Law and Ethics

By Elizabeth E. Merritt

Ouestion:

My local historical society has a tugboat moored on the river that runs through its property. This is a dearly beloved local icon. Most residents of our small community fondly remember swimming out to the tug and playing on it when they were children. Now the new director plans to tow it out to deep water and sink it! She claims the museum doesn’t have enough money to restore it, and that it is dangerous. Isn’t it unethical for a museum to destroy something it has sworn to protect?

Answer:

Oh dear, how upsetting. I have the feeling the new director is not local and may not have realized what a firestorm she would ignite with this decision. But before you make her walk the plank, let’s consider each element of the situation.

Sometimes it is responsible for a museum to destroy accessioned collections objects, particularly if the objects in their current state present an immediate risk to human safety. A large Canadian museum once found itself in possession of a collection of whale ovaries preserved in Bouin’s solution—a preservative that contains picric acid, which is a contact explosive when it evaporates and crystallizes. The local bomb squad was called in to haul the collection out to the parking lot and blow it up. Exploding cetacean gonads may be a rare collections hazard, but many museums hold negatives and movie stock made of cellulose nitrate film, a highly flammable material that as it ages becomes so unstable it can spontaneously ignite. (In 1978 this happened in the film vault of the National Archives, and the nation lost 12.6 million feet of newsreel footage.)

It may be that the director of your museum feels that, in its current condition, the tugboat poses an immediate hazard to human health that has to be managed in some way. It certainly would scare the pants off me to think that local kids were clambering over it unsupervised, whatever its condition. But does this have to entail destruction? I don’t know what specific hazards your tugboat presents, but judging from the director’s proposal, I imagine it would require considerable remediation to make it safe and secure again.

Which brings us to the next point of consideration—allocation of resources. Let’s assume for the moment the museum has or could raise the money needed to restore and secure the boat. Should it? The typical small historical society is challenged to find sufficient funds to pay staff, keep adequate open hours, maintain its facilities in a clean and attractive fashion, publicize its activities, present programs for the public and take care of its collections. Should one object, even a local icon such as your tugboat, take up these resources in preference to meeting other needs?

In the best of all possible worlds, the institution would find a donor who loved the tugboat so much that he or she would give enough to take care of it in perpetuity—and would never give these funds to the museum otherwise. It may be that the director, in making her provocative statement, is seeking to find just such a white knight. If no one rides to the rescue, however, it is entirely correct for the director, and the board, to carefully consider all their responsibilities and allocate funds accordingly. What other issues would have to be put aside if the tugboat were repaired?

On the other hand, even if your historical society cannot afford to keep the tugboat, why must they destroy it? Donating the object to another nonprofit with the resources to care for it is a classic way to blunt the controversy of deaccessioning. However, it may be that no other institution wants the tugboat. Boats, along with trains and airplanes, are classic examples of the genre affectionately known in the museum field as "large rotting objects"—visually and emotionally compelling artifacts that, due to their size, usually have to be stored or displayed outdoors and in the elements. As such, they are expensive to stabilize, and even more expensive to maintain. Keeping them in good order is like maintaining a house—they require constant and never-ending expenditures to hold oxidation, rot and decay at bay. Suspend that maintenance for just a few years running, and they can revert to rusting hulks with shocking speed.

It follows that, even if the tugboat is listed as "free to good home," you may find no queue of museums waiting at your door to relieve you of your treasure unless the craft has particular historic significance. Even if it does fit other museums’ collections, many will think long and hard before taking on the cost of maintaining such an artifact in perpetuity. Add in the expense of transporting such a massive object to the new owner’s site, and the entire proposition may become cost-prohibitive. In these circumstances sale to the public may be the only remaining answer—but you may find that no individual wants to take on this responsibility, either.

Before you are too harsh in your judgment of the director’s decision, consider the alternatives. Would you be happy if next year’s headlines in the local paper include "Child Trapped for 24 Hours in Museum Tugboat," "History Museum to Reduce Open Hours" or even "Museum Sells Portrait of Town Founder to Pay for Boat Restoration?" One last thought to ponder—maybe you yourself would be interested in buying a historic tugboat?

Elizabeth E. Merritt is founding director of AAM’s Center for the Future of Museums, and Erik Ledbetter is director of AAM’s international programs.