A Hatful of Fulbright Stories

8 January 2020
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2018–19 Austrian Fulbright scholar Stefan “Steve” Rabitsch spent his grant period researching the history of western hats, an iconic part of American culture. Here he shares insight into his research and his time in the US as a Fulbright scholar.

A Hatful of Fulbright Stories: An Ursine Vaquero and His Human Hatologist in Big Hat Country


By Steven "Steve" Rabitsch

In his essay collection On Nature (2003), Edward Hoagland makes a seemingly simple yet profound observation that the astute traveller frequently encounters as a proverb in the western states, particularly in Texas. In response to the question as to why the hats Texans wear are so big, Hoagland notes that “[p]eople started wearing big hats not simply because the brims were shady […] but to help break up the landscape.” (98) As so often is the case, that which appears as simple yields a wealth of complexities; and, western hats—the chief object of my postdoctoral work in American studies—are no exception in this respect.

Fulbright Austria was instrumental in the formation of American studies in Austria and has been an integral part of the discipline ever since. As an American-studies scholar, I consider it vital to immerse oneself in American culture, interacting with American people on their home turf and engaging with American objects, customs, and values. While there might be other “schools of thought,” first-hand experience with American culture is key if one wants to teach, research, and write about the mosaic that is the United States with any degree of confidence and legitimacy. This is particularly true if you study the cultural history of a material object that at once is deeply rooted in local and regional contexts and yet instantly recognized as a symbol of and for America the world over. In order to understand western hats, one has to think, act, and work “glocally.” Consequently, receiving a Fulbright grant to do just that at the Center for the Study of the American West at West Texas A&M University in Canyon, Texas, can only ever be among the best experiences in my academic life.

Since riding the trail all by yourself is generally considered a bad idea, I was joined on my hatological expedition to the westward by a little ursine travel companion—“cowbear” Billy Fulbright. I couldn’t have wished for a better sidekick (though he keeps telling people on Instagram that our roles are actually reversed).

Billy Fulbright at Greeley Hat Works (credits Stefan Rabitsch)
Billy Fulbright at Hatco (credits Stefan Rabitsch)
Billy Fulbright's office at WTAMU (credits Stefan Rabitsch)

Hats matter

Known colloquially as “cowboy hats,” western hats are significant, signifying, wearable, and thus nomadic cultural shapes. As Americanness made wearable, they are a uniquely American species—petasus[1]americanus—and as such are a product of the American experience at large. The goal of my postdoctoral work is to tell an American history from a novel, some might say unorthodox angle; as difficult as it might be to believe, there is no such thing as a comprehensive cultural history of western hats. The history of western hats is as complex as the materials they are usually made of—felt and straw. During my time in Texas, two rather simple observations became clear to me early on and have guided my research ever since: 1) western hats have always been worn by everybody regardless of race, creed, or gender, and 2) since a hat usually goes where its wearer goes, it is a material object that challenges all kinds of borders (geographical, regional, national, social, etc.).

 

As a species of symbolically potent clothing, petasus americanus is first and foremost wedded to (hyper)masculine, white male bodies and the position they occupy in the pantheon of the nation’s mythos of westward expansion. Teddy Roosevelt (aka the frontier/cowboy president), the Lone Ranger, John Wayne’s and Clint Eastwood’s numerous movie characters, Lane Frost, Walt Longmire and Arthur Morgan readily come to mind. However, it doesn’t take too much critical effort to lift the brim that shades these commonly held associations, which undoubtedly still exert significant power, and see that other bodies wear such hats too. For every Cordell Walker there’s a Bass Reeves. For every rugged, cattle-driving cowboy on the silver screen there’s an Annie Oakley and an Elizabeth Collins. The world of rodeo does not begin and end with the Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association (PCRA) either since it also includes the Women’s Professional Rodeo Association (WPRA), La Federación Mexicana de Rodeo (FMR), the Bill Picketts Invitational, the Cowgirls of Color, and the International Gay Rodeo Association (IGRA) to name but a few.

While they may appear to be merely a simple piece of practical clothing, imbued with a set of unambiguous and privileged American meanings, western hats are entangled with material, historical, and cultural complexities which make the American West and, I contend, America at large, more difficult; and, that’s a good thing. Western hats lend themselves to doing critical whiteness studies without falling into the traps of “wokeness.”

 

[1] Latin (n.) a traveling hat with a broad brim

Deep in the heart of Texas *claps four times*

The Lone Star State is without a doubt “hat country;” it’s one of the first things you notice when you get off the plane at an airport like Houston or Dallas, and even more so at a regional airport like Amarillo. Alas, I was no longer in the minority wearing a high-crowed, broad-brimmed felt hat on a daily basis. The fact that I was from Austria, wearing an authentic Australian Akubra while not sounding anything like Arnold Schwarzenegger complicated matters at times. However, it also allowed me to share my Fulbright story with many people from all walks of life (real working cowboys and ranch owners included).

Not only is Texas home to some of the premier research facilities dedicated to western studies (e.g. research centers, specialized libraries, archives, museums, etc.), it is also a strong market for ranch wear which is why you find a number of hat-makers—large corporate outfits, mom-and-pop shops, specialized hat artisans—in the state. For example, with the Center for the Study of the American West serving as my home base, I had direct access to the archive and collections of the Plains-Panhandle Historical Museum. For example, it was in the latter’s sizable holdings where I found old trade and mail order catalogs that gave me a good idea about how western hats have developed over the years. Visiting with hat-makers such as Hatco, the American Hat Company, or Huskey Hats allowed me to take a deep plunge into a trade that is equal parts science and art. Hatters taught me a great many things. For example, hatters do not make hats, they build hats. Contemporary western hat manufacture has global dimensions; rabbit and hare felt is primarily harvested in Europe, in Belgium and Portugal in particular. Some hatters swear by the application of shark skin to put the finishing touches on a felt hat. By the way, felt is an awesome material; not only is it the oldest non-woven textile known to humanity, it is also tough as nails. Hatter of 30+ years Stanley Rater, who specializes in hat restauration, showed me that sweat, dirt, blood, and even fecal matter do not leave a dent on felt. Unless a felt hat is torn, she can rebuild it so that it looks and feels brand new no matter how badly battered it was.

The perks of “Middle America”

The United States is so much more than its coasts, its large metropolises, and its Ivy League schools. While my Fulbright grant was not my first in-depth encounter with and immersion in American culture, it most certainly reaffirmed my belief that if you want to get a better (read: more complicated) understanding of the “cultural felt” that is the US, you need to spend some serious time in “Middle America.” Traveling extensively in the region (Texas, Oklahoma, Colorado, New Mexico) as part of my research, I was afforded an abundance of encounters that tasked me with interpreting my home country but channeled through an American -studies lens. These ranged from dispelling misconceptions about “socialist Austria” and partially uncomfortable Trumpian encounters (which, for the record, I wouldn’t want to have missed, for they will inform my work as an educator) to meeting aficionados of Austrian art and culture in rural communities in the Texas Panhandle, and a random conversation with strangers at Walmart that led to an invitation to join them at the shooting range.

Thanks to the community of Canyon and WTAMU in particular, the abundance of good people I met in the Texas Panhandle, and the proverbial kindness of strangers, I can rightly say that I was not just visiting, I actually lived there.

Fulbright Enrichment Seminar, Global Minnesota (credit Wen-Huei Chang)
CSAW CCC Student-guided hike in Palo Duro Canyon (credit Eddie Tubbs, Texas Parks and Wildlife)

Life after Fulbright

I’d like to believe that what they say is true—once a Fulbrighter, always a Fulbrighter. Receiving a Fulbright grant allowed me to conduct exciting archival research and fieldwork in American cultural history. It is my sincere hope that despite an immediate precariousness in terms of employment as well as a severe and systemic lack of opportunities for an American-studies scholar from Austria, there will be a way for me to bring my research to fruition and consequently contribute to an invigorated future of American studies in Austria. The opportunities afforded to me by my Fulbright grant yielded a hatful of material, stories, encounters, experiences, professional networks, friendships, and, above all, a home away from home.

Fulbright Week Talk (credit AJ McCormick, CSAW)
Nat. Cowboy Museum (credit Seth Spillman, Nat. Cowboy Museum)