The birthing of archaeology at The University of Queensland: A personal potted history of problem-solving by a returning ‘legal alien’

The first step in solving a problem is admitting there is a problem to be solved – Pete Seeger

In June 1976, after 12 years in the USA as a ‘legal alien’ experiencing a different culture and getting degrees in anthropology (archaeology), I returned to Australia to assume the inaugural lectureship in archaeology/prehistory at The University of Queensland (UQ). Landing at Brisbane Airport was like stepping back in time: little seemed to have changed since I flew in a Fokker Friendship to Brisbane from Mackay in 1963 after working in the Finch Hatton sugar mill. I recall deplaning via steps wheeled up to the aircraft then walking across the tarmac to a terminal resembling a World War II Quonset Hut. Throughout the airport men were still wearing ties over short-sleeved shirts tucked into belted shorts, and long socks up to their knees. I was met by the Head of UQ’s (then) Department of Anthropology and Sociology, Professor John Western, who surprised me by his casual attire and congenial manner (quite unlike the formality of US academics). I felt acutely uncomfortable in my three-piece suit and tie! I was impressed on arrival at UQ by the attractive campus with its gargoyle-dotted local sandstone buildings and leafy green spaces on the sinuous banks of the Brisbane River. Meeting fellow staff members, the high representation of non-Australians (especially British and North Americans) was unexpected (this experience was repeated when meeting archaeologists throughout Australia). A pleasant surprise was that tertiary education was free for Australians (alas no longer). At one of several introductory dinner parties held by my new colleagues, one guest, upon hearing my intention to investigate the antiquity of the first Australians proclaimed: ‘Oh but how boring my dear. After all, they haven’t done anything!’ My reply that, from an anthropological perspective, this was precisely what made their prehistory fascinating, was lost on her. The conversation moved on, but I found this attitude commonplace in 1970s Queensland and one only remediable through educating the public as well as university students. It was the first of several problems encountered during the next 15–20 years’ journey to build an archaeology program from conception through birth to young adulthood.

The noted anthropological linguist, Professor Bruce Rigsby, presided over a US-style general anthropology program at UQ that included four components: cultural anthropology, linguistics, physical anthropology, and archaeology. Bruce tasked me with the development and integration of the archaeology/prehistory component into the anthropology major. However, while having the relevant education and archaeological field and laboratory experience, I had little idea how to set up an archaeology program from scratch. Considerable deliberation produced a plan founded on an overarching aim from which all elements could be assembled: to produce academically well-rounded and field-trained archaeology graduates and to promote their spread throughout Australia’s universities, museums, and other institutions. While course design and development were straightforward enough (I’d had a lecturing stint in Chicago), a field-based teaching and research component was more challenging. Fortunately, a new Anthropology Museum with laboratory facilities had been built to accommodate archaeological research, and field equipment was available due to prior work by anthropology staff. Following a lead set by Laila Haglund and Donald Tugby, who had excavated local coastal sites in the previous decade, I decided on practical and logistical grounds to develop a local southeast Queensland research program. Thus, the Moreton Region Archaeological Project (MRAP) was conceived as a flexible program comprising three areal components and several stages (Hall 1980). MRAP provided both a focus for research and accessibility for undergraduate field training and postgraduate research opportunities (Figure 1).

Figure 1. The crew from the 1988 MRAP excavation season at Bushranger’s Cave. Back row (L-R): Bryce Barker, Kathy Frankland, Ian McNiven, Su Davies, Paul McInnes, Fiona Mowatt, Peter Hiscock, Scott Mitchell and Jay Hall. Front row (L-R): Jim Smith and Greg Bowen (Photograph: Bryce Barker).

Next came a double problem. First, as all my own field experience was in the desert west of the USA, I felt ill-equipped to lead students in coastal research. Second, it was difficult to run a comprehensive program singlehandedly. Thankfully, much pleading to higher offices produced funding for a dedicated archaeology tutor. Thus, Mike Rowland, a University of Auckland graduate specialising in coastal midden research and island biogeography, was strategically sought out and his subsequent appointment proved critical to undergraduate field/laboratory training, as well as to MRAP’s development.

While the early 1980s saw the program bedded down, ever-increasing student demand was creating a need for greater critical mass, a solution to which was found in two ways that significantly bolstered our research and teaching breadth. First, Australian PhD graduates were strategically sought for postdoctoral fellowships. The first of several to join us in the 1980s was Ian Johnson, whose Australian National University (ANU) dissertation championed the need for a systematic field-to-lab data recording system. He became a particularly important addition to the program and introduced very early use of personal computers to the department. Later, Ian Lilley returned to us from ANU bringing his expertise in Papua New Guinea and Pacific studies. Second, more imploring resulted in a second lectureship in prehistory, and we were fortunate to appoint Harry Lourandos, who brought his significant strengths in Australian research and an importantly different theoretical perspective to the program. Together we were able to double dedicated course offerings and expand postgraduate research numbers. Our own postgraduates were also becoming available to fill tutorial positions and thus add to the achievement of critical mass.

In 1984, in response to the problem of a lack of publication outlets for more descriptive site reports and theses, I launched an inhouse publication—Queensland Archaeological Research—in editorial conjunction with John Campbell at James Cook University. It served its purpose well over the years and has since evolved into a fully professional online journal overseen by Sean Ulm and a large editorial board. By the mid-1980s the program was producing so many graduates that I became concerned as to where they would gain employment. It seemed somehow immoral to encourage them into the discipline while knowing full well the improbability of their all gaining university or other apposite careers. Fortunately, the rapidly growing Cultural Heritage Management (CHM) industry seemed to represent a solution. Accordingly, The University of Queensland Archaeological Services Unit (UQASU) was set up as a commercial enterprise that served to provide both employment and CHM experience for our students as well as to obtain outside research funding. While highly successful, UQASU eventually exposed a need for CHM coursework. There again we were fortunate in having Annie Ross join our staff with her added skills in geoarchaeology.

Concomitant with the growth of CHM was the burgeoning post-Mabo development of incorporated Traditional Owner (TO) bodies whose consultation and permissions were required before any fieldwork (CHM or research-related) could commence. This development raised problems relating to undergraduate field training. Whereas previously one needed only permission to conduct field research from the relevant state government heritage authority, the TO negotiation process took longer, was often complex, and approval was not always guaranteed—a situation incompatible with university course timetables. Further, some TOs expressed indignation about using their heritage sites to train raw students. It was also becoming difficult, logistically and financially, to mount fieldwork during semester. My solution, which neatly averted all issues, was to build a simulated archaeological site on campus. Thus TARDIS (Teaching Archaeological Research Discipline In Simulation) was constructed and served to field-train undergraduates who could now make serious mistakes in excavation and recording without compromising the real archaeological record (Hall et al. 2005). TARDIS has since undergone a redevelopment and name change (Archaeology Teaching and Research Centre—ATARC) and remains vital to the UQ archaeology teaching program.

Mirroring human life, it took almost two decades to raise the archaeology program from birth to young adulthood through numerous ‘teething problems’. By the time I retired in 2007 it was ready to achieve the maturity and worldclass standing it enjoys today through the helmsmanship of Professor Marshall Weisler and subsequently Professor Andrew Fairbairn, both of whom have had to solve their own share of problems.

From the sidelines of retirement, I have identified two problems needing resolution for Australian archaeology generally. First, concomitant with the explosion of specialist studies in archaeology, students seem to be committing to specialisation too early, thus diminishing their mastery over the discipline and limiting their fitness for a range of employment prospects. This matter could be addressed by restricting specialisation to postgraduate research and perhaps introducing a postgraduate coursework program (as in the USA). A second problem is the serious lack of research access to data locked in the enormous and ever-growing volume of CHM reports. One solution, and one that could also protect client commercial and Indigenous interests, would be a national CHM report database containing only the archaeological data obtained.

While it is often said that life itself is problems, if the problems are good ones, then one may enjoy a good life. As one who has always relished problem-solving, this aspect of my archaeological life is one I shall always cherish. On reflection, however, what I enjoyed most is the teaching of archaeology, to observe students enthusiastically embrace the discipline and to see them off into meaningful and successful careers. Thank-you archaeology and thank-you Australia.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.