Yes, the Mütter is creepy and the Wagner is spooky, but everybody knows about them (or should). For this issue, we wanted to dig deeper into the city’s well-hidden but curiously vital museum culture. Is that a thing? Not really. But we did manage to stumble upon some pretty weird stuff. The bucket of human teeth. The gun that automatically targeted grave robbers. The stuffed head of a Civil War hero. Lots of dead-eyed dolls. We took notes, snapped photos (lots more at citypaper.net/criticalmass), shooed away a hundred dust bunnies and endured a thousand horrible quaintnesses to bring you this story. We hope you enjoy. And now, this way to the ingress … —Patrick Rapa
Ryerss Museum and Library
Where: Burholme Park, 7370 Central Ave., 215-685-0544, ryerssmuseum.org
The Deal: Once the summer home of the globe-trotting, art-collecting Ryerss family, this majestic manse is now a city-owned museum resting in near obscurity (aka a park in the Northeast). Which is a shame, since it’s crowded with eclectic charms and treasures: Chinese devil statues and ivory spheres, European suits of armor, a dining room frozen in dreary Victorian splendor and a spooky little pet cemetery on the lawn. Likelihood that this place is haunted: 65 percent.
Star Attraction: All hail Snapper, the taxidermied American alligator, locked forever in an upright pose, his mouth agape in a rictus of glee-menace, his stubby arms offering up a tray on which visitors were once implored to place their calling cards. He’s on our cover — and on all the Ryerss’ pamphlets and T-shirts (only $8; yeah, I bought one). —Patrick Rapa
The Museum of Mourning Art at Arlington
Where: 2900 State Road, Drexel Hill, 610-259-5800, arlingtoncemetery.us/museum.asp
The Deal: It’s a beautifully sunny day at Arlington Cemetery (no, not that one), and I’m taking a tour of death and dying along with a woman who makes bracelets out of hair. Actually, it’s a lot more fun than it sounds, thanks to knowledgeable curator Elizabeth Wojcik and my fellow visitor, hair-work artist Lucy Cadwallader, who’s excited to see the largest known collection of mourning jewelry in the country. A phenomenon that began with the death of George Washington (think black ribbons and pins with his silhouette), mourning art became very popular, so much so that “family mourning stores” had popped up in cities like Boston and Philadelphia by the 19th century. Arlington’s collection also houses cemetery gates, clocks, bells, books, mourning attire and a funeral carriage adorned with a hatchment — a diamond-shaped emblem similar to a coat of arms, or, as Cadwallader observed, a sort of pictorial obituary. The symbolism is everywhere (weeping willows, skeletons, birds, lambs, ivy, never-ending paths) and the mythologies are fascinating (people were obsessed with the soul leaving the body, and various attempts to “catch” it). Wojcik is full of stories about the visitors who’ve come through the doors of the Mount Vernon-inspired building that houses this museum: students, historians, artists, medical professionals and a pediatric post-mortem photographer, as well as the terminally ill and the grieving — a testament to the collection’s universal appeal. Look for the museum to expand in the near future: The cemetery site, originally the home of abolitionist Thomas Garrett, has been recognized as a stop on the Underground Railroad and the museum has been acquiring related art and artifacts.
Star Attraction: Installed to ward off grave-robbing medical students in search of the freshest of bodies, the museum’s cemetery gun (circa 1710) is a rather crude, snub-nosed device that was rigged with trip wires and would pivot to fire in the direction of the trespasser. One too many an innocent mourner was killed, however, and the guns were eventually outlawed. —Lori Hill
Kornberg School of Dentistry’s Historical Dental Museum Collection
Where: In the Dr. and Mrs. Edwin Weaver III Historical Dental Museum, 3223 N. Broad St., 215-707-2803, temple.edu/dentistry
The Deal: This isn’t a museum so much as a series of glass cases full of antiquated hooks, drills, extraction keys and bloodletters just down the hall from where actual dentistry is being performed. As in: Patients have to walk past all this stuff on their way in.
Star Attraction: They probably think their coup de grâce is the ridiculous life-size diorama of a Victorian dentist’s office, complete with a smiling, dead-eyed dowager in the patient’s chair, the good doctor in the back brushing some dentures (for her?) and, piped in on an overhead speaker, the sound of teeth being scraped. Not kidding. But no, the simple horrors are often the most effective, and nothing can quite compare to the implied agony of Painless Parker’s bucket of teeth, which is, to be clear, a large wooden bucket about three-quarters full of gnarly, rooty human teeth. —Patrick Rapa
Shrine of St. John Neumann
Where: 1019 N. Fifth St., 215-627-3080, stjohnneumann.org
The Deal: Tucked away from plain sight, and a healthy distance from the grime of Girard Station, rests the actual body of an actual saint. For the devout, this is no secret, as evidenced by the crowd that gathered for noon Mass on a recent Saturday. But for the rest of us sinners, pagans and derelicts, any mention of something happening underneath a church is usually followed by “What time does the first band go on?” But seriously, the bones of St. John Neumann (1811-1860), fourth bishop of Philadelphia and first American citizen to reach sainthood, reside in Northern Liberties beneath St. Peter the Apostle Church. And they’re on display in a glass case. After reaching sainthood status in 1977, Neumann’s remains were exhumed and moved to center stage.
Star Attraction: Obviously, it’s St. John himself. A forensic specialist created a wax-based mask, and new robes were obtained to give it a life-like feel. On the perimeter, stained-glass windows provide CliffsNotes on the man’s life while a de facto exhibit displays ephemera and artifacts. None of this helps you forget the very small body with the facsimile face in the middle of the room. —Chris Brown
Insectarium
Where: 8046 Frankford Ave., 215-335-9500, myinsectarium.com
The Deal: Although it may not look very large, Northeast Philly’s Insectarium has boasted the nation’s largest insect collection since it was founded in 1992 by ex-exterminator Steve Kanya. Besides all the pinned-up specimens, the museum has a host of interactive features like a honeybee hive, a glow-in-the-dark scorpion and info stations focusing on bug minutiae (match the insect with the sound, stuff like that). The exhibits are worn-looking and could use some sprucing up, but that’s to be expected, since the main demographic is visiting school groups. The target audience can often be found squealing at the living exhibits and snacking on cheddar-flavored worms.
Star Attraction: No doubt, it’s the Cockroach Kitchen. In the center of the museum’s main room is what appears to be a serene-looking sink and set of cabinets inside a large glass case. Then the staff sprays some water inside, and innumerable cockroaches slowly emerge until the display looks like a Fear Factor challenge. —Jodi Bosin
The Grand Army of the Republic Museum and Library
Where: 4278 Griscom St., 215-289-6484, garmuslib.org
The Deal: It’s the biggest house on the block. That’s how you’ll know you’re there. The 18th-century, three-story brick house tucked away in a North Philly neighborhood has no signage, no flashing red arrows, but behind its unassuming facade, this Civil War museum has more charm than Scarlett O’Hara. The GAR is stacked with flags and swords, medals and uniforms, petrified tree trunks and cannonballs split wide open. You can easily get lost in the archives, drool over the uniforms or gawk at soldiers’ striking daguerreotypes. (We don’t blame you; their voluminous moustaches are pretty sexy.) This place is a testament to badassery, the kind that modern times has done away with. But don’t worry. Every Tuesday, you can tour the museum, pick up a rifle and pretend.
Star Attraction: He’s 160 years old and hidden in a room behind a curtain. He was wounded in battle at least five times. He’s nothing short of a legend — and he’s a horse. Meet Old Baldy, the then-warhorse of General George G. Meade and now-stuffed horse head hanging in the GAR. Make sure you get up close to check out the nicks on his white muzzle. —Frida Garza
Philadelphia Doll Museum
Where: 2253 N. Broad St., 215-787-0220, philadollmuseum.com
The Deal: To see the interior of the Philadelphia Doll Museum — a storefront on North Broad Street containing a one-room museum and one-room gift shop — you have to be either lucky or determined. So, on a second attempt during advertised visiting hours, we talked our way into what turned out to be the family reunion hosted by Barbara Whiteman, an avid collector turned museum director who first had just five dolls, then 10, then bought a case — until she had hundreds of glass, plastic and bead eyes staring at her from her very own museum. Now, donations often come by mail, some with known provenance, others that Whiteman can’t identify but puts under glass nonetheless. A more precise title of this museum would be the Philadelphia Black Doll Museum. “We’re not playing with dolls, we’re teaching history with dolls,” Whiteman says, gesturing to cases containing everyone from Harriet Tubman and Frederick Douglass to Barack and Michelle Obama in inaugural garb. Handmade and mass produced, valuable and flea-market ready — it’s all on display here. One thing a visitor will learn is that dolls, whether from Australia, Africa, Brazil, the Caribbean or the American South, share one culture-spanning trait: an innate and unshakable creepiness. Another lesson: Pretty much anything can be made into a doll, if you’re hard up. The museum has dolls made of corn husks, baby-bottle nipples and even chicken wishbones. “A lot of children don’t know what a wishbone looks like,” Whiteman complains. “That’s because their parents have given them too much Kentucky chicken.”
Star Attraction: For sheer terror, nothing beats “Big Boy.” With the face of an infant but four times the heft, he’s a leering nightmare in glue-and-wood composite. “We have no explanation as why this doll was made so large,” the website notes. “Just more to love.” —Samantha Melamed
Wells Fargo History Museum
Where: 123 S. Broad St., 215-670-6123, wellsfargohistory.com
The Deal: Henry Wells and John Fargo joined forces in the mid-19th century for a California banking/express-mail business. From there, the company’s ascension to power went something like this: Gold Rush, westward expansion, success. Honestly, it was hard to take in all the facts from the video demonstration on Wells Fargo’s version of history, what with all the games and gizmos nearby. This place is proof that shameless company promotion is best experienced in interactive form; guests can message friends in Morse code using a working telegraph, travel through a virtual forest in a swaying stagecoach or have their faces printed on replicas of old U.S. currency. And then there are the two video games, for the more competitive Wells Fargo fanatics. The first requires players to sift through sand beneath a rushing river via touchscreen. Any gold found during your dig must be balanced on a pan as you curse endless rapids that threaten your profits. The second game is so marvelously surreal that you will never look at the Wells Fargo six-horse stagecoach the same way again.
Star Attraction: The Stagecoach Adventure Game, wherein players wrangle items as they race to a finish line, makes a modicum of sense for the “Past” level, which is set in the Old West. But why the hell would a stagecoach speed like a bat out of hell through a futuristic metropolis replete with aliens and gamma rays? No one uses stagecoaches now; do they become a fun throwback in the future? Is this trend somehow timed to first contact? Why does everything look like Tron? If this is Wells Fargo’s vision of the future, why do we trust them with our money? —Michael Blancato
American Helicopter Museum & Education Center
Where: 1220 American Blvd., West Chester, 610-436-9600, americanhelicopter.museum
The Deal: It’s pretty straightforward: a collection of big, medium and Mini Cooper-sized crafts that can hover — which is amazing, when you think about it. Six of the biggies sit outside, including a massive Osprey, a two-rotor-blade beast that takes off and lands like a copter but can shift into high-speed airplane flight. Some of the copters are accessible, and during my visit, two kids were climbing inside those cockpits and gleefully yelling, “I love the smell of napalm in the morning!” Oh, wait — it was me who kept having Apocalypse Now flashbacks, while the museum emphatically points to helicopters’ good work, like rescue missions. A sign above the entrance door proclaims, “Helicopters Save Lives.” Explanations of what you’re looking at are sometimes lacking, and the whole experience veers between professionally presented and cheesy. But there’s this off-the-coolness-chart thump-thump-thump feature: About once a month the museum offers helicopter rides for $40.
Star Attraction: The museum’s sole attendant suggested the Osprey as the highlight, but I had the strongest reaction to the HH-47 Chinook, a mean-looking Great White Shark of a craft. On display were two Boeing ads for the HH-47, one of which called it “A powerful commitment to our warfighters.” I felt the urge to back slowly, carefully away. —Theresa Everline
TUSPM Shoe Museum
Where: 148 N. Eighth St., 215-625-5243,
podiatry.temple.edu/pages/about/shoe_museum/shoe_museum.html
The Deal: This little-known, centuries-spanning collection of footwear located in Temple University’s School of Podiatric Medicine is one part shoe-history lesson and two parts spying on the students doing whatever it is they do in their labs nearby. The Shoe Museum is housed in a series of hallways all over the school building, making for a strange and semi-voyeuristic experience of walking through and around classrooms, offices and labs during your tour (so, you know, wear comfortable shoes). Amidst all the clogs, boots and mules, you may catch a glimpse of Betty Ford’s surprisingly sexy silver pumps, some Egyptian burial sandals or, if you’re really lucky, Sally Struthers’ sky-high blue heels from her days on All in the Family. Visits are by appointment only and free.
Star Attraction: Guide extraordinaire Barbara Williams — a medical archivist prior to her gig at TUSPM — is the collection’s most valuable treasure. With so many rare pairs so far-flung, you need a skilled navigator. And Williams has got a story for almost every shoe. With about 900 pairs in the collection, that’s a lot of stories. —Madeline Bates
National Liberty Museum
Where: 321 Chestnut St., 215-925-2800, libertymuseum.org
The Deal: Museums can sometimes reflect their founder’s peculiarities. The National Liberty Museum is a raw translation of publishing executive and philanthropist Irvin J. Borowsky’s moral subconscious: tolerance and freedom. And glass art. Some of it is classical: Bacchus, nymphs, Poseidon. A lot — like the glass accompanying historical exhibits celebrating the moral character of heroes ranging from Gandhi and Harvey Milk to the victims of 9/11 and Anne Frank — is didactic. When tour guide Kevin R. Orangers looks up at the spacey-psychedelic “peace portal,” he sees sea horses and a land-line telephone, but guests are invited to share their own visions. “When visitors walk in, it might be hard for them to understand the glass metaphor. And we’re working hard to change that.” The metaphor, as it stands, is this: “Liberty is fragile! Liberty is strong! Liberty is beautiful!” Other marvels include a glass figure of a miner above the exhortation that “Commitment to work fulfills obligations to job, family and yourself,” and a painting in the Three-Wolf-Moon style depicting the Statue of Liberty rising into the cosmos above Mount Rushmore, Iwo Jima and 9/11 firefighters. A chapel-like stained-glass-adorned room on the top floor is dedicated to world religions, and includes an exhibit on the Trail of Tears and a short biography of Cornel West. This is a deeply strange museum. Or, as Orangers put it more than once, a “head-scratcher.” But the glass art, hero laudation and denunciations of totalitarianism and intolerance are all conveyed in an unadorned vernacular that is absolutely worth spending an afternoon puzzling over. Here’s hoping that as the National Liberty Museum undergoes a renovation to streamline its message, it continues to embrace the weird.
Star Attraction: “Another head-scratcher,” says the Orangers, introducing two life-size statues of children made out of jelly beans with their heads on backward and standing before a wall of motion-activated fake butterflies. —Daniel Denvir
Pizza Brain
Where: 2313 Frankford Ave., pizzabrain.org
The Deal: Boasting the Guinness Book-certified world’s largest collection of pizza-related memorabilia, Brian Dwyer’s much anticipated Pizza Brain is slated to open in August. Once construction is complete, the multi-use space will serve as a restaurant as well as a home base for Dwyer’s 1,000 pizza-centric posters, paintings, records and cassettes, plus more Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles than you can wrap your head around.
Star Attraction: Dwyer’s most prized slice of pizza paraphernalia has to be the one that kicked off his collecting odyssey: the 1984 self-titled album by The Fat Boys. The psychedelic scene features the rap legends chowing down on burgers, ice cream and a pizza topped with mini versions of the band members decked out in prison stripes. —Caroline Russock
