113Chapter 6

A New Deal for Human Osteology

George R. Milner and Keith P. Jacobi

I. INTRODUCTION

Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal relief programs in the 1930s to early 1940s decisively changed the practice of archaeology in the United States. The story of how this unprecedented funding and access to labor—most famously through the Works Progress Administration (WPA) and Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) — transformed archaeology has been told a number of times (Baklanoff and Howington, 1989; Dye, 1991; Haag, 1985, 1986; Lyon, 1996; Milner and Smith, 1986; Schwartz, 1967; Seltzer and Strong, 1936; Seltzer, 1942, 1943). Excavation methods and field training were improved; institutional support was augmented; knowledge of prehistoric cultures was increased; and crippling rural unemployment was reduced. The last, of course, was the principal reason for federal involvement in this great endeavor.

The contribution of the New Deal excavations to physical anthropology, specifically the study of human skeletons, has received considerably less attention (Jacobi, 2002). This omission comes as something of a surprise because some of the largest and most heavily studied skeletal collections in the United States (indeed the world) were the direct result of the relief-work excavations, especially those in the Southeast. They include, among others, skeletons from the well-known Indian Knoll shell heap in Kentucky (Snow, 1948; Webb, 1946). Perhaps this lack of interest reflects the fact that studies of skeletons during the Great Depression and immediately afterward contributed little to the advancement of research questions and the development of new analytical methods. Nevertheless, this work resulted in one lasting contribution of considerable significance — the 114generation of large and generally well-documented skeletal collections (Fig. 1). These collections, which would be difficult or impossible to duplicate in today’s financial and political climate, continue to be the subject of active research. Each year more is published on these skeletons, and their research potential is far from exhausted.

Figure 1 Eleanor Roosevelt (third from left) visiting Alabama’s WPA archaeological laboratory in Birmingham. She traveled widely during the Great Depression to promote her husband’s various New Deal programs. Courtesy of the Alabama Museum of Natural History Photograph Archives, Mary Harmon Bryant Hall, 16CAL.

II. NEW DEAL PROJECTS

Archaeological work supported by relief-work projects started in 1933, but numerous large-scale excavations in several states did not get under way until early in the following year (Lyon, 1996; Milner and Smith, 1986). Among them were excavations at sites that would soon be covered by water rising behind newly built Tennessee Valley Authority (TVA) dams (Webb, 1938, 1939). William S. Webb, a physicist at the University of Kentucky with a deep interest in prehistory, was instrumental in getting the Tennessee Valley work funded, staffed, organized, and under way. Not only were the scale and number of excavations unprecedented, Webb had to contend with academic institutions that bickered over the ultimate disposition of the artifacts and skeletons, and separate agencies that controlled the labor needed to dig the TVA sites. A forceful personality with a no-nonsense approach to both field and laboratory work—Webb was commonly 115called “Major” and earned his nickname “Bullneck” — was essential for the successful initiation of the TVA projects and, later, the state-wide WPA and CCC archaeological program in Kentucky. In writing to a physical anthropologist about someone else’s long-overdue report, Webb said that “unless he could make a report to you or to me in the course of the next two weeks, his investigations would serve no useful purpose for us” (Webb, 1940). He added that he “would be glad to be advised as to what you think of the situation and whether or not I owe him anything — money, courtesy, or anything else. I have no desire to be hard-boiled, but I dislike to be a sucker.”

Over the next several years, archaeological projects in many states yielded vast numbers of artifacts and skeletons (Fig. 2). This huge effort ended early in 1942 when the last workers were drafted into the armed services or secured employment in burgeoning war industries. In the months immediately following the attack on Pearl Harbor, the archaeological projects that were still under way were abruptly ended. The WPA administrator for these projects noted that while the work was “suspended for the ‘duration’” everything possible should be done “to see that the closing is done in an orderly fashion and to the best possible advantage of our sponsors and of science in general” (Deignan, 1942). She added that “should better times come, it is my hope that this program may be reopened.” The archaeological projects, of course, were never resumed, leaving a tremendous backlog of materials, some of which have yet to be systematically examined.

Figure 2 Impressions of the CCC camp at Moundville where many graves along with many houses and artifacts were excavated, as drawn in 1936 by Marshall Davis who participated in the work. Courtesy of Douglas Jones.

116The suddenness of it all meant that unwashed materials were often left in their original field bags and boxes. Even the laboratories where artifacts and skeletons were cataloged and studied were used for other purposes, such as the one in Birmingham, Alabama, that closed in the spring of 1942 to make space for pressing mineral exploration needs (Griffin, 1978). In Kentucky, Webb was frustrated over the problems that arose when the laboratory “staff was taken for a WPA defense project (bus and truck Survey) and it [the laboratory] closed overnight” (Webb, 1942). He went on to explain what happened to the skeletons.

The skeleton laboratory merely stopped where they had been working that afternoon when the order came through. Some skeletons were partially restored, some completely restored, some not yet attempted. In Dr. Snow’s laboratory where the skeletons are being measured there are some 200 skeletons each lying on its own case, unwrapped and partly ready for storage. The process was merely stopped at a given hour, you see we had no previous notice of discontinuance. (Webb, 1942)

III. PROJECT PERSONNEL

There was a widespread feeling among archaeologists that laboratories provided with qualified personnel and adequate equipment should be established to handle all excavated materials, including skeletons. A need for physical anthropologists was one of the recommendations made by the National Research Council’s Committee on Basic Needs in American Archaeology (1939), which were subsequently elaborated and published by Guthe (1939). The reality, however, was that funds for all analyses on New Deal projects were quite limited, regardless of whether village architectural remnants, mound strata, artifacts, or skeletons were the subject of study. Money for reports was similarly hard to find. After all, the purpose of the projects was to put people to work, not to study and write about what was found when sites were dug.

The people who handled the bones were a mixed lot. On many projects, such as those in Kentucky, the skeletons were excavated by skilled “trowel” men, as distinct from the “shovel” men who did the heavy work (Milner and Smith, 1986). Other laborers, both men and women, unpacked, cleaned, and labeled the bones after they arrived in the laboratories. Tight budgets and insufficient space meant that every effort had to be made to ensure that tasks went forward as quickly and smoothly as possible, resulting in a highly regimented workday. The staff of the Alabama Archaeological Laboratory, for example, was warned 117about “hanging around rest rooms,” “unnecessary talking while trying to work,” “preparing for rest periods before [the] bell rings,” “using [the] telephone during work hours,” and “unnecessary loitering in hallway” (Binning, 1941; Fig. 3).

Figure 3 Cleaning bones and artifacts in Alabama’s WPA archaeological laboratory in Birmingham. Courtesy of the Alabama Museum of Natural History Photograph Archives, Mary Harmon Bryant Hall, 3CAL.

Age and sex estimates for skeletons were made in the field by excavation supervisors with varied academic backgrounds, abilities, and practical experiences. Sometimes field assessments were published because there were not enough qualified laboratory personnel to look at the skeletons or the bones were considered too poorly preserved to warrant further study. Other skeletons were examined by researchers with more training in skeletal anatomy. One of the earliest to look at the skeletons was William D. Funkhouser, a zoologist and dean of the graduate school at the University of Kentucky (Funkhouser, 1938, 1939). Along with Webb, he was involved in some of the earliest projects in the Tennessee Valley, building on years of fieldwork in Kentucky (e.g., Funkhouser and Webb, 1928; Webb and Funkhouser, 1932). As Webb said to him in 1934 about the Norris Basin collection, “my guess is that this collection of skeletal material has many interesting features and should furnish the basis for an excellent report” (Webb, 1934). Other physical anthropologists who worked in one way or another with the skeletons included Marcus Goldstein, H. T. E. Hertzberg, Frederick S. Hulse, Madeline Kneberg Lewis, Georg K. Neumann, Marshall T. Newman, Ivar Skarland, and Charles E. Snow. All of them had professional careers in anthropology ahead of them, mostly in physical anthropology. 118Snow, for example, continued his work with prehistoric skeletons long after World War II when he taught at the University of Kentucky and, for a time, continued to publish descriptions of bones from the New Deal projects (e.g., Snow, 1948; Webb and Snow, 1945).

Occasionally medical experts were asked to comment on unusual and typically rather extreme pathological cases. Shipping bones to get such opinions, however, was not without its difficulties. Snow once asked Webb about whether he had heard if bones shipped to Ohio had reached their destination (Snow, 1940b). The specimens did indeed arrive, and they were examined by Gustav C. Carlson (Department of Sociology, University of Cincinnati) and William McKee German (Department of Pathology, Good Samaritan Hospital in Cincinnati) (Snow, 1941d). Their opinions pleased Snow very much because he felt that “if we can rely upon the archaeological interpretation of the sites from which these specimens come … it may be possible to prove pre-Columbian occurrence of syphilis” (Snow, 1940c). Research on the origin and distribution of the treponemal infections, which include venereal syphilis as well as others such as yaws, continues to be a subject of great interest to paleopathologists.

IV. COLLECTIONS AND DOCUMENTATION

The archaeological excavations collectively yielded many thousands of skeletons—even now there is no complete count of them all. Most of the skeletons came from the southeastern states, especially Alabama, Kentucky, and Tennessee, for the simple reason that most of the excavations were conducted in that part of the country. Here archaeologists were particularly effective at securing funds and organizing large excavations, unemployment was widespread, there were few alternatives for federally supported projects in poverty-stricken rural areas, many large sites were to be destroyed by TVA dams, and mild winters allowed work to be conducted throughout the year. The prospect of many skeletons caused great enthusiasm among the people responsible for working on them.

Some of our sites are enormous producers. The shell-mound area in West Kentucky has given out some 2,300 skeletons, 750 from one site, the latter in simply marvelous condition. Other sites aren’t quite as good, but they approach this figure. And a new one, just started, may be even better. WOW. (Hertzberg, 1940)

The labor needed to catalog specimens was staggering, and the problems that accompanied this work were at times overwhelming. No sooner was a collection cleaned, numbered, and packed away than another arrived to take its place. As Snow (1941c) remarked to Webb about the Alabama laboratory late in the archaeological projects: “We have packed away approximately 2500 burials, leaving our shelves clear to receive the Moundville and other new material.”

119For the most part, the skeletons were well documented by the standards of that time. Field workers were sometimes provided with detailed instructions for excavating, recording, and removing skeletons. In Kentucky, they were warned that the “physical anthropologist is helpless if the archaeologist does not supply him with notes on stratification, intrusions, and cultural affiliations of a group of skeletons” (Anonymous n.d.a:12). Sometimes efforts were made to provide on-site training in proper excavation and recording methods, such as Hertzberg’s visits to the Kentucky sites.

About once a month or six weeks I like to get out to the various sites to see how things are going and to instruct the workers in exhumation and the rudiments of physical anthropology. It pays dividends in recovered zygomal [sic] nasals, face fragments, and the like. (Hertzberg, 1940)

Field methods were improved, and on many sites each skeleton received its own form to record body position, grave goods, and other pertinent information. Moreover, a genuine effort was made to come up with consistent terms for describing the burials and their archaeological contexts. They included suggestions written by Neumann and James B. Griffin —the latter was one of the Young Turks who were then shaking up the field of archaeology —for the Society for American Archaeology’s Committee on Archaeological Terminology. They felt obliged to point out that “some effort has been expended in the selection of the words and objections should be made on the basis of indefiniteness, colloquialism, or reduplication [sic]” (Griffin and Neumann, 1940:1). Terms such as extended, fully flexed, semiflexed, and bundle burials, or others like them, were already in use on many of the New Deal excavations (Anonymous, n.d.a; Lewis and Kneberg, n.d.).

Generally the skeletons were photographed, and the results were astounding. In fact, the clarity of prints from large-format negatives is often as good as, if not better than, the field photographs taken today on 35-mm film. The many black-and-white prints provide excellent documentation that supplements the written descriptions of burials and drawings of them. Occasionally the photographs are the only surviving record of burial positions, and they are sometimes the only documentation of trauma and pathological lesions in skeletons that are no longer available for study. The photographs were often so good that recent investigators can sort out confusions in burial numbers by distinctive breaks or other features that show up on various bones.

Fortunately, the excavators removed the majority of the skeletons from the field for later study and permanent storage. For the most part all skeletal elements, not just skulls as was the widespread practice in earlier years, were transported to the laboratories, which often required lengthy trips over rough roads. The exceptions were usually poorly preserved skeletons that were thought to have little research significance. Badly decomposed bones could not be measured, and 120because osteologists were mostly interested in skeletal dimensions, they were not considered worth the effort of removing from the field. Nonetheless, attempts were often made to stabilize fragile bones in the field so they might arrive safely in the laboratory.

Researchers interested in bone chemistry should be aware that it is often difficult to determine exactly what preservatives were applied to particular skeletons in the field and laboratory. Alvar and acetone were generally favored for preservation purposes, although other materials were also used (Anonymous, 1938, 1940b, n.d.a). For example, some 4600 skeletons were treated with alvar as they passed through the Alabama Museum of Natural History’s WPA archaeological laboratory (Snow, 1941g). Snow (1941g) called it “a most invaluable panacea for all archaeological ills … [it] is one of the most remarkable advances made in the preserving of precious specimens and artifacts of the past.” First-rate preservatives, however, were not always available. Laboratory crews in Kentucky were forced to improvise as war approached and shortages of critical materials worsened. Alcohol was substituted for acetone, and it was found that old training aircraft windshields, when dissolved by lengthy immersion in acetone, produced an acceptable coating for the bones (Anonymous, 1941). The procedures used in Kentucky, from the field to the laboratory, indicate the range of materials that might be slathered on easily broken bones — the emphasis on measurable bones is clear.

As a skeleton is removed from the grave in the field, it is packed in its own individual box, well supported with soft wrapping to insure its safe arrival in the laboratory. Most of the skeletal material upon exposure in the ground is found to be rather badly fractured from weight of earth and other causes. Steps are then taken, upon removal, to preserve the bones, especially the whole ones and the skull, by application of thin paper and shellac, to prevent further deterioration while awaiting study. When the box is opened in the laboratory, and the bones unpacked, the first step in their rather involved processing is their cleaning. This is accomplished by removing the dirt and by immersing the bones in alcohol to remove the shellac and paper, which now have served their purpose. When the bones have dried after their washing, they are soaked for fifteen minutes in a resinous solution which hardens and strengthens them. Two days are required for the preservative to set thoroughly, after which time the skeletons are ready for repairing. Skilled laboratory workers then begin the tedious work of assembling the fragments. Their purpose is to reconstruct all parts of the skeleton which have significance from the standpoint of measurement. (Anonymous n.d.b:3–4)

V. RESEARCH OBJECTIVES

During the 1930s, studies of human osteology mostly focused on bone measurements, and the work with skeletons from the newly excavated sites was no exception. Tables showing the dimensions of bones, especially crania, 121dominated the contributions of physical anthropologists to archaeological site reports. For example, in Snow’s (1948) lengthy report on the much-studied Indian Knoll skeletons from Kentucky, over three-fourths of the text was devoted to quantitative and qualitative descriptions of bone morphology, mostly the former. The rest of the text covered pathological conditions, skeletal anomalies, cut marks on bones, and the like. The descriptive aspect of this work was very much in keeping with the research of that time. Articles on osteology that appeared in the American Journal of Physical Anthropology during the Great Depression were similarly descriptive, and they too focused on skeletal anatomy (Lovejoy et al., 1982).

Most of the physical anthropologists involved in the WPA work had received Harvard training where they were heavily influenced by Earnest A. Hooton, one of the leading physical anthropologists of his day. Hooton even made available his osteometric equipment for the study of skeletons from TVA’s Pickwick basin (Newman and Snow, 1942). It is not surprising that his interest in skeletal measurements and the classification of skulls provided direction to the New Deal project studies [see the contributions of Hooton’s typological interests to physical anthropology in Armelagos et al. (1982)].

Considerable effort was spent fine-tuning the measurements that were taken with so much care. Neumann (1940) describes remeasuring the Indian Knoll series so he would have “a large number of detailed measurements of it.” The comparability of data was a cause of concern because the measurements were to be used to identify the morphological characteristics of distinct groups of people. This interest in identifying discrete cranial types contributed to Neumann and Snow’s frustration with data published by Aleš Hrdlička, one of the most influential physical anthropologists in the early 20th century. One of the problems they saw in his work was a tendency to use geographical and temporal categories that were far too coarse for the kinds of comparisons they thought were important. For example, Neumann (1940) complained that skeletons from Illinois, when simply lumped together, included “Hopewellian, Middle Mississippi, Upper Mississippi as well as late Woodland (probably Algonkin-speaking) skulls.” It is for this reason that the relief-project excavators were cautioned to pay particular attention to the contexts of the skeletons they found: “If cultural or stratigraphic grouping is not made, the physical anthropologist is obliged to treat all of the skeletal material as a single group, a procedure that may give false averages” (Anonymous n.d.a:12).

Snow, Neumann, and their colleagues took it upon themselves to push for greater standardization in measurements intended for comparative purposes (Fig. 4). They found that even individuals trained by one man — it was, of course, Hooton — showed wide variation in exactly how the measurements were taken and the terms used for various skeletal dimensions (McKern, 1940; Neumann, 1940). Such concerns, and an interest in defining discrete cranial types corresponding to different peoples, are evident in a number of letters the young osteologists circulated among themselves.

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Figure 4 Charles E. Snow was one of the more prolific physical anthropologists who worked on the New Deal projects. Courtesy of the Alabama Museum of Natural History Photograph Archives, Mary Harmon Bryant Hall. 12CAL.

As I visited the different institutions I further made it a point to find out how the different physical anthropologists felt toward the standardization of measurements. As you probably know that question was brought up at one of the AAPA meetings by Miss Tildesley of the Biometric Laboratory in London, and immediately squelched by Hrdlička and Pearl. The younger physical anthropologists who are working with American Indian material on the whole feel differently about it, and desire a uniform descriptive method for routine measurements so that their work is comparable. Among those who would like to do this are Shapiro, McCowen [sic], Stewart, Skarland, Snodgrasse, Krogman, Newman, myself and others. In all about fifteen. None of the physical anthropologists whom I have approached, however, feel that a committee should be formed as this would immediately arouse opposition, but would rather to begin to straighten out as much as possible by correspondence and quietly agree on a set of measurements and use them. Since you are working up American Indian material I would like you to be in on this too.

The first step would be to get a list of measurements from every physical anthropologist to find out how many measurements that are being used are the same ones, that is, to find out just what we have in common and needn’t quibble about. As examples of cases where measurements are not comparable I might cite that Hrdlička’s head length is not the same as Hooton’s. Hooton’s external palatal length is not the same as Wilder’s. Hrdlička’s orbital breadth is not the same as Shapiro’s. (Neumann, 1940)

In my opinion, the meetings at Chicago were extremely worthwhile and many of us regretted your inability to attend. In close huddles with Neumann, von Ronin, Newman, and myself, much profit was forthcoming from our discussions of mutual 123problems concerning the physical types in the Southeast. Neumann’s exhibit at Krogman’s laboratory was particularly helpful since, for the first time, all of us could see crania exemplifying Neumann’s physical types. (Snow, 1941h)

Figure 5 Skulls lined up in an effort to identify various cranial types in Alabama’s WPA archaeological laboratory. Courtesy of the Alabama Museum of Natural History Photograph Archives, Mary Harmon Bryant Hall, 80CAL.

A key reason for measuring bones was to identify distinctive physical types linked to separate archaeologically defined cultures (Fig. 5). As noted in a WPA quarterly report on the Kentucky work, “the physical anthropologist is seeking to describe the several sub-varieties of American Indian who inhabited this area, and to classify them in their proper categories. Thus while the cultural anthropologist describes the materials [sic] aspects of a culture, the physical anthropologist provides an idea of the type of person who carried the culture” (Anonymous, 1940b:22). The Kentucky laboratory’s brochure prepared for “This Work Pays Your Community Week,” a nationwide effort to explain the WPA’s projects to the public, explained that “we are interested in learning their [prehistoric Native American] physical appearance; and in comparing them with other groups which have produced similar cultural manifestations” (Anonymous n.d.b:4). In Kentucky, like other states, the objective was simply “to discover as much as possible of biological interest relating to the physical type of an early dweller in this state” (Anonymous, 1940b:26). Researchers firmly believed that with enough data it would be possible to reconstruct the temporal and geographical 124distribution of morphologically distinguishable groups of people associated with equally distinctive artifact inventories. Toward the end of the projects, Snow (1940a) wrote confidently to Hertzberg about the prospects of their work: “It seems that gradually the continuities and affinities of the various racial types are showing up more distinctly as time passes. It won’t be long until we should have worked out the racial history of the United States.”

Yet little was done, or indeed could be done, with the many measurements taken with so much effort. Adding machines used to calculate means and other summary figures were in short supply, even in laboratories such as the one in Alabama where thousands of skeletons were pouring in from the field (Snow, 1941e). The means of organizing vast amounts of metric data and using them in multivariate analyses would not be available for several more decades.

There was, however, a bigger problem—one that lay at the heart of the entire enterprise. The physical anthropologists were interested in the identification of ideal types, not the population-oriented analyses of morphological variation that are so common today. It was widely thought that different cultural baggage was carried by physically separable groups of people. As a result, the description of morphological characteristics, specifically bone dimensions, was of utmost importance. Because separate artifact inventories were thought to have been associated with equally distinctive groups of people, changes over time in ways of life were commonly attributed to the appearance of new populations identifiable by their long or broad heads, or some other distinguishing physical characteristic. It seemed reasonable to suppose that “the long-headed individuals” from one of the Norris Basin sites in Tennessee were from “an Iroquoian invasion,” as there was a tendency toward “dolichocephalism in certain Iroquoian groups” (Funkhouser, 1938:248). Lacking effective multivariate techniques for characterizing cranial shape, but reflecting this emphasis on discrete morphological types, Madeline Kneberg Lewis directed her artistic talents to drawing busts of men, women, and children from the sites in Tennessee where she worked (Lewis and Kneberg, 1946; Lewis and Lewis, 1995). These portraits, based on considerable experience with newly excavated crania, were intended to capture the essence of the physical type typical of each time and place (Fig. 6).

Even as this work was being undertaken, there were disquieting signs that sorting crania into a few distinctive categories would ultimately prove unproductive. Snow expressed concerns about the cranial types and the variation that existed within skeletal collections from single sites to Neumann (1952) who spent much of his time trying to identify distinctive “varieties” associated with particular times and places.

After measuring and observing most of the restorable material, I am now faced with a variation of cranial index which runs from sixty-five to an undeformed brachy [sic] of ninety, and a head form which varies from a narrow ellipse to a frankly spheroid shape. Can we consider these as simply variations within a homogeneous sub-racial stock?

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Figure 6 One of Madeline Kneberg Lewis’ drawings based on crania found at archaeological sites in Tennessee. Courtesy of the Frank H. McClung Museum, the University of Tennessee.

Just what are the limits of this variation? Some of these crania can actually be lost among series which Newman and I consider typically Shell Mound coming from horizons which long antidate [sic] middle Mississippian. At present I am inclined to think that the Middle Mississippi people must have mixed with the earlier longheads and that some of the genes must have been preserved so as to express themselves in a small percentage of the later population. In short, it seems to me that this variation is too great to be regarded as normal for a fairly homogeneous population. (Snow, 1941f)

Despite such concerns, Snow, like his contemporaries, continued to place great emphasis on his ability to sort out the physical features of the people who lived in different times and places. At the end of his influential work with Kentucky’s Adena skeletons, he would write that “Professor Webb and I have recently looked at each Adena skull in the face once more before closing the book on the Adena Complex” (Snow, 1944). Such personal experience — difficult if not impossible to replicate —was the basis for the recognition of the supposedly discrete cranial types that were said to characterize separate populations associated with particular cultures.

In addition to describing the appearance of prehistoric people, the New Deal physical anthropologists were interested in how they lived. Snow (1943), for example, became fascinated with achondroplastic dwarves. They occur very rarely at archaeological sites, but he was fortunate in having two from 126Moundville, a large late prehistoric mound center in Alabama. Of more importance was a concern with the health of these ancient people. In fact, physical anthropologists and archaeologists alike felt that studies of skeletons could make a “definite and important contribution” to an understanding of dietary adequacy in the past (Anonymous, 1940b:27). According to Webb (1945), bones were also important because through them “the ravages of such diseases as existed in prehistoric times where the disease was unhindered and the condition unameliorated by modern medicine” could be determined. He went on to say that “such skeletal material, because it is prehistoric is a great aid to medical and dental students as indicating the extent of damage when pathological conditions are unchecked.”

It is indeed unfortunate that this interest was hardly ever followed by action. There were occasional reports on specific specimens, including those by various specialists, but there was no attempt to investigate the effect of living conditions on the health of people at various times and places. This omission comes as a bit of a surprise because Hooton, who had such a strong influence on the young physical anthropologists, had pioneered a population-based approach to the study of ancient diseases in his Pecos Pueblo work [see Hooton’s contributions to paleopathology in Ubelaker (1982)].

Examinations of skeletons also contributed to the description of mortuary practices. Many of the skeletons found at the sites, often all of them, were included in long lists of burial numbers, age and sex estimates, burial offerings, and other information. Assessments of age and sex were provided by the physical anthropologists when they had an opportunity to examine the bones —otherwise, field identifications were used. Unfortunately, the archaeologists’ interest in mortuary practices rarely extended beyond the identification of the usual ways bodies were handled at a particular site. Typical burial treatment was considered one of the traits that could be used to sort out various cultures. This approach, however, never proved particularly successful, and trait lists soon gained a poor reputation among the younger generation of archaeologists who would dominate the field after World War II.

The research on ancient health and mortuary practices—both receive much attention today— were frustrated for several reasons. First, time and money were lacking for anything more than descriptive site reports. Second, there was insufficient integration of the work of separate specialists. Osteological information appeared in reports as separate chapters or appendices, just like other specialized analyses. Here again money was an issue. Most of the funding went to alleviate the plight of the unemployed. After all, that was the reason the New Deal programs were put into place. Seltzer (1943) estimated that as much as 85% of all the money allocated to most of the archaeological projects went into the pockets of the poor. There simply was not much left over for the analysis and report-preparation aspects of the archaeological projects. Third, there were too few trained osteologists. This was a time when there were only a few anthropology 127graduate programs, and the suddenness and unprecedented scope of the New Deal archaeological projects took everyone by surprise. Fourth, the physical anthropologists were more interested in skeletal morphology and cranial classification than diseases and mortuary practices.

VI. LATER COLLECTIONS RESEARCH

The collections made at that time — excavated by archaeologists and initially described by physical anthropologists — continue to hold great research value. In fact, some of the most frequently studied skeletal collections in the United States, most notably Indian Knoll, came from these hectic years of intensive fieldwork.

Research questions, of course, have changed over the years since the original work was done. Included among these interests is a concern with the health of people in the past and how shifts in disease patterns were related to changes in basic ways of life. In particular, archaeologists and osteologists alike share a concern with the benefits and costs of the long shift to a more settled existence based largely on agriculture. This interest only gained prominence during the late 1960s and, especially, in the 1970s. At that time the so-called New Archaeologists were directing much of their attention toward how people once lived, specifically their subsistence and settlement practices, as an important component of their studies of the processes underlying cultural change. The impact of agricultural economies and urbanization on human health continue to be a major part of osteological work (Cohen, 1989; Cohen and Armelagos, 1984; Larsen, 1997).

Research methods also have changed. Even the ways the age and sex of skeletons are determined are not the same as they were back in the 1930s and 1940s. For example, many of the catalog cards filled out by Snow and co-workers in the Alabama archaeological laboratory indicate that ages were based on cranial sutures, and they were reported as unreasonably precise estimates (e.g., 27 years old). It did not take physical anthropologists long to recognize that this work needed revision (Johnston and Snow, 1961; Stewart, 1962e). We now know that studies of New Deal skeletons contributed to the tendency to classify too many individuals as males, as noted first by Kenneth Weiss (1973). This problem arose because the skull was emphasized over the pelvis when estimating the sex of skeletons, even though both cranial and postcranial features were said to have been used (e.g., Newman and Snow, 1942). It undoubtedly came about through an excessive fixation by earlier osteologists on skulls to the exclusion of other parts of the skeleton, including the pelvis. Reexaminations of New Deal project collections show that most discrepancies in the sex assigned to skeletons involves males being reclassified as females in the more recent studies (Milner and Jefferies, 1987; Powell, 1988). Thus despite Lucile St. Hoyme and 128Mehmet İşcan’s (1989) casual dismissal of Weiss’ observation, studies of old collections support his conclusion that males tend to be overrepresented in skeletal reports published up through the 1960s. This literature, of course, includes the New Deal site reports with their long lists of skeletons and artifacts.

There is, however, another cause for concern: archaeologists have long used the published age and sex estimates in their studies of mortuary behavior (Pedde and Prufer, 2001; Rothschild, 1979; Shryock, 1987; Winters, 1968). While excusable back in the 1960s and perhaps in the 1970s, there is no reason to continue that practice. There is simply no shortcut that avoids the lengthy reexamination of skeletons. Fortunately, this work is now being done on a number of collections from the New Deal projects.

Recent studies of New Deal collections have also revealed hitherto unnoticed or poorly documented skeletal conditions. That comes as no surprise because the original work was done hurriedly and typically lacked any objective other than the description of bone shape and size. A good example of the value of examining skeletons is the discovery of many more victims of violence than was recognized previously, as is apparent in collections from Alabama, Kentucky, and Tennessee (Bridges, 1994a; Bridges et al., 2000; Jacobi and Hill, 2001; Mensforth, 2001; Smith, 1995, 1997; our examinations of Kentucky and Alabama collections). This particular finding is important because these collections can add much to our knowledge of variation over time and space in conflicts among small-scale societies, an issue that has gained wide attention among archaeologists only since the late 1980s (Keeley, 1995; Lambert, 2002; Milner, 1999). The fact that these specimens have sat largely unrecognized on museum shelves is a large part of the reason why an overly romantic view of harmony in prehistory has dominated archaeological thought over the past half century.

VII. CONCLUSION

Too few researchers, too many skeletons, too little funding, too little time, and too narrow a research focus meant that most collections were studied incompletely in the Great Depression and immediately afterward. For the most part they still await comprehensive study. Perhaps in a strange way this state of affairs is a fitting tribute to the great efforts of the New Deal physical anthropologists. The collection of enormous numbers of skeletons was their most significant contribution to physical anthropology, not advancements in theory or method. By any measure, theirs was a remarkable achievement. Researchers today owe a large debt of gratitude to the men and women who ensured that the skeletons would be housed properly for future study. We must also be thankful for the great efforts of the many people—the shovel and trowel men, the trained supervisors, and the 129photographers—who labored under arduous conditions to collect large numbers of well-documented skeletons.

New research questions and methods require the further examination of all these collections. Fortunately, several institutions have recently redoubled efforts to organize and preserve these collections in order to enhance access to them. Nobody can know what lies in the future, but we can hope that the results of one of the most notable archaeological endeavors are not undone by politically expedient but short-sighted decisions over reburial that forever deny these invaluable collections to later generations of researchers. Here is one time where the dead can truly speak for themselves about what they ate, how healthy they were, their relations with members of their own societies, and their dealings with neighboring groups.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Examination of the University of Kentucky notes was facilitated by a Kentucky Heritage Council grant for collections improvement and Virginia G Smith’s able assistance, both in the mid-1980s. For this chapter, Lynne Sullivan and Jennifer Barber provided the University of Tennessee’s Frank H. McClung Museum figure; Douglas Jones and the Alabama Museum of Natural History also made available several figures. Bob Pasquill provided information on the CCC at Moundville.130