G. Russell Overton
This is a tough question. In my professional life as an historical researcher, my job is to solve mysteries. I spend much of my time digging through archival documents, looking for answers to burning historical questions. In a sense, I am the Sherlock Holmes of historical documents. Except where client confidentiality interferes, I could craft hundreds of stories based on such mysteries.
I could, for example, tell the story of a corrupt U. S. Senator in the nineteenth century, who managed his political machine like a mafia boss. I could write about a gang of land speculators conspiring to steal land and timber from an Indian reservation. I might even tell the story of a mystery that has yet to be solved, like the suspicious death of the wife of a Potawatomi chief (I already have a pretty good idea who murdered her).
Though these potential stories are historic, they are personal to me. When I delve into a research project, it becomes a part of my life. I find myself thinking like a federal marshal in 1848. I wake up in the middle of the night with the solution to a nagging mystery. I become so immersed in what I do that certain historical figures become like family to me. I read their diaries, personal letters, accounting ledgers, and all that survives of them. I think of their spouses, children, parents, and siblings by their first names. I feel joy when they fall in love and grief when they lose a child. Even when researching scoundrels, I develop a sense of personal connection. I can relate to them, even if I find their actions abhorrent.
To answer the question more directly, I think I would tell the story of the Potawatomi woman’s murder. As with any murder, it is a tragic story that should be told. The story would be full of intrigue between local business leaders and federal officials. The perpetrators would be motivated by greed and prejudice. Citizens in the surrounding communities would be complicit. In a sense, it would be the perfect murder because the killers would go unpunished and unidentified for 170 years. I very well might just tell this story.
I could, for example, tell the story of a corrupt U. S. Senator in the nineteenth century, who managed his political machine like a mafia boss. I could write about a gang of land speculators conspiring to steal land and timber from an Indian reservation. I might even tell the story of a mystery that has yet to be solved, like the suspicious death of the wife of a Potawatomi chief (I already have a pretty good idea who murdered her).
Though these potential stories are historic, they are personal to me. When I delve into a research project, it becomes a part of my life. I find myself thinking like a federal marshal in 1848. I wake up in the middle of the night with the solution to a nagging mystery. I become so immersed in what I do that certain historical figures become like family to me. I read their diaries, personal letters, accounting ledgers, and all that survives of them. I think of their spouses, children, parents, and siblings by their first names. I feel joy when they fall in love and grief when they lose a child. Even when researching scoundrels, I develop a sense of personal connection. I can relate to them, even if I find their actions abhorrent.
To answer the question more directly, I think I would tell the story of the Potawatomi woman’s murder. As with any murder, it is a tragic story that should be told. The story would be full of intrigue between local business leaders and federal officials. The perpetrators would be motivated by greed and prejudice. Citizens in the surrounding communities would be complicit. In a sense, it would be the perfect murder because the killers would go unpunished and unidentified for 170 years. I very well might just tell this story.
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