American coins, the overview

I love American currency. I really do. I'm not saying it's pretty — it isn't, not in the least.

In the early 19th Century, it was clumsy and gauche and imitative of the continent. I like it because it tries so hard, like most of our manufactured goods back then, and never quite pulls it off. It's silly money.

In the late 19th, our drawing skills improve, but we are still under the impression that proper money has to feature some old allegorical dame or classical furniture. Lots of Liberties and ancient-Greek-looking women in indian headresses, and eagles that look more like phoenixes or Sunday dinners. Beautiful, some of it, but whimsical and surreal.

In the 20th Century, money becomes heavy, chunky, solid and serious as a heart attack. Out with the greek ladies, in with the frowning, lumpy old dead presidents. This isn't a toy, Son, this is money. This is the money that won my heart.

Anyone who's ever run a cash register will tell you that American coins hit the till with a big, satisfying chonk, and you know when I ferriner sneaks into your small change by its wussy tink. Designs elements are large and simple and bursting out of the frame.

In the 21st Century, alas, we have few skilled sculptors and no confidence in ourselves. All our new coins are poorly thought out exercises in pee cee, all our old coins are being redesigned by committee. And they're shiny. And they tink like Canuckian quarters. I'm so depressed.

 

What liberty meant to our great-great-grandparents

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This particular version of Liberty is the most common design device on our 19th Century coinage. She appears on several different denominations of coin, with only the smallest variation in pose or expression.

It's easy to see why. Nothing says liberty to an American like the freedom to wave her panties about on a stick.

 

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This old dame, by contrast, has elected to express the joy of freedom by wearing her panties on her head.

Good for you! You go, girl!

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And this gal is so excited about freedom, her underpants have flown clean off her head, just like in the cartoons!

Woohoo! Americans rule! Europeans drool!

 

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Sort of. This representation of Liberty is one we borrowed from les French. We were chums around the time of our respective Revolutions. The pileus (it's a Phrygian cap on some coins) symbolizes freedom, surviving today as the humble triangular paper party hat. Though, really, I've been to more parties where people wore underpants on their heads than party hats. Hey, it's all about the freedom, man!

Giant dead president heads of the 20th Century

Make no mistake, this is unlovely money. It's not even particularly good civic portraiture (that's supposed to be Roosevelt? What happened to his great loaf of a jaw?). The eagle is symmetrical and graceless. The buildings are...well, buildings. Who puts buildings on coins?

But the workmanship is overwhelmingly competent. And staid. And heavy. And deadly serious, notwithstanding those little grins the FF's all seem to have. This currency is to the world economy what hot oatmeal is to Winter mornings. Bland, maybe, but nothing else does the job quite like it.

 

Look at the aggressive way the design elements fill all the available space. See how Jefferson's head crosses clear over the text plane, and Washington's head (and the eagle on the reverse) actually clip the inscription at the top. Bold, swashbuckling money. Sound, conservative money. Two mints in one!

If you're a lovely tropical island that supports itself on fishing and tourism, minting your money with palm trees and schools of fish on it is charming and rather sweet. But this is the United States of Boiled Leather Kiss-my-ass, Son, and that is money. Look deep into Mister Lincoln's ear and tell him otherwise.

 

Decline and fall

Okay, maybe not yet. I got tired of predicting the end of American hegemony and quit. It'll happen some day, as inevitably as sunset follows noon, but (thank goodness) we keep rising from the ashes, like reruns of I Love Lucy.

But the first doomy whiff of the end of empire came in the middle '70s, and it was this:

We did a lot of ugly things in 1976, and an inordinate number of them were in observance of our 200th birthday. But...this thing! This horrible bicentennial quarter!

Arthritic hands, bulldog face. Giant disco pointy shirt collar. Rubbery fabric. Three-quarter view of the head (never choose a three-quarter view for bas relief, you hear me?). And what the hell is that vest? It looks like it was crocheted for Maude. And, O my little ones, it was so very, very shiny.

The nation that would create such a thing in celebration is surely dragging itself toward Puppy Dog Heaven on three legs. Gas rationing. Runaway inflation. Toyota. Malaise. A president named "Jimmy." It all flowed naturally and inevitably from this accursèd object.

The four quarters of the apocalypse

I said that because I like the way it sounds, but this is just a chronological sequence of quarters: 1968, 1988, 1998 and 2000. Can you see how the coin is changing? Yes, George's head is getting smaller and smaller. Yes, the portraiture is sucking harder by the decade. And — O yes — it's getting shinier.

But I have a specific complaint on this one.

 

 

I'll give you a hint. Study these two drawing fragments. Which one looks like a powdered wig, and which one looks like the Father of Our Country has elected to wear his brains on the outside of his skull today? No, it's not worn old coins versus sharp new ones. What it comes down to, the guy who did the portrait on the left does not know how to draw.

And bas relief takes a very specialized sort of drawing skill. It's creating the illusion of depth with hundredths of an inch of working room. You can't just flatten a bust of George Washington with a Buick and strike a medallion from it. There is finesse involved.

Scroll up to the 1968 quarter again. The shadows pool under George's jawline, browline and the back of his hair - the areas that need to be emphasized to give his head the illusion of volume and roundness. The simplicity of these shapes gives them depth. Some of this simplicity is wear, of course, but uncirculated quarters speak to the skill of the earlier artist.

Compare it to the 1998 coin below it. The more details and fiddly bits are added, the harder it is to tell the difference in proportion between a jawbone and a cheekbone. There just isn't enough running room on a coin to be so indiscriminate about which lines are important. It isn't how many lines you draw, it's drawing the right lines in the right places.

You watch George's head. He's telling us something.

 
Currency reflects a country's opinion of itself. It's the ultimate expression of civic self-regard. Coins are minted by the millions and passed from hand to hand and generation to generation in acts of faith and fellowship. Gimme a packet of gum, you, and take in return this small metal symbol of our mighty nation's throbbing commerce. You will find upon it a scowling portrait of our 23rd leader and a short motto expressing our tribal creed.

Wouldn't you love to live in the country whose tribal creed was "Mind Your Business"?