buried or distorted, it becomes a weapon—one that harms society by blinding it to itself.