dwblackwell -
Your remarks are deeply appreciated, but you give me too much credit. Some of those old steamship models did require a fair amount of attention (a couple of them had to have virtually all of their rigging replaced), but most of them were actually in pretty good shape when I got there (in 1980). And some of them had problems that, in practical terms, couldn't be solved - sometimes because of the acts of previous generations of museum staff.
One of the biggest projects was the big model of the S.S. America. That model (which is about 18 feet long, if I remember right, and was built in the late thirties) was in reasonably good shape structurally, but for some reason or other most of the paint on it was falling off. Rejuvenating the paintwork was beyond the capacity of the facilities we had in the museum, or the time we could devote to it, so we farmed the job out to a couple of excellent local modelers, Marvin Bryant and Paris Aiken (both of whom, sadly, are now deceased). Beyond making the recommendation that the Museum hire Paris and Marvin to do the work, I had nothing to do with that project.
The "President Hoolidge" model, as I recall, just needed some light cleaning and the replacement of a couple of frayed rigging lines - and, if I remember correctly, a loose davit fall hooked back onto a lifeboat. The biggest part of that project consisted of getting the model out of its case and back into it. That was the most ridiculously-designed exhibit case I've ever seen. It had a plate glass vitrine (i.e., transparent box) with a stainless steel frame, which was bolted to the table on which the model sat. To open the case the vitrine, which weighed several hundred pounds, had to be lifted straight up. Fortunately the head janitor remembered that a couple of heavy steel lifting straps had been made for the purpose, and could be bolted to the sides of the frame. Opening that case and closing it again took three guys the better part of a day. Two of them stood on tall step ladders working rented chain hoists hooked between the ceiling joists and the lifting straps, lifting the vitrine an inch at a time while I stood in the middle making sure they were both lifting at the same speed. We had it about halfway up when the director of the museum walked through on his way back from lunch. When he saw that big glass box hanging precariously over that model he turned three shades of white, turned his back, and disappeared into his office. I didn't blame him.
The saddest case was a superb Japanese freighter. Most of those old builders' models have metal fittings plated with nickel. (That was partially a matter of style, and partially one of practicality. Those fittings typically were made up of finely-machined parts, soldered together. Prior to the middle of the twentieth century - or later - commonly available paints couldn't be applied to such parts without obscuring the details, so the modelers resorted to plating in order to make the whole fitting a uniform color - even if it wasn't the same color as the real thing.) The fittings of that Japanese model were plated with gold. They were, that is, until a curator at the museum, scoffing something to the effect that "you don't see ships sailing around with gold ventilators and railing stanchions," spray painted them all black. We couldn't do much for that one; stripping the paint off without damaging the plating looked like a hopeless task. (Maybe a better methodology than what we had at our disposal is available now; I hope so.) In defense of our predecessors, it deserves to be noted that the modern conservation ethic hadn't really been formulated at that time - or at least hadn't made its way into maritime museums. But by modern standards such treatment of such a valuable artifact borders on obscenity. (Paintings conservators in art museums and conservation labs spend most of their time undoing the work of previous generations of conservators. The problem isn't quite as severe in three-dimensional artifacts, but it does come up all too frequently.)
The project that made me the happiest was a large-scale model of a nineteenth-century lightship. The model was built for the U.S. Centennial Exhibition at Philadelphia in 1876. By modern standards it was a rather crude model; the fittings for adjusting the "lights" were made from ladies' earrings, and the "glass" in the lamp housings was made out of mica. We restored this one according to modern conservation principles - i.e., we didn't try to "improve" on the origina, but rather did our best to return it to its original, as-built configuration.
Tracking down the sheets of mica to replace the damaged panes in the lamp housings was an interesting little project in itself. I had no idea where to start, but I vaguely remembered my father telling me that the worst whupping he ever got from my grandfather came when Dad broke a little piece of mica in the viewing port in the family's wood stove. So I started calling wood stove dealers. The first three had no idea what I was talking about. The fourth one said, "Well, I guess I could sell you some mica all right, but if you want to buy mica why don't you call the mica factory, you turkey?" I wonder if I was the only person in town who didn't know there was a mica factory in Newport News - and that the owner of the factory lived nextdoor to the director of the Mariners' Museum. (The guided tour of the mica factory I got that afternoon was pretty interesting - and the sales rep gave me several dozen sheets - free of charge.)
The three years I spent at that museum were among the most interesting of my life, and I'm extremely glad to have had the experience. The Mariners' Museum and I parted company under less-than-pleasant circumstances, which I don't like to remember these days. I'd undoubtedly be healthier if I forgot about them, and discussing them here would accomplish absolutely nothing. I haven't set foot inside the museum for well over ten years; my wife says she can see my blood pressure going up whenever we get within a mile of the place. For me to comment on its current management and/or exhibitions, about which I know next to nothing, would be unfair on my part.
I also wouldn't feel right about commenting any further about the President Cleveland model we've been discussing, in the absence of any photos or more detailed information about it. But it sure does sound like an interesting model - and quite possibly an important one.
Sorry to wander so far from the topic of the thread - but I've got a big soft spot in my heart for grand old merchant steamship models.