MY ROAD TRIPS: The National WWI Museum

Matt and I went to the National WWI Museum in Kansas City.

The Liberty Memorial in Kansas City is a limestone structure that thrusts itself into the Kansas City skyline with the grace, determination and raging pride long since forgotten by its brother-in-spirit, the Washington Monument. Indeed, the Washington Monument is so engrain in pop culture, via dirty humor, that reiteration would be redundant if not wholly confusing. The Washington Monument is just an example of the obelisk architectural genre and by the same revelation, Chuck Norris jokes have very little to do with Chuck Norris. 


Regardless, in an attack on originality, many lifeless jokes surround the Liberty Memorial. Hilariously, the Liberty Memorial is not even technically an obelisk, but rather more cylinder—and I suppose such details are not so much “hilarious” as they are “tedious.”

-When you’re ready to come back down, press the button by the lift, said the elevator operator as we reached the top.

-Don’t worry, I said back, I brought my parachute today.

-Oh don’t do that, he said before going back down—immediately unwilling to talk me down from such dare devil antics.

It wasn’t until some time later that I was able to reflect on the Liberty Memorial at all, as I spent most of my time at the viewing balcony crushing Kansas City skyscrapers with my fingers. I roared and watched a five-legged, spider-like monster crush the Sprint Center and climb the Power and Light Building. Other observers left me alone and a small child started crying. Even in my fantasy, those people were safe so I can’t imagine what the problem was.

The 360-degree view was nice, but not entirely for why I was expecting.

There’s an old joke that goes, “In Kansas, you can watch your dog run away from home for two days. If you stand on top of a phone book, you can watch for three days.” Basically, an expansive view is nothing new. Every town east of Abilene has a suitable hill to stand-in as a “make-out point,” drug rendezvous or the occasional combination of the two. 


What was unique about the Liberty Memorial view was that there was something to look at. My imaginary hand monster had something to crush. Also, the Liberty Memorial was more unique than your average mound of dirt because underneath it sat the National World War I Museum and a more fun two hours spent than any of the last handful of movies I have braved my way through.

Above the entrance, two large stone sphinxes cower and cover their eyes from one another. A short investigation led to the museum’s explanation that the one facing East shrouds its face from the horrors of the past; while the mirroring sphinx, facing West, shields its face to symbolize the unseen future. 


My friend on this excursion, Matt, seemed impressed by the answer but I felt a nagging blip on my bullshit detector. Yeah, okay, I said, I’ll accept the museum’s explanation; art and obscurity are common bedfellows. Still, why would two identical statues supposedly convey two nearly opposite sentiments? Just as easily, there are mysteries in our past and horrors in our future.

Entering the museum was like entering a cave as we were forced to surrender all natural light. We purchased tickets for the museum in the gift shop, which seemed oddly inefficient at first. Generally, gift shops are set up to be a last destination for the patron—a place to solidify family memories in the only way our society knows how to do anything with any kind of confidence or energy anymore: by buying things. I suppose unlike presidential museums or Six Flags, this WWI museum is a bit more somber and so useless knick-knacks and T-shirts don’t lose or gain value after the forthcoming stroll.

On a small financial note, I’d recommend going to the museum on a Wednesday to take advantage of a two-for-one ticket special (one ticket normally running around $12). Also, there is a student discount but the following harassment from Missourian museum volunteers might not make it worth whipping out an old KU student ID. Literally, three museum workers, through various friendly/prying conversations, vocally disapproved of my educational history and historical education. Before long, the Mizzou fans had provided extra motivation for me to run into the dark halls in a desperate escape and join the WWI war effort.

Near the entrance, Matt and I crossed a glass bridge spanning a poppy flower garden beneath the last skylight for the self-guided tour. The garden was massive. Thousands of flowers. 9,000 flowers, we learned. Each flower represented 1,000 combat deaths during WWI. Wow, I thought out loud, war is kind of dark.

As expected, though perhaps necessary, the first section of the museum was a short video setting up the origins of a very underrated war. To me, World War II is just a younger brother who benefited from an absurd twenty-year technological boom. WWII is flashy, big and (relatively) simple—not unlike the highly popular “Star Wars” films. Even Bart Simpson once said, “There are no good wars…with the following exceptions: The Revolutionary War, World War Two and the Star Wars Trilogy.” And he was referring to the original trilogy for all you kids under the age of 13, who have never known the concept of ‘only’ three “Star Wars” films. A necessary digression.

The thought has also occurred to me that I’m just a history elitist; I am so unable to develop uniquely obscure music tastes that I have found and latched onto my favorite stories, characters and musings. Still, when the lights dimmed, I was excited.

The film was edited with a smooth grasp, exceeding the capabilities—or at least the confidence—of the History Channel. The modern intangibles were there, a nearly subconscious remainder that the museum is only six years old. Despite no real evidence to support my hope, I can only pray that the museum directors will create at least a new intro video every ten years so as to not cheapened the experience with dated film reels (ala the Dwight Eisenhower museum). History has to fight the stigma of dusty, impotent, nonsense. If that means adding a little MTV-style pepper to the production, then so be it--nothing will be lost. A secret handshake is worthless if it’s so complicated that only one person knows it. As is, the WWI video was more than competent.

At times, the video may have even been over-written. Nearly every line was dropped like a stone tablet, carved by modern day philosophers. “Peace is war at check,” the audience is told with a careful sigh. Is war the default relationship for humanity? The War on Poverty was interrupted by the Vietnam War, which exhausted itself and left room in the political landscape for a War on Drugs, Communism, Christmas, Terror, Libya, Women and the Upper Class.

To be continued...