Silver Filigree Dog Tags by Lindsay Zike

Lindsay Zike, Collection of Service Dog Tags, Fine and Sterling Silver, 2015 (Private Collection). [Pin on Pinterest]

A simple piece of machine-pressed aluminum, nearly identical to millions of others. A practical solution to a grim problem; just before the turn of the last century it became apparent to the Quartermaster of Identification, Capt. Chaplain Charles C. Pierce, that the fighting in the Philippines had left the Army with too many unidentified fallen. His solution was to outfit each solider with an identity disk made of cheap pressed aluminum. A few years before the US entered the Great War the Army adopted this policy, and with a few minor design changes the modern dog tag came into existence.

Over the years the dog tag has become an icon of the military. In the movies the visual symbolism to indicate that a character was, at any time, associated with the service is the ever-present dog tags around their necks. Personally, a decade after my service ended, I still carry mine with me every day. So associated with the military, the dog tags have also became a symbol of bad-ass-ness; every wannabe, from Justin Bieber to the armchair commandos that answer the call of duty with a controller in their hands have a far nicer set than those in my pocket.

The Study of History

The following is a statement of my personal understanding of the study of History, and how it relates to the past, relics, collective memories, and the meaning of the past.

1. History is the study of the past.
2. The past is a set of events that occurred previous to the present.
3. Events can leave evidence, which is known as relics.
4. Not all events create relics.
5. The relation that makes a relic historically significant is that it was affected by the past in a way that could bear meaning.
6. Human-created relics can bear meaning.
7. Relics act as symbols for bundles of meanings.
8. The relation between the bundles of meanings associated with relics and the past is determined by collectives of individuals.
9. The collectives normalize meaning amongst themselves via communication about the remembered past.
10. Collectives are determined by some aspect of commonality.
    1. Degrees of difference can remove individuals from identifiable collectives.
    2. Collectives are not necessarily inclusive or exclusive.
       

The Fog Of The Mind

     On the blank canvas of imagination I sat myself down in a comfortable antique wicker chair next to a large metal and wooden trunk, relics of my own family's past. The chair, my great grandmother's, restored time and again; the trunk her mother used to cross the Great Plains, and then left to collect dust, forgotten in an attic for generations. Although the poor condition of the wood leaves it little more than a display piece, carefully opening the lid shows it to be filled with treasures unbounded. It holds memories. Here it is a place where, from time to time, new old books, musty with age, are sorted, arranged, and conscientiously stored for some future time. Here, in a place of quite reflection, a cabin of the mind, a cozy crackling fire, a warm drink, and tomes enough to occupy a lifetime surrounds. Here is a space for all things to live again.

Through the frosty window a low bank of fog made its long procession across the valley, consuming each tree, building, and feature of the landscape. It was the time of year when this kind of weather was not uncommon. The echoes of long-distant actions roll along in the bank making it harder to distinguish just how far off they were. As I watched the last of trees slipping from view, the distance of here now, and there then was pulled behind the icy blanket. The wicker and the wood take their place in history, living in the past only to be shown in the present.

     Turning to family album, I leafed through the pages of dead-eyed portraits, slices of time without the slightest bit of context. Here a sailor, his white-hat cocked to the side, there a babe in the arms of a mother. They have no names, only the slightest hint of lives that were once theirs. The family album, long ago divided in two—one book of sepia photographs, and one of ink and pencil—separated from one another. The fog had reached the door.