“George Washington Carver”

PHOTO: COURTESY OF TUSKEGEE UNIVERSITY ARCHIVES/MUSEUM

The “peanut guy” is given added dimension in a new exhibition that uncovers the personality behind lunchtime’s most popular legume. George Washington Carver’s story is told through more than 100 personal effects, historic documents and interactive displays.

Near the entrance, a small case containing Carver’s wire-rimmed glasses hints at the personal portraiture to come. From there, panels explain that Carver—born a slave—was kidnapped, orphaned and emancipated, all before his first birthday. He also nearly died of whooping cough, which left him too weak for hard labor. Instead, his former masters encouraged him to take up reading, writing, handiwork and other hobbies: Framed examples show Carver as an able embroiderer, while his paintings were honored in Chicago’s 1893 World’s Fair.

Viewers are left with the sense that Carver could’ve excelled in any number of fields, but his humanitarian streak drew his talents to the sciences. At Tuskegee Institute, his peanut legend—a product of his vision to transform the South’s parched cotton fields—was born. Contrary to popular belief, Carver did not invent peanut butter, though he did introduce several visionary practices, including crop rotation, organic farming techniques and the use of biofuels. To educate poor farmers about his discoveries, he toured rural areas in a Jesup wagon, a re-creation of which appears in the display.

But the exhibition isn’t one big rose-colored homage. At all-black Tuskegee, Carver garnered criticism: Many of his peers felt he deemed himself a cut above because he was so widely embraced by whites. Meanwhile, a 1924 New York Times article titled “Men of Science Never Talk That Way” seared Carver, a man of great faith, for attributing his discoveries to “divine revelation.”

At times, the exhibition seems to deluge the viewer with details about Carver’s many accomplishments, but it’s these details that let us see him as the polymath he was: A true achiever born with many talents, but known mostly for one—because what we regard as a salty party snack happened to be key in doing the greatest possible good.