FIG. 4 : Vetrines. Two shelves showing mainly Kulango and Kotoko bronzes. Photo: Pauline Shapiro FIG. 3: Cover of the catalog for 20 Centuries of Mexican Art at the Museum of Modern Art, New York, 1940. Private collection. FIG. 4: Hugo Brehme (1882–1954), Chacmol, c. 1920. Gelatin silver print. 9.2 x 14.3 cm. Courtesy of Throckmorton Fine Art, New York. 129 work had been done at the sites of La Venta and Tres Zapotes, but I had a hunch that something significant existed at the then largely unexplored site of San Lorenzo Tenochtitlán. I had good intuition and I had good luck. Archaeology is just like fishing. Technique is important but fortune also plays a part. I knew a Mexican archeologist, now no longer living, who had fabulous training in France and impeccable technique, but he didn’t have a “green thumb”—he never found anything. At San Lorenzo Tenochtitlán, I found the first capital of Mesoamerica, a city dating back to 1200 BC, perhaps even to 1400 BC. I had a great team; we had fun. I am proud, too, that I published in a timely fashion, with my collaborator Richard Diehl, the fruits of our excavations—and of our fieldwork in the zone. One of the first questions that intrigued me was why did civilization begin in such a place—a swamp. I came to appreciate, though, that this region had the richest agricultural potential. It was not unlike the fertile riverbanks and deltas of Egypt. FC: What drew you to early civilizations? MC: I was always interested in pre-Columbian civilizations. Years ago the Museum of Modern Art had a show titled Twenty Centuries of Mexican Art. For some reason, my grandfather had a copy of the exhibit catalog at his ranch out in Wyoming. I was fascinated by the book and its many images. As an undergraduate at Harvard, I studied English literature because I wanted to be a writer. But on the mantle of the fireplace in my dorm room, I had postcards of pre-Columbian artifacts, including, I believe, a stone hacha from Veracruz. And I remember being impressed with pictures I saw of the Bonampak murals. In my sophomore year I visited Yucatan during the Christmas break and was able to visit the Maya site of Chichen Itza. Back at Harvard, I tired of English literature—the professors just wanted us to be able to identify random passages from texts. I decided I wanted to be a Maya archaeologist, but there was no such major. Instead I majored in anthropology. But then along came the Korean War and it “nixed” everybody’s plans. Fearful of ending up washing out garbage cans as an ordinary soldier, I accepted an offer to work in intelligence for the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA). I loved it. I was sent out to the Chinese coast and posted on an island held by the Nationalists. When the war ended, I was accepted into Harvard’s doctoral program in anthropology but I took my time returning to the United States. I traveled throughout Southeast Asia, where I was most taken with a visit to Angkor. I concluded—and I still believe this today— that it was the greatest ancient city of the world. Indeed, I thought of shifting my interest to Asia, but I am fortunate I did not—Cambodia soon fell sway to thirty years of hell. I also enjoyed traveling through India and visiting Sri Lanka. From Asia, I returned straight to the United States. The Middle East never “hooked me.” At Harvard, I had a great teacher, Gordon Willey. He prepared me for studying the Olmec civilization—and off I went. Still, I already had, as I have hinted, an interest, too, in both the Maya and the Khmer. FC: How do you feel about the divide that has come to exist between archaeologists—indeed anthropologists in general—and art historians? MC: It exists, and it is unfortunate. Archaeologists always used to have collections of artifacts, although from areas other than where they themselves worked. As an undergraduate at Harvard, with a budding interest in early civilizations, I had a roommate, Stuart Cary Welch, who collected art. I was inspired by his example to collect material from the pre-Columbian cultures of Peru and from the Indians of the Northwest Coast (of the United States). I long ago gave these works away, including to the American Museum of Natural History, MICHAEL D. COE
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