In Sad Places: Exploring the Frank Slide Interpretive Centre

“The people killed, all but a few…are still under all that rock in the valley. That was their graveyard.” Robert Chestnut, Frank Slide rescuer, 1903

           An acquaintance of mine once said that he enjoyed the sound of children playing in sad places. For him, playfulness and youth conveys hope amid tragedy. Canada has a relatively peaceful past and our experience with commemorating large-scale tragic events is limited, but we are not immune to historic moments where loss of innocent life has occurred. Canada suffered the worst rock slide in North American history in 1903 when Turtle Mountain obliterated Frank, a bedroom town for miners and their families in the Canadian Rockies. Although the Frank Slide had always been a subject of curiosity, the Alberta government declared it an official historic site in 1977. An interpretive centre was added in 1985, and a renovated centre was reopened in 2008. Canada’s historical monuments are mainly situated in public spaces, and therefore should be accessible to anyone wanting to discover local history or to simply enjoy the area. Yet the reality of what the Frank Slide represents and its significance as a “graveyard,” as Chestnut suggested, resonated with me as I embarked on my own journey through the Frank Slide Interpretive Centre. Is children’s laughter welcome here, and could the centre fulfil the seemingly competing goals of remembrance, education and entertainment?

The Power of Nature and Reflections on “Big Rocks:” Experiences Outside the Centre

An aerial view of the Frank Slide site as it exists today. The Frank Slide Interpretive Centre is situated to the left of Highway #3 just below Frank, and the yellow area shows the unstable portion of Turtle Mountain (photo: Alberta Sustainable Resource Development, Government of Alberta).

A promotional video for the Frank Slide Interpretive Centre shows the debris field at the base of Turtle Mountain (source: You Tube).

Interpreting the Frank Slide begins long before reaching the centre. The Turtle Mountain valley stretches out westward like a moonscape on southern Alberta’s Highway #3. Eerily, the scene appears much as it would have to survivors and onlookers on the morning of April 29, 1903, as the light of dawn revealed to them what had happened. Earlier that morning, at 4:10 am, 74 million tonnes of rock dislodged from the eastern slope of southern Alberta’s Turtle Mountain, mowing down a significant portion of Frank, a tiny mining community of 600 residents established just two years before. In under 100 seconds, dozens of men, women and children were buried as they slept. A total of 23 emerged from the rubble the next day but approximately 70 more were killed. The east entrance of the local Frank mine was also buried, entombing 17 miners who managed to build a new shaft and escape. The town was evacuated, but residents soon returned in 1905 to a new site on the northwest part of the mountain’s base. The remnants of “Old” Frank are simply a few basement depressions, a fire hydrant and a small path leading to the base of the slide. “New” Frank is currently a small village of 200, safely out of the way, but ever watchful of a mountain that still moves.

The town of Frank as it appeared just following the slide in April 1903, and the same site today. Over 100 years later the landscape is largely unchanged (photos: Glenbow Archives; Terry Boake). 

Vegetation is still absent from the debris field over 100 years later, and the only rubble cleared since the slide has been around the site of the railway line, Highway #3, the riverbed and two small trails. The turnoff to the Frank Slide Interpretive Centre leads up the mountain, and a short path following the curve of the valley leads  to the centre. Visitors, children in particular, are particularly impressed by the sheer size of the boulders strewn across the valley, the largest reaching the size of a small house. Once at the centre’s site, visitors can interpret the area in a series of outdoor activities. Two trails, the Frank Slide Trail and the North Rim Trail, offer hikers unique experiences. The Frank Slide Trail, a self-guided walking tour that begins and ends at the centre, follows an old wagon route around the far margin of the slide. The more challenging North Peak Trail is 6.2 km round trip and extends to nearly 900 m of elevation. The intrepid souls who chose this route are rewarded with majestic views atop the Frank Slide site, but with two sets of little feet in tow we opted for the former.

Enjoying lollipops while hiking on the Frank Slide Trail (photo: personal collection).

The trails around the centre are typically open from May to October, but a third trail, a short perimeter walk, offers visitors a chance to experience the outdoor site year round.  Largely a self-guided tour, the centre still schedules interpretive outdoor talks periodically during the day in the summer months. Here, the magnitude of the slide’s 3 km debris field was evident as our interpreter discussed the many geological factors that came together to cause the slide at that particular moment in 1903.   

  An interpreter discusses the Frank Slide’s debris field and the location of “Old” Frank (photo: personal collection).

One of the many interpretive panels along the perimeter walk (photo: personal collection).

              One particular lookout suspends outward and includes a set of binoculars where viewers can see the “Old” Frank site up close. Coincidentally, my children happened to be playing in the background, looking at flowers and marvelling at the big rocks. As we looked down at the “Old” Frank town sight, now quiet and serene, we were at once able to reflect on the power of nature and the tragedy that befell those in Frank, families much like ours, while at the same time witnessing the kind of solace in the sound of children playing that my acquaintance had found comforting in other sad places.

The centre’s perimeter walkway offers majestic views, and a set of binoculars gives visitors a close-up view of the slide (photo: personal collection).

The “Living Boulder,” Voices of the Past and Reflections on Community Spirit: Experiences Inside the Centre

The Frank Slide Interpretive Centre, with its distinct boulder-like appearance, is nestled in the valley adjacent to Turtle Mountain (photo: Alberta Culture).

The sign at the Frank Slide Interpretive Centre’s entrance simply reads: “Welcome. We have stories to tell you” (photo: personal collection).

A large mural at the centre’s entrance gives visitors a simple yet poignant introduction to the disaster (photo: personal collection).

While the centre’s outside is devoted to interpretive walks and experiencing the slide's massive debris field, its interior brings the Frank Slide to life. The building itself looks much like an unobtrusive boulder nestled in the valley across from Turtle Mountain. The four phases of the centre educate and entertain visitors using a series of historic photographs, re-enactments, 3-D scientific models and textual interpretation. The exhibits also places the Frank Slide within the greater context of the Crowsnest Pass region’s history, briefly explaining the evolution of mining in the area and other nearby tragedies such as the 1914 Hillcrest Mine Disaster. Here, the centre faces an enormous task. Many parents are rightfully apprehensive about exposing children to the Frank Slide tragedy, and the terrible idea of house-sized boulders obliterating people in their sleep are not appropriate topics for young children. While I did have faith that the centre would be mindful of these issues, I went ahead of my children nonetheless. I needn’t have worried. The centre caters to younger viewers, and as I later learned, offers programs tailored to their interests, including the Sleepover Program that involves an educational night of games, movies, and a sleepover at the centre.

The centre’s Sleepover Program offers children from school programs the chance to sleep in the centre (photo: Frank Slide Interpretive Centre).

Children enjoy the centre’s play area while parents experience the stories of the slide in the adjacent room (photo: personal collection).

               Once inside, a ramp akin to a mine tunnel takes visitors to the first of four areas. As interpreter Christopher Weber explained, each area intends to give viewers a visceral experience, beginning with confusion and ending with resolution. In fact, creating this experience was one of the goals of the 2008 renovation. In part one, visitors are greeted by a replica of a house as it may have appeared in the aftermath, and in the foreground a one-minute video clip re-enacts the confusion in Frank.  At this point the centre’s play area discretely diverts younger visitors from the tragedy while allowing adults to continue on the journey. As children continue to draw numerous images of miners and mountains, those inclined can experience that confusion, illustrated not only by the demolished house and its contents but also by scanning the erratic headlines from major papers published at the time. One particular headline from Ottawa’s Evening Citizen claimed that Frank had been swallowed by a giant fissure resulting from a volcanic eruption.

A replica of one of the demolished Frank homes (photo: personal collection).

An interactive screen shows visitors many of the numerous headlines that appeared in the days and weeks following the slide, most containing erroneous details, such as this one from Ottawa’s Evening Citizen (photo: personal collection).

The centre’s second area illustrates “voices” from the past. Accompanying the visual displays are several phone receivers that, when picked up, contain “voices” (re-enactors) reading diary entries and letters. One panel in particular contains a map and descriptions of the buildings destroyed. Another includes the names of those who perished and references to several unnamed causalities. Simple yet chilling descriptions include: “Leitch residence - Alexander and his wife Rosemary had seven children, Jessie, John, May, Allen, Athol, Wilfred and Marion. All died except Jessie, May and Marion.” Particularly striking are the many nameless victims also acknowledged in the panel: “Park - fifty men were rumoured to be camped at the park looking for work. If they were, they died.” The centre has also compiled a large book of letters written by Frank residents in the days and weeks following the slide, situated in the corner of the room and overlooking the debris field.

Letters from “Old” Frank residents, c. 1903-04. Here, visitors have the opportunity to look down at the old town sight while reading the excerpts (photo: private collection).

Several myths surrounding the slide are also debunked in the centre’s second area. In particular, one set of panel texts discusses the story of a baby girl dubbed “Frankie Slide” by her rescuers, who was thought to have been the only survivor in Frank. In fact, many were pulled alive from the rocks, along with over 500 Frank residents who houses were untouched.

One of the centre’s many panels depicting “voices” from the past (photo: personal collection).

The centre’s second area also features two documentary-dramas entitled On the Edge of Destruction: The Frank Slide Story and In the Mountain’s Shadow. Ensconced in the centre’s theatre, visitors can experience the slide through graphic re-enactments and subsequent scientific discussion.

All visitors, including children, eventually funnel upward to the centre’s third area, a place full of the scientific and hands-on discovery children enjoy. Here, adults can also read and learn about the geological conditions that would cause a mountain to fall in mere seconds. For years mining was thought to have caused the slide, but as our interpreter explained, Turtle Mountain had an unstable structure consisting of soft shale and limestone under much heavier limestone. The weather in the spring of 1903 had also been unseasonably warm, and a quick freeze in April may have caused cracks in a mountain already weakened by mining and its own geological instability. A particularly popular panel includes an interactive set of three monitoring sensors, similar to those installed on Turtle Mountain. Children enjoy the chance to lift, push and jump and test their own strength on blocks connected to the sensors.

In the centre's third area children get a chance to test their strength on the “crack” and “tilt” meters and seismic sensors (photo: Frank Slide Interpretive Centre).

A description of Turtle Mountain’s geological composition (photo: personal collection).

Villages tend to have strong bonds, particularly if they share a tragic past. The centre’s fourth area illustrates the Crowsnest Pass region’s long history. Peigan and Kutenai groups were the first to occupy the area nearly 1500 years ago but left after an outbreak of smallpox in the early 1700s. European explorers then mapped the area and were followed by a small number of hunters and ranches. Coal deposits were discovered in the 1890s, leading to the establishment of mining towns like Frank. One of the more curious displays in this area is a replica of “Black Beauty,” a Tyrannosaurus Rex skull discovered in the Crowsnest Pass by local school boys in 1981. Visitors are also treated to a final symbol of community solidarity in the form of a quilt, created by local ladies in 2008 to commemorate the centre’s re-opening. I had the chance to talk to one of the ladies who contributed to the quilt, who also happened to be the centre’s cashier. In her words, “we tried to create something that would give people an idea of what we’re all about. Everyone from the Girl Guides to local churches contributed!” I left the centre’s fourth area feeling that the Frank Slide tragedy was just a small part of this vibrant community’s long history.

A replica of “Black Beauty,” the Tyrannosaurs Rex skull discovered by local school boys in 1981 (photo: Frank Slide Interpretive Centre).

The Crowsnest community’s commemorative quilt (photo: personal collection).

Reflections and Lasting Impressions

Rescuer Robert Chestnut’s sentiments that the Frank Slide site was in fact a “graveyard,” deserving of the appropriate respect afforded to truly sad places, is just as applicable 100 years later. The Frank Slide Interpretive Centre acknowledges its dual role in preserving human memory in a place of historic significance. The centre also realizes its inherent psychological responsibility to its younger visitors. Its mandate is to educate those who wish to gain a deeper understanding of the Frank Slide, but it also manages to both commemorate and entertain while not inundating its visitors with inescapable images of tragedy and death. Rather, it welcomes the playfulness of children, whose laughter gives the area a sense of peace, alongside those who wish to reflect. The centre also illustrates that historic sites commemorating tragedy can achieve seemingly conflicting goals. Today, we have little connection to those who lived in Frank in 1903. Yet, the power of nature symbolized by the Frank Slide draws thousands to the site each year to enjoy the valley and learn about its early inhabitants, a fitting tribute to those lost.

The centre’s guest book attests to the many positive experiences people have had here. One family from Pennsylvania wrote “beautiful, awesome, and terrible!” and said they hoped to return. My own children were now pulling me away, their “history lesson” over for the day. They were anxious to get on with the next adventure which they hoped would involve seeing the bear our interpreter said was in the area. Still, I took the time to write a simple but heartfelt message of my own to the centre and its staff: “Very respectful and well done. Thank you for the experience.”

Sources of Interest and Further Reading:

Stompin’ Tom Connors recorded a song about the Frank Slide tragedy entitled “How the Mountain Came Down” in his album Stompin’ Tom Sings Canadian History.

The centre’s bookshop includes the following titles on the Frank Slide and Crowsnest Pass region:

Field, Monica and McIntyre, David. On the Edge of Destruction: Canada’s Deadliest Rock Slide. Mitchell Press: Vancouver, 2003.

Kerr, J. William. Frank Slide. Toronto: Barker Publishing, 1990.

McConnell, R.G. and Brock, R.W. Reporton the Great Landslide at Frank, Alta, 1903. (This is part of a 1903 report by McConnell and Brock for the Department of the Interior, republished in 2003).

Exploring the Reynolds-Alberta Museum

The Reynolds Alberta Museum just outside Wetaskawin, Alberta, otherwise called “the car museum” by my family, is one of our favourite places. This past weekend, in fact, my son had his birthday party there. It is a wonderful museum.

The front entrance to the Reynolds-Alberta Museum

A visit begins in the Entrance Hall, and four banners hanging from the ceiling here encapsulate the Reynolds’ experience.

The banners in the Entrance Hall or nave

The Spirit of the Machine

Corliss steam engine

The first banner identifies the key to the museum’s collection: this is a machinery museum. The permanent exhibits in the entrance hall show this clearly. We can imagine the main building to be something like a medieval cathedral: at the narthex a Corliss steam engine is sunk into the floor. On either side of the nave are permanent displays of hand powered machines and simple machines (inclined planes, screws, pulleys). In the middle of the nave are machines from whatever the current exhibit is (this year, “Dinosaurs of the Prairies,” about steam and other giant, early tractors). Finally, you look out onto the alter of the museum’s permanent display: a choir of farm implements surrounded by side-chapels along an ambulatory of cars, trucks and some other vehicles. A second building to the east of the museum houses an airplane collection and Canada’s Aviation Hall of Fame, while a variety of large machines including planes, tractors, construction vehicles and massive dragline excavators dot the grounds.

Road construction machinery, including a small version of a "Snort" as appeared in Are You My Mother?

 The simple machine display in the Entrance Hall is automated: examples of each type of machine are presented separately, and then combined in a stylized wood-chopper. The simple machine theme is replicated along the walkway in the exhibition gallery with simple machines you can test yourself to try to move a weight. The museum, however, is not really interested in simple machines: its focus is on the mechanical, and the main permanent exhibit really focuses on machines from the first half of the 20th century.

The permanent displays in the main gallery begin with a horse drawn carriage and several of the oldest self-propelled cars, including early gasoline, electric and steam cars (who knew?).  As you continue around the path that circles the main gallery you pass by many different generations of cars and trucks, with the largest concentration being from the classic era of the 1910s to 1930s. Included here are not just the standard cars (the iconic Model T, for instance) but vehicles that have been altered for other uses. The best of these are examples of home-made or purchased kits to convert cars into flat bed trucks or winter vehicles with skis instead of front wheels and two axle tracks at the rear. Most of the cars and other vehicles in the main gallery are from before 1950. At the end of the line,  though, as you near the drive-in, there are several cars from the 1950s, 60s and 70s.

Ambulatory with home-made or kit-based winterized vehicles along the left side

Interspersed around the cars are replicas of an early car factory, a grain elevator, a street front, a service station and a drive-in. At various times there are interpreter-led presentations in the first two, crafts in the garage, and a series of short films and car commercials from the 1940s to the 1970s in the drive-in (the last time I was there I saw a long car ad that featured Jackie Gleason as Sheriff Buford T.Justice from Smokey and the Bandit).

The drive-in

Past the drive-in is a small display of a one-of-a-kind walking tractor built on a Case tractor body. This is a remarkable machine, designed to help collect logs on boggy ground.

Beyond it is a gallery devoted to changing exhibits. As you walk past this you come upon the conservation garage, which will be discussed below.

The Spirit of Discovery

My daughter figures out how a lever works

The museum has a great deal that is “hands-on”. Not only are there the simple machines one can test, there are several cars, tractors, a plane and a helicopter you can sit in. In  the replica of a grain elevator  you can play at moving the distributor to various bin or car spouts to get a feel for how the elevator worked. For children there is even more to discover. In the farm exhibit in the centre of  the main gallery is a farm house that contains a  changing selection of vehicle books and toys to read and play with. In the service station there are crafts that are related to the changing exhibits (this year you can make pictures of tractors combining animal stamp prints, glued on wheels, stickers, and drawings).

Looking up to the grain elevator distributor

Supplementing several of the displays are short films. For instance, the walking tractor features both a video of it moving and a song and cartoon that explains the tractor’s origins. The song underscores one of the themes of the museum: the refrain speaks of perspiration and inspiration, the character traits that helped build Alberta. The walking tractor is a pretty phenomenal example of this, but as will be seen below, the museum itself embodies these traits in its very being.

 

In the agriculture section there is a threshing machine and a board with several little video screens that shows what goes on inside various parts of the machine. This is a fantastic opportunity to see inside a machine that many of us have seen derelict in fields across the prairies but rarely seen in operation, let alone inside.

The Spirit of Community

By community the people responsible for the banners might have meant many things: as I will discuss in the next heading, this is a museum built on a great deal of volunteer work.

When I think of community, however, I often think about people. On the panels that accompany many of the machines and other displays, people are present in photographs or in the text. Along one wall of the grain elevator, sprinkled throughout the farm implement section, projected on the movie screen of a replica drive-in, and on a few other televisions throughout the museum films run that include people, named or not. The airplane hanger houses Canada’s Aviation Hall of Fame; all around the main floor of the hanger and along a balcony that makes the second floor stand panels that contain sketches and photographs along with biographies of the people inducted into the hall of fame.

Example of one of the panels from the museum

For people my children’s ages (4, 2, and less than 1), however, such things are generally lost: they do not have the patience, interest or capacity to stop and watch the films or read the texts. I would be surprised if many older visitors don’t ignore all of these too.

Silhouettes "operate" an Oliver plow

What is missing are people, outside of museum visitors, interacting with the machines on display. In one section people in a generic sense are represented as life size silhouettes.  A handful of the cars, tractors, and other vehicles can be climbed on or sat in. Otherwise the machines stand alone, or in conjunction with other machines.

As the simple machines displays show, the purpose of machines is to help people do work faster or with less energy expended. The machines on display are mostly inert: they are not doing work, nor are they shown in a frieze of the process of doing work. The effect is to fetishize the machines themselves: what is spectacular is that a tractor could be this big, colourful and shiney, not that it revolutionised farming practice, and with it altered the size of farms (they grew) and farm families (they shrunk in total number, and in number of people within a family).

There certainly is an appeal in the machinery as object. Many of the machines on display are examples of wonderful industrial and consumer design. Some, like the pink Cadillac convertible, or the green “Johnny-Popper” John Deere Model D, are iconic. Others, like the unique walking car, are marvels of small-shop or individual ingenuity. These are worth seeing, but decontextualised from their daily use (or absence of use) the machines are only examples of design.

One of the conserved "dinosaurs"

The special exhibit in the summer of 2012 is called “Dinosaurs of the Field: Tractors that Built Alberta”. It focuses on the largest tractors, often powered by steam engines, that marked the first generation of tractors in the province (or anywhere in North America). Several times a day, museum staff do a presentation that tries to explain how revolutionary the tractors were. One way they do this is by explaining the horse-power of the vehicles. By dropping little plastic toy horses into a set of labeled beakers they visually show the relative strength of several of the tractors in relation both to the horse and to each other. It is wonderful. But, even so, the revolution represented by these machines is underplayed: tractors are compared to each other and to the previous “machine” in the form of the draft horse. The extent to which the tractors represented a complete conceptual and experiential break for farming life is lost.

The horse-power demonstration

Moreover, the celebration of these giant tractors perhaps over-states their value. As Paul Voisey noted in his book Vulcan: The Making of a Prairie Community, the large steam tractors were not widely adopted. Some farmers bought their own tractors, exclusively for their own use. Many more, however, either bought machines and shared them with neighbors, or hired (themselves out as) contractors to break up fields, to cultivate and to thresh (Voisey, pp, 146-47). Even so, the tractors were less than they appeared. As Voisey notes, “In agriculture the [steam] engine exhausted so much of its power simply lumbering across rough fields that little remained or other work. The steel wheels that supported its great weight packed and pulverized the soil. It manoeuvred cumbersomely. It gobbled tons of coal and water (straw made poor fuel), sometimes fetched from great distances. It often suffered costly breakdowns” (p. 141). 

If we return to the presentation on horse power, what we might ask instead is not how many horses the tractor was equal to in theory, but in practice: did the tractors, with their powerful engines actually perform farm work equivalent to a score of horses? Or, we might ask what the combined horse and people power the tractors and horse teams relied upon: were more or fewer people required for a tractor to plow a field or thresh its harvest? Or, we might ask what the relative cost was: how much did a tractor cost over a year or even over five years versus horses? All of these questions would refocus the issue away from the tractor as fetishized object to the tractor as one of many options in the work farm families did.

The Spirit of Preservation

The Reynolds-Alberta museum is named after Stan Reynolds, and as movies shown in the museum’s theatre detail, the museum is in large part his creation. He first embodied this spirit of preservation: after opening a car dealership after the Second World War, Reynolds began collecting cars, trucks and anything else: his motto was that he would take anything in trade. Surely most of the trade-ins were for resale, but slowly he accumulated a huge collection. In 1955 he opened his first, private museum of his collection. In the 1980s he donated some 1500 pieces from the collection to form the core for the new provincial museum, which opened in 1992.

Reynolds’ own impulse to preserve the machinery of 20th century Alberta is continued in the design of the museum itself. On one side is restoration shop that can be observed. The shop has both body and motor mechanics, a woodworker and a machinist working in it, and visitors can always see several projects on the go at one time. Many of the vehicles and other machines on display are restored to what appears pristine condition. 

Perhaps my favourite part of the museum lies just beyond the shop. Here a car sits, like Batman’s Two-Face, one half restored and one half conserved. What is remarkable about both the observation area of the restoration shop and the two-faced car is how they expose (some of) the work of museum curating to public view. In most museums the restoration areas and other workshops are hidden from view, while the changes that occur to objects as the move from being conserved to being restored are generally left unsaid or unacknowledged. 

One reason the restoration shop is open to observation (and the museum’s two libraries are open to public use) is that this museum plays an outreach role to other, private collectors and restorers of cars, trucks, airplanes and other machines. There is a direct line from the private collector (as Reynolds began) through the small, private or municipal museums made up of collections curated by amateurs and volunteers to the large, publicly funded museum the Reynolds-Alberta Museum is. At certain times of the year (its annual classic car show, harvest festival, or during the restoration classes they offer, for instance) the line is clear as amateur collectors come to show some of their own. At other times it is less obvious. The galleries are well organised and thoroughly signed, the machines on permanent display all restored, the ceilings high, the floors clean and uncluttered. But despite all this, the museum is very much like those long sheds filled with tractors, cars, clothing and dishware in various states of rust or repair that sit on the outskirts of many prairie towns. The preservation displays show what serious capital investment in preserving the past can do to transform a private collection into a modern museum.

Welcome!

"Canadian History for Everyone?" is a new blog, designed for a fourth year Canadian History seminar taught in the summer of 2012 at the University of Alberta. All of us participating in the class, both me as prof and the students, will be posting regularly to the blog on museums and other ways in which we encounter history, historical thinking, images and ideas in the everyday.