DON’T LOOK A GIFT HORSE IN THE MOUTH?

PROBLEMATIC DONATIONS TO THE SMITHSONIAN

Although the Smithsonian always has depended upon the generosity of strangers to 

provide it with the funds, real estate, work hours, and objects it needs, not all gifts 

have been ones that we wanted to accept. As we begin our national campaign, it 

might be interesting to look at some of the “gift horses” that have been offered to

the Smithsonian and ask why we didn’t accept—or shouldn’t have accepted—

certain gifts. Some gifts can be too specific, some don’t provide maintenance funds,

some can be very complex to carry out, and some donors want too much of a say in

how their gift will be used. 

GIFTS FROM THE IMAUM OF MUSCAT

A gift to the United States from the Imaum 

of Muscat (now Oman), which later came to 

the Smithsonian, is one of the great 

cautionary tales about donations. In 1834,

President Andrew Jackson had special 1804 

silver dollars minted for the sultan of Muscat 

and the King of Siam (later Thailand) for 

trade treaties negotiated by Edmund 

Roberts, America’s first envoy to the Far 

East. But when the Omani leader attempted 

make a gift in return—a must in Muslim 

society—Jackson stated he could not accept 

gifts as the U.S. Constitution prohibited it. 

Later, Thomas N. Carr of the United States 

Consulate in Tangier wrote in despair to Secretary of State John Forsyth on September 3, 1839,

about another gift. Despite all of Forsyth’s efforts to discourage him, the Emperor of Morocco 

 FROM THE ARCHIVES

First Ladies Hall with Oman carpet and pearls used as 

jewelry, 1955
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had presented a magnificent lion and lioness to the U.S. Consulate for President Van Buren. 

When Carr said that the President could not accept gifts, the Emperor directed that the gift 

would go to the Congress—which also was prohibited from receiving gifts. The lions, said the 

Emperor, would then go to the people of the United States. Carr was forced to take the lions 

into the Consulate when the emperor’s nephew threatened to let them loose on the street in 

front of the building (beheadings were threatened as well). 

Then it was rumored that a shipment of horses was on its way as a gift to the U.S. from the 

Imaum of Muscat. In April of 1840, the ship Sultanee, or Al-Sultana, arrived in New York. 

Captained by Ahmed Bin Na’Aman, who spoke English and maintained an import/export trade 

with Salem, Massachusetts, traders, the ship carried gifts from the Imaum for President Martin 

van Buren. Included were two magnificent Arabian horses and saddles, a case of attar of roses

(rose oil), five demijohns of rose water, four Cashmere shawls, a Persian carpet, a box of pearls 

(one string containing 150 pearls and two separate large pearls), and a gold-mounted sword. 

To end the stalemate, Van Buren asked the Congress for permission to accept the gifts. The 

objects were deposited at the National Institute Gallery in the Patent Office and the horses 

were then sold at auction. 

On December 20, 1841, a thief broke into the “treasure room” at the National Institute Gallery 

and stole, among other things, the pearl necklace and the two large pearls given by the Imaum. 

This was the first of a series of thefts of valuable items from that Gallery. The pearls were 

always recovered but eventually the Patent Commissioner sealed all the valuables up in a metal 

box and deposited it in the U.S. Treasury. The items did not come to the Smithsonian until the 

1880s. Even then, a thief with a Bowie knife and chloroform attempted to overcome a

Smithsonian watchman and steal the valuables. 

Lessons from this tale include the principle that if you give a gift in diplomatic circles, you must 

be willing to accept one in return. Valuable gifts can be difficult to care for securely. And 

sometimes a gift really is a horse. 

THE HODGKINS MEDAL

Sometimes, as was in the case of 

the Thomas George Hodgkins 

bequest, a gift proves difficult to 

administer because it is outside of 

the Smithsonian’s area of 

expertise. In 1891, a gift of 

$200,000 was received from 

Thomas George Hodgkins of 

Setauket, New York, to be used, in 

part, for studies of the atmosphere in relation to human health. Upon Mr. Hodgkins’s death in 

November 1892, additional gifts totaling $250,000 were left to the Smithsonian. In recognition 

of Hodgkins’s generosity, a gold medal was struck, which was awarded in 1899 to Professor 

James Dewar of the Royal Institution of Britain for his meritorious research on the liquefaction 

and solidification of atmospheric air. Hodgkins medals have been awarded periodically since 
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then, but doing so always remains peripheral to the Institution’s interests. Fortunately, liberal 

interpretations of “atmospheric research” have not resulted in any negative repercussions for 

the Smithsonian. 

THE GELLATLY ART COLLECTION

On November 8, 1931, art collector John Gellatly 

died, two years after promising his collection of 

1,640 artworks to the United States under the 

care of the Smithsonian Institution. His very 

young bride, who had presumed the art 

collection would come to her when her quite 

older husband died, was dismayed to find it had 

already been donated to the National Museum. 

Charlayne Whiteley Gellatly filed numerous 

lawsuits, claiming that the artworks were hers 

and that her husband had never told her they 

had been donated. The Smithsonian had not been warned that the gold-digging wife did not 

know of her husband’s intentions. The courts sided with the Smithsonian but Assistant 

Secretary Alexander Wetmore was not entirely happy with the National Enquirer and other 

scandal-sheet articles on the legal fight that accompanied the gift. 

THE FREER GALLERY OF ART

As lovely and successful as this museum is, 

it is unlikely the Smithsonian would ever 

accept such a restricted gift again. When 

Detroit businessman Charles Lang Freer

first proposed the gift in 1904, the Board of 

Regents was reluctant to accept it, since 

the terms stated the Smithsonian could not 

claim the items until after Freer’s death

and that the collection could never be 

divided, changed, or loaned out. Further, 

only the pieces in the collection could be shown in Freer’s gallery; no visiting exhibits could be 

presented in the space. President Theodore Roosevelt and others put a great deal of pressure 

on the Smithsonian to accept the donation. Freer also added funds for a museum building. 

Eventually, the Regents acquiesced and in 1906 accepted the gift, along with its restrictions. In 

1919, Freer appended his will with a codicil that permitted acquisitions of Asian, Egyptian, and 

Near Eastern (West Asian) art. The Freer will has long been a thorn in the side of Smithsonian 

administrators, limiting how the art can be displayed in a static collection. When Secretary S. 

Dillon Ripley considered trying to break the will in the courts, he earned the eternal enmity of 

Freer board member Agnes Meyer, her daughter Katherine Graham, and the Washington Post

family. Placing the Sackler next to the Freer has provided a partial solution, but it is not a 

model for 21st-century gifts to the Smithsonian.
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THE HILLWOOD MUSEUM

As noted in an earlier essay on Smithsonian museums 

that never came to be, the donation of the Hillwood 

Museum to the Smithsonian was the result of a 

similarly restrictive will. However, it was accompanied 

by far less funding, as the stocks that accompanied the 

museum had depreciated significantly in their value. In 

addition, Mrs. Marjorie Merriweather Post’s will 

contained detailed instructions about how the house 

was to be kept on a daily basis, such as the placement 

of fresh flowers throughout the house. The gift was negotiated by Secretary Leonard 

Carmichael in the early 1960s, but returned to the family by Secretary Ripley in 1976. In an era 

of social change like the 1970s, Ripley preferred to spend Smithsonian funds and energies on 

programs like the Folklife Festival and the Anacostia Neighborhood Museum, rather than on a 

shrine to a single wealthy American collector. 

THE BRADFORD DOLL HOUSE

The Miniature World of Faith Bradford consists of several doll houses created, modified, and 

donated by Faith Bradford in 1951 to what is now the National Museum of American History. 

Always a popular exhibit, the scale of the 23-room house is one inch to one foot, 

accommodating the miniatures 

that Ms. Bradford (1880–1970) 

played with as a girl and 

collected as an adult. She 

imagined the dwelling as the 

turn-of-the century household 

of Mr. and Mrs. Peter Doll, 

their 10 children, two visiting 

grandparents, five servants, 

and 20 pets. Most of the male 

curators at the museum rolled 

their eyes at the idea of such a 

display (although they did not 

object to the also-popular and

large collection of toy soldiers) 

and tried on a regular basis to remove the collection from exhibition. Ms. Bradford, a D.C.

librarian, would stop by to decorate the houses for holidays and update furnishing and clothes. 

Parts of the collections were lost for years in the Suitland, Maryland, storage facilities. In recent 

years, however, museum curator Larry Bird ensured the house’s return to a place of honor and 

even wrote a book about it. Both the subject matter and Ms. Bradford’s constant attentions 

tried the patience of many a curator, although they never actually got rid of the house. It 

seems that the attention of a curator can at times be monopolized by an enthusiastic donor 

who has difficulty letting go of his or her gift. 
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THE IVY A. PELZMAN MEMORIAL GLOCKENSPIEL

Made in 1976 by Petit & Fritsen, the Ivy A. Pelzman 

Memorial Glockenspiel at the National Zoo consists of 

a tower with four figures of zoo animals, including an 

elephant, a bear, a giraffe, and a lion. A traditional 38-

foot-high carillon of 35 bells, it is presently inoperable.

Ivy A. Pelzman (1890–1970), a native Washingtonian, 

graduated from Georgetown Medical School and 

served in the U.S. Army Medical Corps in World Wars I 

and II. Pelzman was a pioneer in sperm donation and 

artificial insemination, with a clinic at Georgetown 

University. He lived for a while in New York City, and 

many of his happiest hours were spent with his nieces 

and nephews by the glockenspiel in Central Park’s

Children’s Zoo. “Uncle Doc” planned a $250,000 donation for a similar glockenspiel for the 

National Zoo, but left only $100,000 for the glockenspiel when he died, earmarked to the

memory of his wife, Katherine. 

After much too-ing and fro-ing, because this was not an easy or inexpensive item to construct, 

the National Zoological Park dedicated the Pelzman Clock Tower Glockenspiel on May 16, 1976, 

at the Connecticut Avenue entrance. Getting the steam engine to work to move the animals 

proved exceptionally difficult and it soon became inoperable; the glockenspiel was later moved 

near the Harvard Street entrance. At the time, the glockenspiel was the largest cash gift given 

to the Zoo since it was founded. For Zoo director Ted Reed, however, the time, energy, and 

additional funds it took to carry out this very specific donation were not worth it, especially 

because the upkeep proved quite expensive—so expensive that after a few years, the Zoo 

stopped repairing it. Flickr sites comment on how attractive but dysfunctional it is since even 

the glockenspiel’s clock does not work. The glockenspiel is an example of a gift that is both

overly specific and lacks sufficient funding for maintenance. 

THE CENTER FOR MIDDLE EASTERN STUDIES

As part of the International Center envisioned 

for the Quadrangle by S. Dillon Ripley, a center 

for Middle Eastern Studies was to be 

established at the Smithsonian to teach the 

American people about this increasingly 

important part of the world. Ripley continued fundraising for the project to the end of his 

tenure as Secretary and, when Secretary Robert McCormick Adams arrived, the Smithsonian 

was holding in trust a $5 million gift from Saudi Arabia for the center. However, a significant 

group of members of Congress opposed this Middle Eastern studies center and, at their urging,

Secretary Adams canceled the center and returned the gift. Doing so strained relations 

between the two countries for a period of time. 

Quadrangle International Center plans
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THE O. ORKIN INSECT ZOO

An Insect Zoo at the National Museum of Natural 

History was opened in 1976 as an educational 

center that allows visitors to observe and interact 

with live insects. It was made possible in part by 

grants from the Ciba-Geigy Corp., Diamond 

Shamrock Chemical Co., Dow Chemical USA, FMC 

Corp., Shell Chemical Corp., and Stauffer Co. In 

1992, Orkin Pest Control made a $500,000 gift for 

the renovation of the Insect Zoo and provided 

additional funding to develop educational materials and programs specifically for teachers and 

students. Public reaction to the naming of the Insect Zoo after Orkin was negative, since the 

company’s pest control activities focus on killing insects. To mitigate these concerns, the Insect 

Zoo was named the O. Orkin Insect Zoo after the company’s founder, Otto Orkin, rather than 

the corporation. The 1990s saw many debates as the Smithsonian moved to allow more 

naming opportunities. In this case, concerns focused on the small size of the gift, the lack of an

end date to the naming, and the appropriateness of the name, given its association with pest 

control. 

THE SCIENCE IN AMERICAN LIFE EXHIBIT

In 1991, a grant of approximately $5 million was donated by the American Chemical Society for 

a new exhibit, Science in American Life, for the National Museum of American History. The 

exhibition’s purpose was to help improve science literacy in America. When the exhibition

opened in 1994, the American Chemical Society was very unhappy, as they expected it to 

celebrate the role of science in American life. The post-modern exhibit in fact took a critical 

look at both the benefits and the problems caused by 

science, and the Society felt that their funds had not 

been used as they expected. 

In a 1994 article in the Wall Street Journal titled 

“Snoopy at the Smithsonian,” the author bemoaned 

what he called the “political makeover of the 

Smithsonian.” This piece was prompted by Secretary I. 

Michael Heyman’s recent approval of the National Air 

and Space Museum’s proposed Enola Gay exhibit, 

which the author viewed as the latest example of how the Smithsonian seemed to be

transforming its museums over recent years into “vehicles for political re-education.” He wrote 

that this trend began during the tenure of Secretary Robert McCormick Adams, who started in 

1984 and hired individuals from the “Academic Left.” According to the author, the Board of 

Regents and the U.S. Congress had not been paying attention to what he saw as the intentional 

creation of exhibits that presented ideological views, rather than the facts, to the general 

public. Under pressure, the Smithsonian made some revisions to the exhibit to moderate 

criticism of the effects of science on society. None of the parties, however, were ultimately 
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happy with the outcome. The issues raised by the exhibit demonstrate how important it is for 

donors to have a clear understanding of their role from the outset, as well as the wisdom of

keeping donors apprised of how their funds are being used. Negative surprises don’t turn out 

well. 

THE HALL OF FAME OF AMERICAN ACHIEVERS

In 2001, self-made multimillionaire Catherine B. Reynolds offered $38 million to the National

Museum of American History to create a permanent “Hall of Fame of American Achievers.” The 

gift was negotiated by the new Secretary, Lawrence M. Small, and produced a negative outcry 

from staff, historians and other professionals, and the press. The Organization of American 

Historians, the nation’s largest organization of historians and history professors and teachers, 

condemned the head of the Smithsonian for giving a wealthy donor a major say in the nature 

and content of an exhibition. Critics argued that the agreement gave Ms. Reynolds too much 

say over the content of the exhibit, specifically regarding the selection of who the “achievers”

would be. Whereas museums usually reserve space for those whose lives have stood the test 

of time, many of the proposed “achievers” were alive and at the heights of their careers. This 

position was reinforced when Martha Stewart, one of the proposed individuals, was arrested 

and convicted of insider trading. In response to the criticism, Ms. Reynolds withdrew the gift in 

2002. The museum had little or no input in the negotiations for the gift, and an inexperienced 

Secretary accepted terms that most museums would not allow. This case again illustrates how

clear negotiations with donors about their role are critical to the success of a gift. 

While these cautionary tales raise issues to think about during donor negotiations in a capital 

campaign, nearly all of the Smithsonian’s thousands of donors have been truly dedicated to the 

Institution and had very positive relationships with the Smithsonian. Clear understanding of 

terms, rights, and roles is crucial for a successful gift. From James Smithson forward, most 

donors have asked for very little in return, not even naming rights, as was the case with Steven 

F. Udvar-Hazy and the National Air and Space Museum. Most donors to the Smithsonian give of 

their time, resources, collections, and expertise so they can be part of the very special 

institution that James Smithson’s bequest established for the American people.