30 October 1944

30 October 1944

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30 October 1944

October 1944

> November

The Holocaust

The last extermination gassing is carried out at Auschwitz

Originally laid down as the light cruiser Newark (CL-100), on 26 October 1942 by the New York Shipbuilding Co., Camden, New Jersey redesignated CV-30 and renamed Reprisal on 2 June 1942 renamed San Jacinto on 30 January 1943, converted, while building, to a light aircraft carrier and reclassified as CVL-30 launched on 26 September 1943 sponsored by Mary Gibbs Jones (wife of U.S. Commerce Secretary Jesse H. Jones) and commissioned on 15 November 1943, Capt. Harold M. Martin, in command.

After shakedown in the Caribbean, San Jacinto sailed, via the Panama Canal, San Diego, and Pearl Harbor, for the Pacific war zone. Arriving at Majuro, Marshall Islands, she joined Vice Admiral Marc Mitscher's Task Force 58/38, the fast carrier striking force of the Pacific Fleet. There, San Jacinto embarked Air Group 51, whose fighters and torpedo planes would be the ship's chief weapons in battle.

Marianas actions Edit

After providing search patrols to protect other carriers striking at Marcus Island, San Jacinto rejoined the Fast Carrier Task Force, Task Force 58, on 21 May 1944 and was part of effective strikes against a weakened Japanese-held Wake Island on 23 May (there were no US troop landings in this action, Wake remained in Japanese hands until their surrender) Wake Island had previously been attacked by Task Force 14 on 5–6 October 1943. These were San Jacinto ' s first offensive missions, and no combat casualties were incurred, but one TBF Avenger was lost and its aircrew listed as missing when it failed to return from an anti-submarine patrol.

By 5 June 1944, San Jacinto was ready to participate in the largest fleet action since the Battle of Midway, almost exactly two years before. On that day, Task Force 58 sortied from Majuro and headed toward the Marianas to conduct air strikes preparatory to American seizure of Saipan and to protect the invasion forces from enemy air and naval attack.

This American thrust triggered a strong Japanese reaction on 19 June, the Japanese Fleet launched more than 400 planes against the invasion fleet and the covering carrier force. In the ensuing air battle, known to American pilots as the "Marianas Turkey Shoot," more than 300 enemy planes were shot down. While San Jacinto ' s planes were achieving their most one-sided victory of the war, her gunners helped to shoot down the few attackers able to get near the American ships. Then, at dusk, Admiral Mitscher dispatched an all-carrier attack after the retreating enemy fleet. The night recovery of the returning planes was accomplished amid considerable confusion. Reportedly, a Japanese carrier plane attempted a landing approach on San Jacinto, only to be waved off by the landing signal officer because its hook was not down.

San Jacinto then participated in strikes against Rota and Guam and furnished combat air patrol (CAP) and antisubmarine patrol (ASP) for her task group. During these raids, a San Jacinto fighter pilot was shot down over Guam and spent 17 days in a life raft trying to attract attention and 16 nights hiding on the island.

After a refueling and replenishment stop at Eniwetok Atoll, San Jacinto joined in carrier strikes against the Palaus on 15 July. On 5 August, her targets were Chichi, Haha and Iwo Jima. A brief stop at Eniwetok preceded dawn-to-dusk CAP and ASP duty while other carriers struck at Yap, Ulithi, Anguar and Babelthuap, pinning down Japanese air forces while the Palaus were being assaulted on 15 September.

On 2 September, while piloting a TBF Grumman Avenger #46214 from VT-51, future-President George H. W. Bush was shot down by anti-aircraft fire while attacking Japanese installations on the island of Chichijima. Bush for a time was considered the youngest navy pilot in history, and is known as the youngest pilot in WWII history to join an American torpedo bomber squad. [1] Bush completed his bombing run, then guided his crippled plane out to sea. The two other crew members were lost, [2] but Lieutenant (J.G.) Bush parachuted into the sea and was rescued by the submarine Finback from potential cannibals. [3] [4] For his actions in the successful attack, 20-year-old Bush received the Distinguished Flying Cross. [5]

Following a replenishment stop at Manus, Admiralty Islands, San Jacinto joined in strikes against Okinawa and furnished photographic planes to get information necessary for future invasion plans. After refueling at sea, she once again supplied dawn-to-dusk air protection as other carriers sent strikes against Formosa, northern Luzon, and the Manila Bay area from 12 to 19 October. During operations on 17 October, a fighter plane made a very hard landing and inadvertently fired its machine guns into the ship's island structure, killing two men and wounding 24, including her commanding officer, and causing considerable damage to radar. Despite this accident, San Jacinto remained battle-worthy.

As American troops landed on Leyte in the central Philippines on 20 October, San Jacinto provided close air support. On 24 October, this mission was interrupted by news of the three-pronged approach of the Japanese fleet which precipitated the largest fleet battle in naval history.

Philippines Edit

San Jacinto sent planes against the central force in the Sibuyan Sea, then raced north to launch strikes against the northern force, resulting in heavy damage to the Japanese carriers and surface combatants off Cape Engaño. On 30 October, her fighters furnished air protection over Leyte while her guns shot down two planes attempting suicide attacks on the ship. After a pause at Ulithi, the carrier joined in attacks on the Manila Bay area then took a side trip to Guam to exchange air groups, receiving Air Group 45. She received slight damage during a typhoon in December 1944.

After completing repairs at Ulithi, San Jacinto and the rest of her fast carrier force entered the South China Sea and launched massive air attacks on the airfields of Formosa and against shipping at Cam Ranh Bay, French Indochina, and at Hong Kong. By refueling and replenishing at sea, Task Force 38 was able to continue its pressure on the enemy and strategic support for the American invasion of Luzon by strikes against the Ryukyu Islands.

Attacks over Japan Edit

Next, San Jacinto joined in the first carrier strikes against the home islands of Japan. During the raids on 16 and 17 February 1945, carrier-based aircraft shot down many enemy planes during fierce dogfights over airfields in the Tokyo area. These operations were designed to cover the imminent invasion of Iwo Jima. Next came air support for the landing Marines, followed by further strikes against Tokyo and Okinawa before San Jacinto returned to Ulithi.

While conducting operations off Kyūshū, Japan, she witnessed the conflagration on the carrier USS Franklin and, on 19 March 1945, escaped destruction when a kamikaze narrowly missed her. More massive enemy attacks came with Operation "Iceberg" as the carrier force furnished air support for the invasion of Okinawa. On 5 April, more than 500 planes, primarily kamikazes, attacked. Fighter planes and anti-aircraft guns shot down about 300, but many got through. San Jacinto ' s gunners shot the wing off a would-be suicide plane, deflecting its dive it splashed down only 50 feet off her port bow. Her mission of covering the Okinawa invasion entailed heavy air activity and kept the ship almost constantly at general quarters while supporting ground forces and repelling frequent attacks by suicide planes.

On 7 April, San Jacinto's ' s bombers torpedoed the Japanese destroyers Hamakaze and Asashimo, part of a naval suicide attack in which the super battleship Yamato was also sunk. San Jacinto then returned to the dangerous job of defending against the suicide plane attacks, striking at the kamikaze airfields on Kyūshū, and providing close air support for ground forces fighting on Okinawa.

On 5 June, she successfully rode out another typhoon, and after replenishing at Leyte sortied for her final raids as part of Task Force 58. Her aircraft struck at Hokkaidō and Honshū, Japan, on 9 July and continued to operate off the coast of Japan until the end of hostilities on 15 August 1945.

After the ceasefire preceding Japan's formal surrender, her air missions over Japan became mercy flights over Allied prisoner-of war camps, dropping food and medicine until the men could be rescued. She was present at Tokyo Bay for the Japanese surrender on 2 September 1945. Her wartime mission completed, San Jacinto returned home and tied up at NAS Alameda, California, on 14 September 1945.

She was decommissioned on 1 March 1947 and joined the Pacific Reserve Fleet berthed at San Diego. She was reclassified as an auxiliary aircraft transport (AVT-5) on 15 May 1959, and struck from the Navy list on 1 June 1970 her hull was sold for scrapping in December 1971.

FDR approves Lend-Lease aid to the USSR

On October 30, 1941, President Roosevelt, determined to keep the United States out of the war while helping those allies already mired in it, approves $1 billion in Lend-Lease loans to the Soviet Union. The terms: no interest and repayment did not have to start until five years after the war was over.

The Lend-Lease program was devised by President Roosevelt and passed by Congress on March 11, 1941. Originally, it was meant to aid Great Britain in its war effort against the Germans by giving the chief executive the power to “sell, transfer title to, exchange, lease, lend, or otherwise dispose of” any military resources the president deemed ultimately in the interest of the defense of the United States. The reasoning was: If a neighbor was successful in defending his home, the security of your home was enhanced.

Although the Soviet Union had already been the recipient of American military weapons, and now had been promised $1 billion in financial aid, formal approval to extend the Lend-Lease program to the USSR had to be given by Congress. Anticommunist feeling meant much heated debate, but Congress finally gave its approval to the extension on November 7.

By the end of the war, more than $50 billion in funds, weapons, aircraft, and ships had been distributed to 44 countries. After the war, the Lend-Lease program morphed into the Marshall Plan, which allocated funds for the revitalization of 𠇏riendly” democratic nations𠅎ven if they were former enemies.

USS Belleau Wood (CVL-24) aflame on her aft flight deck following a Japanese kamikaze attack on 30 October 1944. [1688 x 1844]

92 dead after munitions caught fire. She was sent back to San Diego for repairs, then ferried men home after the end of the war. Eventually loaned to the French, where she took part in conflicts in Vietnam and Algeria. Returned to the U.S. and scrapped in 1960.

The plume of smoke in the background is probably from the USS Franklin, struck in the same attack.

Bums me out that they scrapped a ship named after such an iconic Marine Corps battle.

I would have found a place to store it!

Imagine you are one of them on the deck. Must be terrifying

As a mariner, the thought of being at sea on a burning ship is terrifying! Can't even begin to imagine that the fire was caused by groups of people so hell bent on killing you theyɽ kill themselves to do it!

Imagine you are below deck. Way more terrifying. Loud noise, then it goes pitch black and you need to a) get up a couple stories to escape b) fight a fire, so the ship doesn't sink c) continue doing whatever job you are supposed to be doing.

The Last Stand of the Tin Can Sailors by James Hornfisher conveys this really well.

My great uncle was on-board and died.

That's the ship that my grandfather was on during the war. I don't know if he was deployed on it during this attack or not, but I'm going to see if I can find out. He didn't talk about his war time experiences very often. Crazy stuff.

Ask him if he remembers Elmer Brake.

My grandpa was on a destroyer in WWII in the Belleau Wood’s carrier group when this happened(carriers ran with a ring of assorted ships around them).

He had to help go in and gather bodies once the immediate fire and risk was put down. It was his most harrowing story from the war.

I've been to Belleau Wood, the battlefield. Haunting still.

That was an amazing battle.

My father was a radio operator on The USS Monterey CVL 26. I have his diaries that he kept through the war. He writes about watching the Belleau Wood getting attacked and watching the smoke after she got hit.

When I match up the dates and descriptions of my dads diaries with the major battles of the pacific, it blows my mind that he was right there in the middle of it. And I'm holding the diaries he had with him.

Wreck of Famed WWII Destroyer USS Johnston May Have Been Found

A few days past the 75th anniversary of the Battle of Samar, researchers from Vulcan Inc.’s research vessel R/V Petrel believe they’ve found wreckage from the engagement’s famed Fletcher-class destroyer, USS Johnston (DD-557).

Images of twisted metal, a destroyed deck gun, a propeller shaft and other less recognizable debris were posted to Petrel’s Facebook page Wednesday, with a video narrated by Rob Kraft, Vulcan’s director of subsea operations, and Paul Mayer a submersible pilot with the team started by the late billionaire and philanthropist Paul Allen.

“This wreck is completely decimated,” Kraft says in the video. “It is just debris. There is no hull structure.”

Petrel’s crew found the wreckage about 20,400 feet below the water’s surface, just at the edge of a steep undersea precipice and at a depth that pushes the limit of their underwater search equipment.

Without finding identifying material – such as a portion of the hull with the hull number 557, other equipment with the ship’s name, personal effects of the crew – positively identifying the wreckage as Johnston is difficult, Robert Neyland, the Naval History and Heritage Command’s Underwater Archaeology Branch Head, told USNI News.

Neyland, who was familiar with Petrel’s search efforts, explained researchers might have enough evidence to confirm the wreckage is from a Fletcher-class destroyer. However, when Johnston sunk, another Fletcher-class ship, USS Hoel (DD-533), was also in the area.

“There was a lot of confusion in that battle,” Neyland said.

USS Johnston (DD-557) off Washington state 27 Oct. 27 1943. NHHC Photo

Some of the wreckage appears to be equipment such as blast shields behind guns that researchers know were on Hoel, based on old photos of the ship. Equipment could have been added to Johnston after the few confirmed pictures of the destroyer were taken, Neyland said.

The location of the wreckage, in the southern part of the area where the battle took place, suggests the wreck is Johnston, Kraft said. Johnston was the last ship to sink.

On Oct. 25, 1944, a Japanese force of four battleships, six heavy cruisers, two light cruisers, and 11 destroyers surprised a U.S. task unit. The Japanese force was trying to run-down six U.S. small escort carriers, three destroyers including Johnston and four destroyer escorts defending the north Leyte Gulf, east of Samar, retired Rear Adm. Samuel Cox, director of the Naval History and Heritage Command, told USNI News.

Johnston, under Cmdr. (Ernest) Evans was the first on to conduct an attempted torpedo attack on the Japanese force,” Cox said. “Evans made the attack without waiting for orders to do so because he knew it was clear that unless he did something, the Japanese were going to run down the slower U.S. force, and they had the power to wipe it out.”

Evans knew his ship and the others in the task unit were outgunned, yet he attacked anyway, Cox said. In hindsight, such action isn’t surprising. A year earlier, Evans predicted he’d take such actions during Johnston’s commissioning.

Then-Lt. Cmdr. Ernest Evans at the commissioning ceremonies of USS Johnston (DD-557) in Seattle, Wash. on Oct. 27 1943. NHHC Photo

“This is going to be a fighting ship. I intend to go in harm’s way, and anyone who doesn’t want to go along had better get off right now,” Evans said at Johnston’s commissioning in Seattle on Oct. 27, 1943, according to the Naval History and Heritage Command.

Of the crew of 327 men, 141 survived the battle. Of the 186 sailors lost, 50 were killed by enemy action, 45 died from battle injuries on rafts, and 92 men – including Evans – were alive in the water after Johnston sank but were never seen again, according to the Naval History and Heritage Command.

Johnston was awarded the Presidential Unit Citation. Evans, a 1931 graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy who was believed to be the third Native American graduate, was posthumously awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor, Cox said.

“He also said that he would never run from a fight, and on the 25th of October, 1944, he proved true to his word,” Cox said.

The discovery of the vitamins

The discovery of the vitamins was a major scientific achievement in our understanding of health and disease. In 1912, Casimir Funk originally coined the term "vitamine". The major period of discovery began in the early nineteenth century and ended at the mid-twentieth century. The puzzle of each vitamin was solved through the work and contributions of epidemiologists, physicians, physiologists, and chemists. Rather than a mythical story of crowning scientific breakthroughs, the reality was a slow, stepwise progress that included setbacks, contradictions, refutations, and some chicanery. Research on the vitamins that are related to major deficiency syndromes began when the germ theory of disease was dominant and dogma held that only four nutritional factors were essential: proteins, carbohydrates, fats, and minerals. Clinicians soon recognized scurvy, beriberi, rickets, pellagra, and xerophthalmia as specific vitamin deficiencies, rather than diseases due to infections or toxins. Experimental physiology with animal models played a fundamental role in nutrition research and greatly shortened the period of human suffering from vitamin deficiencies. Ultimately it was the chemists who isolated the various vitamins, deduced their chemical structure, and developed methods for synthesis of vitamins. Our understanding of the vitamins continues to evolve from the initial period of discovery.

Why They Called It the Manhattan Project

By nature, code names and cover stories are meant to give no indication of the secrets concealed. “Magic” was the name for intelligence gleaned from Japanese ciphers in World War II, and “Overlord” stood for the Allied plan to invade Europe.

Many people assume that the same holds true for the Manhattan Project, in which thousands of experts gathered in the mountains of New Mexico to make the world’s first atom bomb.

Robert S. Norris, a historian of the atomic age, wants to shatter that myth.

In “The Manhattan Project” (Black Dog & Leventhal), published last month, Dr. Norris writes about the Manhattan Project’s Manhattan locations. He says the borough had at least 10 sites, all but one still standing. They include warehouses that held uranium, laboratories that split the atom, and the project’s first headquarters — a skyscraper hidden in plain sight right across from City Hall.

“It was supersecret,” Dr. Norris said in an interview. “At least 5,000 people were coming and going to work, knowing only enough to get the job done.”

Manhattan was central, according to Dr. Norris, because it had everything: lots of military units, piers for the import of precious ores, top physicists who had fled Europe and ranks of workers eager to aid the war effort. It even had spies who managed to steal some of the project’s top secrets.

“The story is so rich,” Dr. Norris enthused. “There’s layer upon layer of good stuff, interesting characters.”

Still, more than six decades after the project’s start, the Manhattan side of the atom bomb story seems to be a well-preserved secret.

Dr. Norris recently visited Manhattan at the request of The New York Times for a daylong tour of the Manhattan Project’s roots. Only one site he visited displayed a public sign noting its role in the epochal events. And most people who encountered his entourage, which included a photographer and videographer, knew little or nothing of the atomic labors in Manhattan.

“That’s amazing,” Alexandra Ghitelman said after learning that the buildings she had just passed on inline skates once held tons of uranium destined for atomic weapons. “That’s unbelievable.”

While shock tended to be the main reaction, some people hinted at feelings of pride. More than one person said they knew someone who had worked on the secret project, which formally got under way in August 1942 and three years later culminated in the atomic bombing of Japan. In all, it employed more than 130,000 people.

Dr. Norris is also the author of “Racing for the Bomb” (Steerforth, 2002), a biography of Gen. Leslie R. Groves, the project’s military leader. As his protagonist had done during the war, Dr. Norris works in Washington. At the Natural Resources Defense Council, he studies and writes about the nation’s atomic facilities.

Dr. Norris began his day of exploration by taking the train to New York from Washington, coming into Pennsylvania Station just as General Groves had done dozens of times during the war to visit project sites.

“Groves didn’t want the job,” Dr. Norris remarked outside the station. “But his foot hit the accelerator and he didn’t let up for 1,000 days.”

For tour assistance, Dr. Norris brought along his own books as well as printouts from “The Traveler’s Guide to Nuclear Weapons,” a CD by James M. Maroncelli and Timothy L. Karpin that features little-known history of the nation’s atom endeavors.

We headed north to the childhood home of J. Robert Oppenheimer, the eccentric genius whom General Groves hired to run the project’s scientific side as well as its sprawling New Mexico laboratory. Last year, a biography of Oppenheimer, “American Prometheus” (Knopf, 2005), won the Pulitzer Prize.

“One of the most famous scientists of the 20th century,” Dr. Norris noted, got his start “walking these streets” and attending the nearby Ethical Culture School.

Oppenheimer and his parents lived at 155 Riverside Drive, an elegant apartment building at West 88th Street. The superintendent, Joe Gugulski, said the family lived on the 11th floor, overlooking the Hudson River.

“One of my tenants read the book,” Mr. Gugulski told us. “So I looked it up.” To his knowledge, Mr. Gugulski added, no other atomic tourists had visited the building.

The Oppenheimers decorated their apartment with original artwork by Picasso, Rembrandt, Renoir, Van Gogh and Cézanne, according to “American Prometheus.” His mother encouraged young Robert to paint.

By the late 1930s and early 1940s, blocks away at Columbia University, scientists were laboring to split the atom and release its titanic energies. We made our way across campus — with difficulty because of protests over the visit of President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad of Iran, which is widely suspected of harboring its own bomb program.

Dr. Norris noted that the Manhattan Project led to “many of our problems today.”

The Pupin Physics Laboratories housed the early atom experiments, Dr. Norris said. But the tall building, topped by observatory domes, has no plaque in its foyer describing its nuclear ties.

Passing students and pedestrians answered “no” and “kind of” when asked if they knew of the atom breakthroughs at Pupin Hall. Dr. Norris said the Manhattan Project, at its peak, employed 700 people at Columbia. At one point, the football team was recruited to move tons of uranium. That work, he said, eventually led to the world’s first nuclear reactor.

After lunch, we headed to West 20th Street just off the West Side Highway. The block, on the fringe of Chelsea, bristled with new galleries, and Kingdom Hall of Jehovah’s Witnesses. On its north side, three tall buildings once made up the Baker and Williams Warehouses, which held tons of uranium.

Two women taking a cigarette break said they had no idea of their building’s atomic past. “It’s horrible,” said one.

Dr. Norris’s “Traveler’s Guide” fact sheet said the federal government in the late 1980s and early 1990s cleaned the buildings of residual uranium. Workers removed more than a dozen drums of radioactive waste, according to the Department of Energy in Washington. “Radiological surveys show that the site now meets applicable requirements for unrestricted use,” a federal document said in 1995.

We moved to Manhattan’s southern tip and worked our way up Broadway along the route known as the Canyon of Heroes, the scene of many ticker-tape parades amid the skyscrapers.

At 25 Broadway, we visited a minor but important site — the Cunard Building. Edgar Sengier, a Belgian with an office here, had his company mine about 1,200 tons of high-grade uranium ore and store it on Staten Island in the shadow of the Bayonne Bridge. Though a civilian, he knew of the atomic possibilities and feared the invading Germans might confiscate his mines.

Dr. Norris said General Groves, on his first day in charge, sent an assistant to buy all that uranium for a dollar a pound — or $2.5 million. “The Manhattan Project was off to a flying start,” he said, adding that the Belgian entrepreneur in time supplied two-thirds of all the project’s uranium.

We walked past St. Paul’s Chapel and proceeded to the soaring grandeur of the Woolworth Building, once the world’s tallest, at 233 Broadway.

A major site, it housed a front company that devised one of the project’s main ways of concentrating uranium’s rare isotope — a secret of bomb making. On the 11th, 12th and 14th floors, the company drew on the nation’s scientific best and brightest, including teams from Columbia.

Dr. Norris said the front company’s 3,700 employees included Klaus Fuchs, a Soviet spy. “He was a substantial physicist in his own right,” Dr. Norris said. “He contributed to the American atom bomb, the Soviet atom bomb and the British atom bomb.”

So how did the Manhattan Project get its name, and why was Manhattan chosen as its first headquarters?

Dr. Norris said the answer lay at our next stop, 270 Broadway. There, at Chambers Street, on the southwest corner, we found a nondescript building overlooking City Hall Park.


A recent review of the V&A’s sculpture collection brought to light an unexpected fragment of bas-relief. This unassuming grey rock has an impressive provenance, purporting to come from the Achaemenid site of Persepolis, Iran. In storage since its acquisition in 1916, the fragment is contextualised for the first time in this article, restoring its place in history and its relation to the Museum’s 20th-century collecting practices.

During a review of the V&A’s sculpture collection in 2011, an unexpected fragment came to light in the storerooms.(1) Identified in the catalogue as ‘Ancient Persian’, the unassuming stone dates from a much earlier era than most of the collection. The museum’s documents give its origin as Persepolis, a monumental complex developed by the Achaemenid kings between the late 6th and late 4th centuries BC. The relief entered the collection in 1916, and was briefly described in print in 1919 among a mass of objects transferred to the V&A from the Architectural Association, but no image was ever published. The relief may have been exhibited in the year following its accession, but it has not been visible since, and does not feature in any current survey of fragments removed from the site.(2) The purpose of this article is to offer the first examination of the piece, and to investigate its likely context in its probable place of origin. In addition, it will explore how the piece reached the V&A. The relief’s history is only partially recoverable, but casts light on the museum’s curatorial evolution, and contributes to our knowledge of the dissemination of Achaemenid sculptural fragments.

The monumental structures that now constitute the ruins of Persepolis were developed from the reign of Darius I (522/1 to 486 BC) on a natural rock outcrop at the fringe of the Marv Dasht, in the modern province of Fars. Darius had taken over the empire, which by then extended from Egypt to Central Asia, in a confused, violent and probably illegitimate succession in 522/1 BC. The sculpted stone elements of the columned halls of Persepolis accordingly displayed a new and distinctive iconography, which depicted a stable and interrelated hierarchy of king, imperial elite, army and subjects. Echoing and reframing the visual repertoires of preceding Near Eastern kingdoms and empires, Darius’ designers created an inscribed and ornamented architectural court environment.(3) Stone door-frames, columns and foundational elements such as parapet-edged podiums and processional stairways supported a wooden and mud-brick superstructure. After the extensive destruction of the site by Alexander of Macedon in 330 BC, the more vulnerable structural elements began to decay, but the site was never wholly concealed or lost. Some architectural elements were transported from the platform for local prestige building projects at nearby Istakhr and Qasr-i Abu Nasr in the late antique and medieval periods.(4) The documented history of the dispersal of fragments to Europe began with the removal of several small pieces by the artist and traveller Cornelius de Bruijn in 1704 - 5. The stairway parapets and facades presented a multitude of attendants, soldiers and peoples of the empire to those who had the time and resources to break up and transport stone slabs by mule to the Persian Gulf. The first bas-reliefs from Persepolis went on public display in the British Museum in 1818, a few months after the installation of the Parthenon sculptures. A succession of recent British diplomatic missions to Iran had caused a mass exodus of antique stone figures, the bulk of which eventually reached the same museum. A second wave of fragments reached Europe and North America after a period of political instability in the 1920s.(5) The V&A example surfaced in London between these two major phases of fragmentation, so the early links in its anomalous collection history remain, for now, obscure.

The fragment has a maximum height of 19 cm, a width of 24 cm and an approximate depth of 11 cm, although the back is very uneven (figs. 1 and 2). Below a raised, horizontal border, it shows a male head in profile, facing to the right. The veined stone appears to be consistent with the lighter of two grey, cretaceous limestones used in the construction of orthostat bas-reliefs at Persepolis, which were quarried locally.(6) On examination under daylight, the surface has a greyish, mottled, slightly dirty appearance, which may have resulted from the relief’s long-term exposure to London air since the 19th century. Surviving fragments of pigment can occasionally be seen on sufficiently protected pieces of Persepolitan sculpture.(7) Some reliefs acquired and exhibited in the 19th century received surface colour washes in order to manifest the required antique hue. The V&A bas-relief needs further examination to determine whether it retains any signs of having been painted.( 8) At present, a small patch of metallic tint is visible on the highest part of the bas-relief, mid-cowl on the figure’s headdress. There are also splashes of white paint around the sides and back of the relief. Both need further investigation, but they resemble traces of modern display and storage environments.

The multi-planed, uneven back also preserves a few impressions of a toothed chisel used to trim the surface during or after the relief’s removal from its original structural context. The relief has no mount and no physical signs of having been adapted for display on a wall. The V&A object number on the back is the only applied sign of registration in a collection. There is no compelling feature that links the piece to a site of production other than Persepolis. Modern, Persepolitan-inspired sculptures do exist, but those that circulated in the late-19th and early-20th century tended to be disassembled structural ornament from 19th-century, elite villas in Iran.(9) Fragments of ancient orthostat reliefs do not exclusively come from Persepolis in the 20th century, bas-reliefs were excavated at the 4th century ‘Chaour’ palace at Susa, and sculpted stone architectural elements are also found at an increasing number of ‘pavilion’ sites across the Achaemenid heartland.(10) Persepolis, as the most prominent and historically accessible cluster of architectural sculpture, is the most likely source for this relief, the fabric of which visually resembles the stone types used there.

Site Origin
Recontextualizing the fragment in its source site is a challenge, because of the fragmentation of the staircases that protruded above the surface on the Persepolis terrace, especially since the end of the 18th century. The first 19th-century travellers first targeted the massive apadana, or columned audience hall, the façade of which was one of the first features they encountered on ascending the terrace. But by the 1820s, slabs from stairways of the smaller structures further within the site began to be mined. These were often in a more dilapidated state to start with, since the carved slabs had already been, or could be, toppled outwards from their elevated positions. If divided skilfully, each free-standing slab could provide two sets of figures, from its inner and outer faces. In addition, some facade and parapet pieces had already been moved and partially reconstructed at the south-western corner of the platform towards the end of, or just after, the Achaemenid period.(11) Many slabs were therefore already dislocated from their original architectural context. Tracing their removal is difficult without archival testimony, since early drawings focussing on the extant facades do not record in detail the margin of surrounding rubble. In the 20th century, the majority of unexcavated museum accessions of Persepolis fragments came from these smaller structures. The generic anonymity of these uniform stairway bearers and ranked guards, compared to the apadana’s imperial subjects, who were distinguished from each other by their dress, adds to the vagueness that can surround the origin of unexcavated museum pieces.

We can guess at the type of structural position of the V&A fragment because of the surviving, raised border above the figure’s head different decorative terminations topped the parapets depending on their orientation. The outward-facing walls that formed the inner, building-side of each stairway featured these raised, linear borders. Five stretches of these inner walls, which carry attendants facing the same way as our example, border four different stairways that formed the access to two buildings on the platform. These two structures were inscribed by, and are therefore named after, Darius I and his son Xerxes I.(12) The style of the V&A fragment resembles the figures still extant on the inner walls of the south stairs of the Palace of Darius, and those of the east and west stairs of the Palace of Xerxes (figs. 3 and 4).(13) Before the site was extensively excavated in the 1930s, several of these stairways had already suffered heavy loss of sculpture those leading up to the palace of Xerxes from the east, in particular, offered acquisitive amateur excavators a greater number of angles from which to approach the broken parapets, since they pivoted back upon themselves in a double flight leading upwards to the palace platform (fig. 3). The 1930s Oriental Institute photographs of the north wing of the east stairway of the Palace of Xerxes illustrate how an interior wall figure became vulnerable to removal.(14) The lighter, sharper slab on the upper right, carrying the lion’s haunches and decorative border, is shown in 19th-century prints, and photographs of the 1920s, to have fallen onto the steps below, protecting it and the lower legs of the figures behind it.(15) Above its fallen back, the upper edge of the exposed wall slab was open to both weather and souvenir hunters. The head of the figure on the extreme right, an attendant in a tunic carrying a kid, has been hacked away from the top and the sides, leaving both the kid and the back edge of the figure’s headdress in place.

The V&A relief seems to have been removed from an inner stairway wall in a similar fashion, with impact fractures in addition radiating from the points where breaks have been made in the veined, blank rock on either side of the head (figs. 5 and 6). Compared to other stairway figures, that have been reduced to gallery-ready busts by their removal, our example has an irregular shape it does not seem to have been tidied up for exhibition, something which may be more characteristic of pieces that emerged on the market in the 20th century. By contrast, a comparable robed attendant carrying a covered bowl, this time from the inner face of an outer balustrade, acquired by Yale in 1933, is a crisp and regular artefact (Yale 1933.10).(16) A figure in the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, with a covered bowl and a headdress that mirrors that of the V&A figure, is framed by a more regular and extensive segment of the decorative interior balustrade, as is a similar piece acquired by the Detroit Institute of Arts in 1933 (LACMA 63.36.17 DIA 31.340).(17) The varying retention of the rosette border above these figures suggests that the portion of the structure sampled by opportunistic raiders was dictated by its overall position on the larger structural slab. Each figure has been transformed into a single-planed ‘art’ object by its removal and display, but the fragments’ margins retain a hint of their former three-dimensional, architectural role.

The museum’s curatorial note and the 1919 ‘Review’ both reported that the V&A relief, ‘apparently comes from the procession which decorated the left-hand side of the middle staircase of the Palace of Xerxes’ and referred to the first extensive photographic survey of the site published in 1882 by Stolze and Andreas.(18) These photographs were not comprehensive, nor were they completely clear, but they were the main reference collection available at the time. Stolze and Andreas plate 20 shows a stretch of stair-climbing attendants on the inner balustrade of the upper southern flight of the east stairs (fig. 7). The slab that comprised the first two figures at the right hand side of the plate is missing in that picture. Published excavation photographs from the 1930s show heavy losses along the edges of the west stairs, particularly on the west-facing wall on the northern side.(19) One of these gaps in either the east or west stairs might be the source of the V&A piece, since the excavator concluded that the attendants there are, like our figure, beardless.

Curatorial notes accompanying the Persepolis fragment, and the 1919 publication, curiously label the piece a ‘Head of a Warrior’. The identification of the figure as a ‘warrior’ must have occurred at a distance from the site, and entailed a certain disregard of the published visual evidence. The headdress of the V&A figure is of a kind that was always shown as part of a riding costume on the reliefs: trousers and a tunic. Yet these stairway figures do not carry weapons, and the tunic costumes alternated with depictions of figures wearing copiously pleated court robes. This kind of pairing is a common feature of Achaemenid iconography, and may allude to the different facets of the Persian elite lifestyle.(20) These alternating, anonymous ‘attendants’ processed up several of the stairways of the smaller palace buildings at Persepolis. Each of these structures, which represent a more intimate environment than the two monumental columned audience halls nearer the entrance to the platform, are associated by their inscriptions with individual kings. The attendants carry draped trays or sacks, kids or lambs, and closed vessels, along the structural margins of these buildings, on both stairways and in windows. Within the main entrances to the buildings, the thresholds are flanked instead by over-life-size figures of the king with servants. The repeated rhythm of pacing figures, lightly patterned with their paired costumes and narrowly varying attributes, defined the directional impetus of the space, involving the viewer in an architecturally-defined movement.(21) The stairways therefore may have led the visitor into a closer encounter with kingship. As a result, the bas-relief figures have been variously interpreted as servants bringing provisions to a royal banquet, or ritual participants attending to a religious duty, both processes that may have been performed in the space within.

In either scenario, the figures represented a perpetual representation of communal resources converging on the person of the king. In this sense, the bas-reliefs represent a parallel iconographic expression of the ongoing management and redistribution of resources attested to in texts found at the site. The so-called Persepolis Fortification Tablets, now held in Tehran and the Oriental Institute of Chicago, contain documentary evidence of the elaborate management of the region’s produce and wealth centred on the king, the royal family and the Persian elite.(22) Rations could be granted to family members, supervisors and governors within the imperial system, work parties of various levels, and to priests for the purpose of maintenance of multiple local cults. The king’s place at the centre of this beneficence in exchange for support was idealised in multilingual royal inscriptions displayed at the nearby religious and royal funerary centre of Naqsh-i Rustam.(23) The bas-reliefs covering the stone platform facades and transitional zones of Persepolis all display the wealth, in manpower and material, at the disposal of the king in this system, a wealth to which each cooperating subject might ideally hope to gain access through their efforts.

Our head has been separated from the body at the top of the shoulder, and the break curves up in front of the figure’s face no clue in the pose of the arm and no detached snippet of relief give an indication of what he carried. This attribute-loss has eroded his already tenuous and anonymised identity. Decapitation is one of the most common fates suffered by the fragmented parapet and balustrade figures at Persepolis. Faced with the limitations of transport from the inland site, plunderers of sculpture focused on the heads and upper bodies of processional figures. Sometimes, as the topmost layer of separately cut orthostat slabs, these were often the most accessible segments for removal. Over and above convenience, those who chipped at even mid-slab figures focused on heads and faces. An early import to Britain, published by the Society of Antiquaries in 1804, also showed an ‘Antient Head in basso-relievo’, shaped so that it cut the figure off at the shoulder and mid-chest level of a portrait bust the damaged head, found dislocated from its original position, had also lost its eye.(24) The acquirers’ focus on the figures’ heads perhaps signals a sympathetic or possessive response to the human face as the focus of each sculpture’s identity: an antique trophy. Yet such acts of excision followed on from and mirrored ancient and medieval iconoclasm directed at the destruction of images’ metaphorical power.(25)

The V&A’s curatorial imposition of a ‘warrior’ identity gave the piece a novel military charisma, which differed from these earlier 19th-century receptions of Persepolis. Some of the earliest importations arose from British diplomatic overtures to Iran that stressed protocol, display and the brotherhood of the two kingdoms. A poetic reading of one fragment displayed in a private museum in 1833 stressed the ‘symbols of command’ held in scenes of lost ‘pageantry’. To an imperial ruling class who learned Persian as part of their colonial expertise, Persepolis consisted of the essence of Persia, ‘birth-place of fancy, and romantic dreams’.(26) Later writers observed the objects carried by both imperial subjects and attendants, and interpreted them in the light of the contemporary practice of gift-giving at the Persian New Year. The architect James Fergusson described ‘persons bringing gifts’ on the main audience hall in 1851, and in 1865, Ussher observed only guards and ‘servants bearing in a repast’.(27) By the early 20th century, colonial immersion in Persian literature had lessened, but imperial ghosts remained. The surgeon Sir John Bland-Sutton constructed a miniature ‘apadana’ decorated with copies of Achaemenid columns and walls from Susa as a dining room in his Mayfair townhouse the structure was demolished in 1932 and one of the thirty-two cast column capitals found its way to the V&A.(28) The ‘warrior’ title bestowed on the relief fragment in 1916 lifted the unassuming stairway figure out of the familiar, hierarchical court context, as it was traditionally understood, to the level of legendary soldiering

Institutional Origin
The Persepolis attendant, or ‘warrior’, first appeared in the V&A’s first hand-list of transfers from the Architectural Association in December 1915, an identification repeated in the published review of accessions, which was drafted in 1917 and published in 1919.(29) The appearance of the relief at the head of the transfer list of 1915 is in fact a relic of the curatorial vision of one of the V&A’s most influential directors, Cecil Harcourt-Smith. Harcourt-Smith had visited Persepolis in 1887, when he took leave from his curatorial role at the British Museum to join a mission to Iran led by the director of the Persian telegraph, Sir Robert Murdoch Smith. Murdoch Smith was already a prolific acquirer of Persian objects for the South Kensington Museum, and wrote a guide to their collection.(30) By 1887, after many years running the telegraph in Iran, Murdoch Smith had already embarked on a second career as Director of the Royal Scottish Museum in Edinburgh. He returned to Iran one last time on a diplomatic mission to secure the future of the British-run communications system there.(31) At the same time, he ensured that the young Harcourt-Smith had enough time away from his work to undertake an appraisal of prospects for archaeological investigation across Iran. At the end of the trip, Murdoch Smith donated six fragmentary pieces of sculpture from Persepolis to his own museum. These joined a series of casts of apadana reliefs dating from the 1820s, and Murdoch Smith supplemented them shortly afterwards with a set of colourful casts of glazed brick panels from the recently-excavated Achaemenid palace at Susa.(32) The Royal Scottish Museum had first developed as a satellite to the South Kensington Museum, but in this respect the London collection’s development echoed that of Edinburgh.(33) South Kensington bought its own set of Susa casts in 1891, but waited several more years for a sample of original bas-relief.(34)

Immediately after returning from the trip, Harcourt-Smith discussed the difficulty of removing sculpture from Persepolis:

The whole platform is covered with fragments of sculpture and architecture which would be easily portable, and a selection of which might be interesting for the illustration of Persian art: if this selection should be required, it can always be carried out at a small expense through the members of the telegraph staff at Shiraz [. ] as regards large portions of sculpture it would be a matter of extreme difficulty, if not impossible, to arrange for their transport across the steep, rocky passes which lie between Shiraz and the sea.
He instead recommended to the British Museum Trustees that they commission a new set of plaster casts of the accessible sculptures to supplement the museum’s existing mixture of reproductions and originals.(35) The resulting expedition in 1892 resulted in the plaster casts and a survey plan of the site. Harcourt-Smith wrote a catalogue of the new cast collection, ‘illustrating the art of the old Persian Empire’.(36) And in 1894 and 1895, the British Museum added three further Persepolitan stone relief fragments to its collection, by purchase.(37) In 1913, after thirty-eight years in Iran, the telegraph engineer who had accompanied Harcourt-Smith to Persepolis, J.R. Preece, sold some ‘ancient Persian’ carvings as part of an auction of his own collection. None corresponds to the V&A fragment, and most of them appear to have been 19th-century imitations, but they illustrate the role of the telegraph infrastructure in the movement of artefacts.(38) The V&A relief is conceivably a product of this late-19th and early-20th-century activity.

Harcourt-Smith arrived at the V&A from the British Museum in 1909, but whether he knew of the existence of London’s stray Persepolis fragment before 1915 is unclear. The documentation of the V&A’s acquisition of it in the 1910s is unfortunately the first detectable testimony of the relief’s existence. The Honorary Secretary of the Architectural Association wrote to Harcourt-Smith in October 1915 in order to arrange the transfer to the V&A of items from their unused collection of casts.(39) The Architectural Association had acquired the bulk of its collection in 1904 through the winding-up of the Royal Architectural Museum. Initially founded in 1851 by a loose association of architects led by George Gilbert Scott, the Museum was a lightly-curated conglomeration of intentional acquisitions and happenstance donations intended as a ‘school of art for art-workmen’ in the building trade.(40) As such, it represented a parallel, but ultimately less successful, development to Government Schools of Design that lay behind the South Kensington Museum. The collection included a limited number of classical casts, but the aesthetic emphasis of the densely packed galleries was on medieval and Renaissance architectural sculpture. The Persepolis relief would have already been an unusual presence within this pre-1916 source collection. However, the Royal Architectural Museum’s laconic minute books, which run from the 1850s to 1904, contain no record of the donation of any ancient objects. Guides to the collection written by Scott and later his successor John Pollard Seddon, in 1884, only describe Classical casts and no ‘Oriental’ originals, apart from some carvings from ‘the great desert of Rajpootana [which] are sufficiently representative of the general character of Oriental art, which changes little from age to age’.(41)

In 1915, after Eric Maclagan of the Department of Architecture and Sculpture made an initial survey of the collection in October, Harcourt-Smith wrote to the Association querying the availability of originals as well as casts:

I notice that your letter does not make any reference to the various pieces of original architectural and sculptural work in stone and wood […] in the Tufton Street collection. I should be glad to know what the Council’s views are as to the destination of these originals, some of which would be of great value to us at South Kensington (42)
They replied that they would only earmark both originals and casts that would be ‘of permanent use to our School’ but that they perceived ‘very little difference to the value of the collection from the Museum point of view.’ In the meantime, the Association’s minute books continued to refer to the entire transaction as a transfer of a ‘cast collection’, a term which they seemed happy to use for the entire conglomeration of originals and reproductions (43)

At the end of November, Harcourt-Smith visited Tufton Street in person, accompanied by Maclagan, in order to inspect the division of the collection between those objects to be taken to the museum, and those marked for retention by the Association. The list that was drawn up during the tour records only the chalk-marked objects that would be left behind. Maclagan and Harcourt-Smith noted in writing a mummy case ‘with traces of Painting, Wood, Old writing’ and a ‘Cast of Assyrian stele’, while their gazes rested on the unclaimed pieces in between.(44) In the silence between the wanted artefacts, the Persepolis relief seems to have stood.

Harcourt -Smith wrote formally on 4th December to confirm the transfer of ‘the collection of casts […] together with certain originals’.(45) A handwritten accession list of the originals transferred was quickly typed up by the museum and sent to the Architectural Association for their records. In both copies, the relief was listed first in the list as, ‘Head of a Warrior, gray stone. Probably from the Palace of Xerxes, Persepolis. Ancient Persian’.

In 1916, British military activity in Iran included an encampment at Persepolis by the South Persia Rifles. Travelling southwards from Isfahan to Shiraz on a mission to eliminate ‘marauding German bands’ and to restore order, Sir Percy Sykes visited the tomb of Cyrus at the older capital of Pasargadae, and claimed to have fixed its leaking roof. Then, near Persepolis, he climbed up to and ‘examined with deep reverence’ the tomb of its builder, Darius. Even in the midst of a military campaign, Sykes clearly felt that he needed to represent himself engaging in antiquarian speculation about the imperial past of his field of campaign.(46) An exasperated colleague wrote at the time that Sykes, ‘views himself theatrically as a second Alexander.’(47) For those who ‘served’ in Iran, though, Persepolis was still an important site of colonial memory, which they recalled by means of visiting, inscribing and occasionally taking away with them parts of the site. The emotional investment made by these passing visitors should not be underestimated. In 1884, the recently-widowed Robert Murdoch Smith lost three of his five surviving children in three days to diphtheria, while the family was travelling south towards home. Despite this, his daughter later recalled, he persisted in carrying out a planned excursion to Persepolis, ‘in order that the [surviving] children should take home with them the recollection of a visit to the wonderful ruins of “The Glory of the East”'.(48)

The profile of Persepolis rose again in parallel with a new vogue for ‘Persian Art’ in the late 1920s. From 1931, excavations at the site by the Oriental Institute of Chicago generated plentiful, illustrated press coverage, in which photographs of the bas-reliefs in their original structural context were widely published for the first time. Persepolis casts and original reliefs in Britain and Europe were gathered together in the high-profile, international Persian art exhibition in London in 1931, and in response the British Museum mounted a display with its own collection.(49) Yet, still, the V&A fragment remained invisible. Both institutional and personal memories of the V&A’s Achaemenid holdings had apparently begun to fade Harcourt-Smith had retired from the V&A in 1924 and had moved on to the royal art collection by 1928.(50)

The fragment now no longer fits easily within the professed curatorial boundaries of the Victoria and Albert museum, which exclude pre-Islamic Middle Eastern sculpture. This prompts us to consider how the meanings of the site on the one hand and the collections on the other have drifted or crystallised since 1916. Persepolis in 1916 was still a universal presence on the cultural horizon, a position it inherited from before the discovery of the Assyrian palaces in the mid-19th century. A young subaltern, an acting captain from the Indian Cavalry, who found himself drinking with a former Oxford don on the verandah of Shepheard’s Hotel in Cairo in October 1918, could dream of following ‘the old Susa Persepolis road one day, by Ahwaz, Bebehaw, and Ram Hormuz. He wanted to know if it would take him near the Dashtiarzan Valley, where he had heard there was the best ibex-shooting in Persia.’(51) The early history of the South Kensington collections has been portrayed as an unstable triangulation of ideas of education, art and applied skill, ‘a bazaar or emporium, with new products arriving and departing all the time’.(52) Ironically, the Persepolis fragment arrived in the Museum at a point of redefinition and consolidation, as Cecil Harcourt-Smith defined departmental curatorship by craft and material. As a probable product of British engagement with Qajar as well as ancient Iran in the 19th century, the relief represents a personal and institutional acquisitiveness towards culture that developed alongside industry and empire. Now one of a ‘procession of objects from peripheries to centre [which] symbolically enacted the idea of London as the heart of empire’ the Achaemenid subject, removed from its original hierarchy, became a tributary of the new imperium.(53) The biographical silence before 1915 circumstantially links the piece to a pre-war, 19th-century historical landscape. The V&A’s stray Persepolitan may, therefore, be imaginatively restored to both of its formative eras. Its first was a multilayered court in perpetual motion, evoked in Achaemenid architectural sculpture in its second, it became both a personal and political, imaginatory and sentimental possession, against a background of fast-expanding historical knowledge.

1. Museum no. A.13-1916. The relief was discovered by Mariam Rosser-Owen of the Asia Department, who first identified the piece, and facilitated my access to it. Ed Bottoms of the Architectural Association shared his knowledge of the archives of the Royal Architectural Museum and Architectural Association, and Miranda McLaughlan of V&A Images gave invaluable support in obtaining new photographs of the relief.

2. R.D. Barnett, ‘Persepolis,’ Iraq 19 (1957), 55-77, L. Van den Berghe, Archéologie de l'Iran ancien (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1959) and Michael Roaf, ‘Checklist of Persepolis reliefs not at the site,’ Iran 25 (1987), 155-8 are subject to ongoing revision for example, Alexander Nagel, ‘Appendix 1: Catalogue of Selected Relief Fragments from Persepolis in Non-Iranian Museum Collections,’ Colors, Gilding and Painted Motifs in Persepolis: Approaching the Polychromy of Achaemenid Persian Architectural Sculpture, c. 520 - 330 BCE (PhD Dissertation, University of Michigan, 2010) includes some newly-found pieces.

3. Margaret Cool Root, The King and Kingship in Achaemenid Art, Acta Iranica Textes et Mémoires, vol. IX (Leiden: E.J. Brill:, 1979).

4. Ann Britt Tilia, Studies and restorations at Persepolis and other sites of Fars, vol. 1 (Rome: IsMEO, 1972), 54-5, 262 Charles K. Wilkinson, ‘The Achaemenian Remains at Qaṣr-i-Abu Naṣr,’ Journal of Near Eastern Studies 24, 4 (1965): 341-5 André Godard ‘Persépolis: Le Tatchara,’ Syria T. 28, Fasc.1/2 (1951): 68.

5. Cornelius de Bruijn, Travels into Muscovy, Persia, and part of the East-Indies. Containing an accurate description of whatever is most remarkable in those countries (London: 1737), vol. 1, Preface and vol. 2, figs. 137-42 on the ‘excavations’ of 1811 behind the first public display, see John Curtis ‘A Chariot Scene from Persepolis,’ Iran 36 (1998): 45-51 the post-1920s exodus occurred via dealers and is more difficult to trace: Lindsay Allen, ‘The Persepolis diaspora in North American museums: from architecture to art’ (paper presented at the annual meeting of the American Schools of Oriental Research, New Orleans LA, USA, November 18 - 21, 2009), e.g. Ananda Coomaraswamy ‘A Relief from Persepolis,’ Bulletin of the Museum of Fine Arts XXXI, 184 (1933): 225.

6. Ann Britt Tilia, ‘A study on the methods of working and restoring stone and on the parts left unfinished in Achaemenian architecture and sculpture,’ East and West 18 (1968): 67-95 Ann Britt Tilia, Studies and restorations at Persepolis and other sites of Fars, vol. 1 (Rome: IsMEO, 1972), 243 n. 3 Tracy Sweek and St John Simpson, ‘An unfinished Achaemenid sculpture from Persepolis,’ The British Museum Technical Research Bulletin (London: British Museum Press, 2009): 83-8.

7. Alexander Nagel, Colors, Gilding and Painted Motifs in Persepolis: Approaching the Polychromy of Achaemenid Persian Architectural Sculpture, c. 520 - 330 BCE (PhD Dissertation, University of Michigan, 2010) Janet Ambers and St John Simpson, ‘Some pigment identifications for objects from Persepolis,’ ARTA 2005.002 (January, 2005): 1-13.

8. In 1917, the author of the acquisitions summary in the museum ‘Review’ was alert to traces of colour on the medieval fragments, but no visible colour was noted on the relief itself, [Maclagan] ‘Sculpture,’ Review of the principal acquisitions during the year 1915 (Westminster: Victoria and Albert Museum, 1919).

9. Judith Lerner, ‘Three Achaemenid ‘Fakes’: a Re-evaluation in the Light of 19th century Iranian Architectural Sculpture,’ Expedition (1980, winter): 5-16.

10. A. Labrousse and R. Boucharlat, ‘La fouille du palais du Chaour à Suse en 1970 et 1971,’ Cahiers de la Délégation Archéologique Française en Iran 2, 61-167 Wouter Henkelman, ‘The Achaemenid Heartland: An Archaeological-Historical Perspective,’ in A Companion to the Archaeology of the Ancient Near East, ed. D.T. Potts (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012), 931-962.

11. A site known as ‘Palace H’ containing parts from an earlier ‘Palace G’ and others: Ann Britt Tilia, ‘Recent Discoveries at Persepolis,’ American Journal of Archaeology 81, 1 (Winter, 1977):77 Ann Britt Tilia, Studies and restorations at Persepolis and other sites of Fars, vol.1 (Rome: IsMEO: 1972), 253-258.

12. i) Palace or ‘tachara’ of Darius I, southern stairway, west flight, northern wall: Erich Schmidt Persepolis, vol. 1 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1953), pl.134A & C ii) Same structure, west stairs, north flight, eastern wall: ibid., pl. 152 & 156D iii) Palace of Xerxes I, western stairway, north flight, eastern wall: ibid., pl. 163A iv) Same structure, eastern stairway, lower south flight, western wall: ibid., pl. 169A v) Same structure, eastern stairway, upper north flight, western wall: ibid., pl. 168A. Reused ‘attendant’ reliefs also featured in the structure of ‘Palace H’, Ann Britt Tilia, Studies and restorations at Persepolis and other sites of Fars, vol.1 (Rome: IsMEO, 1972), figs. 95 & 152.

13. For the relative dating of these structures, see Michael Roaf, ‘Sculptures and Sculptors at Persepolis,’ Iran XXI (1983): 138-141.

14. Erich Schmidt, Persepolis, vol. 1 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1953), pl. 169.

15. Eugene Flandin and Pascal Coste, Voyage en Perse (Paris: 1851), pls. 132 and 134.

16. ‘T.S.’, ‘A Relief from Persepolis,’ Bulletin of the Associates in Fine Arts at Yale University, vol. 6 (1933): 6-8.

17. A. Mousavi, Ancient Near Eastern Art at the Los Angeles Museum of Art (Los Angeles: 2013) E.H. Peck, ‘Achaemenid Relief Fragments from Persepolis,’ Bulletin of the Detroit Institute of Arts 79, 1/2 (2005): 20‐33.

18. F.C. Andreas and F. Stolze, Persepolis, die Achaemenidischen und Sasanidischen Denkmäler und Inschriften von Persepolis, Istakhr, Pasargadae, Shahpur, vols. 1 and 2 (Berlin: 1882).

19. Erich Schmidt, Persepolis, vol.1 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1953), pl. 163A. A ragged break across the torso of the fifteenth figure from the bottom in this plate shows the kind of partial removal that occurred in our case.

20. Margaret Cool Root, The King and Kingship in Achaemenid Art, Acta Iranica Textes et Mémoires, vol. IX (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1979), 279-282. The tunic and trousers costume is sometimes referred to as ‘Median’ due to its similarity to the costume worn by those ethnic representatives on some of the reliefs.

21. Sophy Downes, The Aesthetics of Empire in Athens and Persia (PhD dissertation, University of London, 2011), 97 and 103.

22. Pierre Briant, Wouter Henkelman and Matthew Stolper eds. L’archive des Fortifications de Persépolis, Persika 12 (Paris: Éditions de Boccard, 2008).

23. On benefit envisaged in royal encounters see Lindsay Allen, ‘Le roi imaginaire: an audience with the Achaemenid king,’ in Imaginary Kings: Royal Images in the Ancient Near East, Greece and Rome, Oriens et Occidens 11 (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2005).

24. Strachey, An Account of a Profile Figure in Basso Relievo, from the Ruins of Persepolis, in a letter from Richard Strachey, Esq. In the Suite of Captain Malcolm (London: 1804) British Museum Prints and Drawings 1880, 0110.127). The relief was sold at auction in 1986, and its current whereabouts are unknown.

25. Zainab Bahrani, ‘Assault and Abduction: the Fate of the Royal Image in the Ancient Near East,’ Art History 18, 3 (1995): 362-382.

26. William Park, The Vale of Esk (Edinburgh and London: William Blackwood & Sons, 1833). 25. The fragment in question was sent back to his family home by Sir John Malcolm in 1810 and is now in the National Museum of Scotland (1950.138).

27. James Fergusson, The Palaces of Nineveh and Persepolis restored an essay on ancient Assyrian and Persian architecture (London: 1851) John Ussher A Journey from London to Persepolis (London: Hurst and Blackett, 1865), 540.

28. Victor Bonney, ‘Sutton, Sir John Bland, first baronet (1855–1936),’ rev. Roger Hutchins, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/36377 [accessed 15 March 2013]. Bland-Sutton’s inspiration was more biblical than classical, since Susa was most famous as the setting for the drama of the Book of Esther. The unnumbered V&A cast is one of at least two pieces to survive, the other being in the British Museum (object no. 122136A), see Simpson, ‘Cyrus Cylinder: Display and Replica,’ The Cyrus Cylinder: the king of Persia’s proclamation from ancient Babylon, ed. I. Finkel (London: IB Tauris, 2013), 83 n.1 and fig. 26.

29. [Maclagan] ‘Sculpture’, Review of the principal acquisitions during the year 1915 (Westminster: Victoria and Albert Museum, 1919), 2.

30. R. Murdoch Smith, Persian Art (Pub. for the Committee of Council on Education by Chapman and Hall: London, 1876) Denis Wright, The English Amongst the Persians during the Qajar Period 1787 - 1921 (London: Heinemann, 1977), 134-5.

31. R. Stronach, ‘Smith, Sir Robert Murdoch (1835 - 1900),’ rev. Roger T. Stearn, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford: 2004), www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/25896 [accessed December 14, 2011] M. Rubin, ‘The Telegraph, Espionage, and Cryptology in Nineteenth Century Iran,’ Cryptologia 25:1 (2001): 23.

32. Persepolis fragments: object nos. 1887.566-571, Edinburgh Museum of Science and Art (now National Museums Scotland) Register of Museum Specimens, 1884.80.315R to 1888.410, 291f. Nos. 568-571 were sold during and just after the Second World War. At least one of the fragments came from the south-west corner of the site, which Cecil Harcourt-Smith described in detail in his report. For the rest of the ‘Achaemenid’ collection in Edinburgh, see Major-Gen. Sir R. Murdoch Smith, Edinburgh Museum of Science and Art: Guide to the Persian Collection in the Museum (Edinburgh: Stationery Office, 1896), 6.

33. On the administration of the Departmental Museums from South Kensington, see Clive Wainwright, ‘The making of the South Kensington Museum I: The Government Schools of Design and the founding collection, 1837 - 51,’ Journal of the History of Collections 14 (2002), 6.

34. For the response to these walls in Paris, see Alexander Nagel Colors, Gilding and Painted Motifs in Persepolis: Approaching the Polychromy of Achaemenid Persian Architectural Sculpture, c. 520 - 330 BCE (PhD Dissertation, University of Michigan, 2010), 81.

35. British Museum, archives of the Department of Greek and Roman Antiquities, Minute Books, report of Cecil Smith Oct 6th 1887, 127. On the results of his recommendations, see St John Simpson, ‘Bushire and Beyond: Some Early Archaeological Discoveries in Iran,’ in From Persepolis to the Punjab, ed. Elizabeth Errington and Vesta Sarkhosh Curtis (London: British Museum Press, 2007), and Herbert Weld Blundell, ‘Persepolis,’ Transactions of the Ninth International Congress of Orientalists (London, September 5 - 12, 1892) vol. II (London: 1892), 537-59.

36. Cecil Harcourt-Smith, Catalogue of Casts of Sculptures from Persepolis and the neighbourhood, illustrating the art of the old Persian Empire, from 550 - 340 B.C. ( London: Harrison & Sons, undated).

37. Terence C. Mitchell, ‘The Persepolis Sculptures in the British Museum,’ Iran 38 (2000): 53.

38. J.R. Preece, Exhibition of Persian Art & Curios: The collection formed by J.R. Preece… at the Vincent Robinson Galleries (London: 1913)

39. V&A Archive, MA/1/A772/8, nominal file: Architecture Association.

40. Ed Bottoms, ‘The Royal Architectural Museum in the light of new documentary evidence,’ Journal of the History of Collections (2007): 1-25.

41. Seddon did not mind the lack of Oriental models, because ‘the character of this Oriental art has always been conventional and stereotyped […] and divorced from that intellectual freedom which has been the mainspring of the arts in the West.’ J.P. Seddon, Caskets of Jewels: A Visit to the Architectural Museum, Our own casket (Westminster: Published at the Architectural Museum, 1884).

42. Royal Architectural Museum archives, 03/03/01.

43. V&A Archive, MA/1/A772/8, nominal file: Architecture Association. Letters of 12 and 16 November, 1915.

44. Archaeological Association Minute Book, 1913 - 1916.

45. V&A Archive, MA/1/A772/8, nominal file: Architecture Association.

46. Percy Sykes, ‘South Persia and the Great War,’ The Geographical Journal, 58 (1921), 106-107.

47. ‘with a dash of Kitchener.’ Clarmont Skrine, quoted by Antony Wynn, Persia in the Great Game: Sir Percy Sykes, Explorer, Consul, Soldier, Spy (London: John Murray, 2003), 270. Persepolis was previously ‘occupied’ by British Indian forces during 1911 - 12 in the wake of unrest in Shiraz and Isfahan, Ibid., 253. A large graffito commemorates the Central India Horse on the monumental gateway.

48. W.K. Dickson, The Life of Major-General Sir Robert Murdoch Smith KCMG (Edinburgh and London: Blackwood & Sons, 1901), 295.

49. Royal Academy of Arts, Catalogue of the International Exhibition of Persian Art, 2nd edition (London: Royal Academy of Arts, 1931), 5, cat. 2. The exhibition included a new fragment donated to the Fitzwilliam Museum in 1927: R. Nicholls and M. Roaf, ‘A Persepolis Relief in the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge,’ Iran, 15 (1977): 146-152. On the British Museum’s galleries, see S. Simpson, ‘Cyrus Cylinder Display and Replica,’ in The Cyrus Cylinder: the king of Persia’s proclamation from ancient Babylon, ed. I. Finkel ( London: IB Tauris, 2013), 69-84.

50. J. Laver, ‘Smith, Sir Cecil Harcourt- (1859 - 1944),’ rev. Dennis Farr, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/33694 [accessed January 5, 2012]

51. A Correspondent, ‘The Adventurous East: Lions and Men,’ The Times, October 3, 1918, 11 column C.

52. Bruce Robertson, ‘The South Kensington Museum in context: an alternative history,’ Museum and Society 2 (2004): 9.

53. Tim Barringer, ‘The South Kensington Museum and the colonial project,’ in Colonialism and the Object: Empire, Material Culture and the Museum, ed. Tim Barringer and Tom Flynn (London: Routledgel, 1991), 11-12.

Why October 31st Matters in Rock History

It’s October 31st and here are some reasons why this day matters in rock history:

In 1992, ABC aired a special called Halloween Jam at Universal Studios, which featured performances from AC/DC, Ozzy Osbourne, Slaughter and The Black Crowes.

In 1996, Slash announced he was no longer in Guns N’ Roses. He was quoted as saying that Axl Rose and he had only spoken to each other on two occasions since 1994.

In 1993, Red Hot Chili Peppers bassist Flea spent the night at The Viper Room with his friend actor River Phoenix. While the rocker was performing with Johnny Depp inside, River collapsed outside. Flea found out and left the stage to be with Phoenix, riding with him to the hospital where River died due to drugs.

In 1970, Led Zeppelin started a four-week run on top of the album charts with Led Zeppelin III.

In 1990, during a Seattle gig Billy Idol dumped 600 dead fish in supporting band Faith No More’s dressing room. They responded by walking onstage naked during his set.

And in 1998, Kiss kicked off their Psycho-Circus Tour with a Halloween extravaganza in LA.

Our Familiar and Institutional Contribution for Dominican Republic Council for Economy and Health

Juan Pablo Duarte, Oil portrait by the Dominican painter Abelardo Rodríguez Urdaneta.

(January 26, 1813 – July 15, 1876)[1]

and liberal politician who was one of

the "founding fathers" of the Dominican Republic.


As one of the most celebrated figures in

Dominican history, Duarte is considered


a folk hero and revolutionary visionary in the modern Dominican Republic, who along with Francisco del Rosario Sánchez and Matías Ramón Mella, organized and promoted the movement, a secret society known as La Trinitaria, that

eventually led to the Dominican revolt and

independence FROM HAITIAN RULE

from Haitian rule in 1844


and the start of a decennial Dominican

Duarte helped inspire and finance


the Dominican War of Independence,



paying a heavy toll which would eventually ruin him financially.


His liberal views made him a controversial figure among conservative and powerful Dominicans of the time,


Oand he was exiled on numerous occasions

after the founding of the new nation.

His liberal views went against the conservative

elites who sought for heavy-handed control

of the nation, and wanted to


maintain the traditional regionalisms of the past.

Duarte had strong disagreements with the

republic's first president, Pedro Santana,


as Santana was a tyrannical figure.

Ultimately, Duarte would spend many years

away from the nation he helped shape and


made him a political martyr


in the eyes of subsequent generations.

1 Early years
2 The struggle for independence
3 Legacy and honors
4 See also
5 Notes
6 References
7 External links.

Duarte was born on 26 January 1813

in Santo Domingo, Captaincy General


during the period commonly called España Boba.

In his memoirs, the trinitarian

José María Serra de Castro described Duarte

4.golden hair that contrasted with his thick,

was dedicated to maritime trade and


hardware in the port area of Santo Domingo.[3]

His father was Juan José Duarte Rodríguez,

1.A PENINSULAR a Peninsular


from Vejer de la Frontera,

and his mother was Manuela Díez Jiménez

Captaincy General of Santo Domingo


grandparents were Europeans.[a]

Duarte had 9 siblings: his eldest brother,

Vicente Celestino Duarte (1802�),

a tall, long-haired brunette man, was a

woodcutter and cattle rancher

who was born in Mayagüez, Puerto Rico

one of Duarte's sisters was

Rosa Protomártir Duarte (1820�),


a performer who collaborated with him


within the Independence movement.

In 1802 the Duarte FAMILY MIGRATED

from Santo Domingo to Mayagüez,



They were evading the unrest caused

by the Haitian Revolution in the island.


Many Dominican families left the island during this period.[6]

Toussaint Louverture, governor of Saint-Domingue (now Haiti), a former colony of France located on the western third of Hispaniola,[7][8]


arrived to the capital of Santo Domingo, located on the island's eastern two-thirds,


and proclaimed the end of slavery

(although the changes were not permanent).

At the time, France and Saint-Domingue

(the western third of the island), were going through exhaustive social movements, namely, the French Revolution and the Haitian Revolution.


In occupying the Spanish side of the island


L'Ouverture was using as a pretext

of France and Spain in the


Peace of Basel signed in 1795,


which had given the Spanish area to France.

Upon arrival in Santo Domingo, Louverture immediately sought to abolish slavery in Dominican territory, although complete abolition of slavery in Santo Domingo


came with renewed Haitian presence in early 1822.

Puerto Rico was still a Spanish colony,

and Mayagüez, being so close to Hispaniola,


just across the Mona Passage,


had become a refuge for wealthy migrants


from Santo Domingo like the Duartes

and other native born on the Spanish side


who did not accept Haitian rule.

Most scholars assume that the Duartes' first son, Vicente Celestino, was born here at this time on


eastern side of the Mona Passage.

The family returned to Santo Domingo


after the Spanish reconquest of Santo Domingo.


Duarte enrolled in Manuel Aybar's school

where he learned reading, writing, grammar and arithmetic.


He was a disciple of Dr. Juan Vicente Moscoso


from whom he obtained his higher education

in Latin, philosophy and law,



due to the closure of the university

by the Haitian authorities.

After the exile of Dr. Moscoso to Cuba,



his role was continued by the priest Gaspar Hernández.

Ancestors of Juan Pablo Duarte
The struggle for independence


La Trinitaria was the organizer

of the formation and independence

of the Dominican Republic.


when Duarte was eight years old,


members of a Creole elite of Santo Domingo's


capital proclaimed its independence

from Spanish rule, calling themselves

Historians today call this elite's brief

courtship with sovereignty the

The most prominent leader of the

coup against Spanish colonial government

was one of its former supporters,

These individuals were tired of being ignored by the Crown, and some were also concerned with the new liberal turn in Madrid.

Their deed was not an isolated event.


The 1820s was a time of profound political

changes throughout the entire Spanish Atlantic


which affected directly the lives of petite bourgeoisie

It began with the conflictive period between Spanish royalists and liberals in the Iberian Peninsula, which is known today as the


Trienio Liberal. American patriots in arms,

like Simón Bolívar in South America,

immediately reaped the fruits of Spain's

destabilization, and began pushing

Even conservative elites in New Spain

(like Agustín de Iturbide in Mexico), who

had no intention of being ruled by


moved to break ties with the crown in Spain.

Oil portrait of Juan Pablo Duarte. Exact replica of the only photograph that is preserved of him.
Many others in Santo Domingo wanted independence from Spain for reasons much closer to home. Inspired by the revolution and independence on the island, Dominicans mounted a number of different movements and conspiracies in the period from 1809-1821 against slavery and colonialism.[9] Several towns asked for Haiti to help with Dominican independence weeks before the experiment of Haití Español even began.[10]

The Cáceres provisional government requested support from Simón Bolivar's new government,


but their petition was ignored


given the internal conflicts of the Gran Colombia.[11] .

Meanwhile, a plan for unification with Haiti grew stronger. Haitian politicians wanted to keep the island out of the hands of European imperial powers and thus a way to safeguard the Haitian Revolution[citation needed].

Haiti's President Jean-Pierre Boyer


that took over the eastern portion of Hispaniola.

Haiti then abolished slavery there once and for all,


and occupied and absorbed Santo Domingo

into the Republic of Haiti.

Struggles between Boyer and the old colonial


helped produce a migration of planters and elite.


It also led to the closing of the university.


Following the bourgeoisie

promising sons abroad for education,


the Duartes sent Juan Pablo to the United States

and Europe in 1828[citation needed].

Statue of Duarte in Juan Pablo Duarte Square, New York City
On July 16, 1838, Duarte and others established a secret patriotic society called La Trinitaria, which helped undermine Haitian occupation.

Some of its first members included Juan Isidro Pérez, Pedro Alejandro Pina, Jacinto de la Concha, Félix María Ruiz, José María Serra, Benito González, Felipe Alfau, and Juan Nepomuceno Ravelo.


Later, Duarte and others founded

a society called La Filantrópica,


which had a more public presence,


seeking to spread veiled ideas of liberation


through theatrical stages.

All of this, along with the help of many who

wanted to be rid of the Haitians

who ruled over Dominicans led to the

proclamation of independence

(Dominican War of Independence).

However, Duarte HAD BEEN EXILED

had already been exiled to Caracas, Venezuela


the previous year for his insurgent conduct.

He continued to correspond with members

of his family and members of the

independence movement[citation needed].

Independence could not be denied



and after many struggles, the Dominican Republic


A republican form of government was established where a free people would hold ultimate power


and, through the voting process, would give

rise to a democracy where every citizen would,

in theory, be equal and free.

Duarte was supported by many as a candidate for the presidency of the new-born Republic.

Mella wanted Duarte to simply declare himself president.


of democracy and fairness by which he lived,


would only accept if voted in by a majority

of the Dominican people[citation needed].


Duarte had a definite concept of the


Dominican nation and its members.

His conception of a republic was that of

a republican, anticolonial, liberal and progressive patriot.


he drafted a draft constitution

that clearly states that the

without excluding or giving predominance

to any. However, the forces of those favoring


Spanish sovereignty as protection


from continued Haitian threats and invasions,

led by general Pedro Santana,

a large landowner from the eastern lowlands,


took over and exiled Duarte. In 1845,


Santana exiled the entire Duarte family.

After more but unsuccessful Haitian invasions,

internal disorder, and his and others’ misrule,



Santana turned the country back

into a colony of Spain in 1861,

was awarded the HEREDITARY TITLE


hereditary title of Marquess of Las Carreras

by the Spanish Queen Isabella II, and died

Duarte's family in Venezuela

did not do too badly, they lived and worked

in an affluent area.[citation needed]

Duarte's cousin Manuel Diez became


Vice President of the country and helped shelter his kinsman.[citation needed]


Duarte's family was known to produce candles,

this was a major retail and wholesale product

since light bulbs for lighting had not been invented yet. While not luxuriously rich an income was available for the Duarte's.[citation needed]


Juan Pablo being a man of action as well of a high level of curiosity went off to live in the Venezuela, there he had some contacts and he made off to meet with them. The Venezuela of this period was wracked by a series of civil wars and internal dissensions. Duarte even though he and his family were already by this time residents of the country, still felt ambivalent about openly participating in the country's political life, all this despite the fact that the aforementioned cousin Manuel Antonio Díez from the Vice Presidency, went on to become President of Venezuela in an Ad Tempore capacity.

Duarte travels in Venezuela


involved studying the indigenous people's


S and learning from the black and mulatto communities as well as observing as much as he could of the Venezuela of his time.




Duarte was an extremely educated man, fluent in many languages, he was a former soldier and teacher.


These abilities helped him survive

and thrive in those places he travelled.


marked him as an outsider,


since he came from a caribbean country

he probably sounded much different than most of the Spanish speakers around him.[citation needed] However Santo Domingo and the Republic


that he had helped father


were also highly likely always

close to his heart and his mind.

So he was very much a man divided

1., excited and deeply moved

2.by the current surroundings, people's

3. and events around him, however

about his beloved land and people


whom he sacrificed so much for.

A man in a contemplative mood,


wounded by the drastic expulsion


would have very little time

children or true stability.

Only known photo of Juan Pablo Duarte.

Taken by the Venezuelan photographer

Prospero Agustín Rey Medrero

Duarte, then living in Venezuela,


was made the Dominican Consul


and provided with a pension


to honor him for his sacrifice.

But even this after some time


was not honored and he lost commission and pension.

the poet, philosopher, writer, actor, soldier, general, dreamer and hero

His remains were transferred to

ironically, by president and dictator Ulises Heureaux,


and given a proper burial with full honors.

He is entombed in a beautiful mausoleum,

at the Count's Gate (Puerta del Conde),

alongside Sanchez and Mella,

who at that spot fired the rifle shot


that propelled them into legend.

Juan Pablo Duarte memorial, Roger Williams Park, Providence, Rhode Island
Duarte's birth is commemorated by Dominicans every January 26.
A memorial to Duarte stands in Roger Williams Park in Providence, Rhode Island[12]
A bronze statue to Duarte was erected at the intersection of 6th Avenue and Canal Street in New York City in 1978.[13]
St. Nicholas Avenue in Manhattan is co-named Juan Pablo Duarte Boulevard from Amsterdam Avenue and West 162nd Street to the intersection of West 193rd Street and Fort George Hill.[14]
See also
History of the Dominican Republic


His paternal grandparents were

Manuel Duarte Jiménez and


Ana María Rodríguez de Tapia,


both from Vejer de la Frontera


His maternal grandparents were

and Rufina Jiménez Benítez,

"Juan Pablo Duarte Biography". Biography.com. 2010. Archived from the original on 2010-09-11. Retrieved 2010-07-26.
Serra, José María (1887). Apuntes para la historia de los trinitarios. Santo Domingo: Imprenta García Hermanos.
Mendez Mendez, Serafin (2003). "Juan Pablo Duarte". Notable Caribbeans and Caribbean Americans: A Biographical Dictionary. Greenwood Publishing Group. p. 148. ISBN 0313314438.
González Hernández, Julio Amable (23 October 2015). "Los ancestros de Juan Pablo Duarte". Cápsulas Genealógicas en Areíto (in Spanish). Instituto Dominicano de Genealogía. Archived from the original on 12 July 2012. Retrieved 6 January 2015.
Deive, Carlos Esteban (1989).


Las emigraciones Dominicanas a Cuba,

1795-1808. Santo Domingo: Fundación Cultural Dominicana.
"Hispaniola Article". Britannica.com. Retrieved 4 January 2014.
"Dominican Republic 2014". Retrieved 24 April 2014.
Lora Hugi, Quisqueya.

Mackenzie, Charles (1830). Notes on Haiti made during a residence in that republic. London: Henry Coleburn and Richard Bentley. p. 235.
"Venezuela tiene deuda histórica con Haití".
"Historic Figure: Juan Pablo Duarte - Providence, RI". Photo-Ops. 14 November 2016. Retrieved 19 April 2017.
"Duarte Square". NYC Parks. NYC Parks Department. Retrieved 19 April 2017.

Mayor Giuliani Signs Bill That Names Section of St. Nicholas Avenue


in Honor of Juan Pablo Duarte" (Press release). New York City Mayor's Office. February 22, 2000. Retrieved 2010-05-29.
External links
Haggerty, Richard A., ed. (1989). Dominican Republic: A country study. Federal Research Division. Haiti and Santo Domingo.
Authority control Edit this at Wikidata
BNE: XX911147BNF: cb121298352 (data)GND: 105472864XISNI: 0000 0000 5956 7862LCCN: n50032278SUDOC: 029739004VIAF: 75095386WorldCat Identities (via VIAF): 75095386
Categories: 1813 births1876 deathsPeople from Santo DomingoDominican Republic people of Spanish descent19th-century Dominican Republic poetsDominican Republic male poetsCaribbean writersHistory of the Dominican RepublicDuarte ProvincePeople of the Dominican War of Independence19th-century male writersDominican Republic emigrants to VenezuelaFlag designersIndependence activists
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