Here’s the latest in our series of entertaining interviews with a diverse array of your fellow SHA members. Meet a member for the first time or learn something about a colleague that you never knew before. This blog series also offers current members an opportunity to share their thoughts on why SHA membership is important (Camaraderie? Professional service? Exchange of ideas in conference rooms and beyond? You tell us!). If you would like to be an interviewee, please email the Membership Committee Social Media Liaisons Eleanor Breen (eabreen@mountvernon.org) or Kim Pyszka (kmpyszka@aum.edu).
An Interview with Scott Allen (scottallenexplore@gmail.com), An independent project director who has overseen a myriad of both field and lab work. He is also a former member of the Ethics Advisory Committee of the Society for Historical Archaeology and a cherished member of the SHA.
Fieldwork or labwork?
I’ve always seen fieldwork and labwork as two halves of the same coin. Out in the field, there’s an undeniable sense of immediacy when you first brush away the dirt and reveal something unexpected. I remember one particular summer in the Carolinas: we stumbled upon a series of stratified ceramic fragments that hinted at long-forgotten trade routes. Yet, it’s in the lab where those fragments truly come to life. The careful process of cleaning, cataloging, and piecing together these remnants allows me to delve deep into the narrative behind each artifact. But these days, as a project director, my role is less about trowels and more about orchestration. I’m the one ensuring that fieldwork aligns with research design, that lab teams aren’t drowning in unprocessed artifacts, and that community stakeholders stay engaged. That said, I still carve out time to get my hands dirty. So, it's safe to say both of them complement each other.
What would be your dream site to work at?
I’ve always been drawn to places where industry and humanity collide. My grandfather worked in a textile mill in Greensboro, and I grew up hearing stories of lint-filled air and shift whistles. So, my dream site? A 19th-century industrial village. Not the factory itself, but the worker tenements, company stores, and clandestine union meeting spots. Imagine excavating a Pennsylvania coal town or a Lowell-style mill community. We’d find more than just machinery fragments: personal items hidden beneath floorboards, makeshift toys, and evidence of informal economies. These sites tell stories of exploitation, resilience, and the messy birth of labor rights. In the 1990s, I worked on a railroad camp in the Appalachians where workers’ privies yielded medicine bottles and dice carved from bone. That’s the stuff that rewrites textbooks, not kings and generals, but how ordinary people navigated seismic change.
What are you currently reading?
The Archaeology of Class in Urban America by Stephen A. Mrozowski. It’s a masterclass in how material culture reveals socioeconomic divides. Mrozowski uses everything from oyster shells to porcelain patterns to dissect 18th-century Boston’s class structure. What’s gripping is his analysis of “respectability politics” among the working poor. How a salvaged teapot or repurposed brick might signal aspirations beyond survival. It’s pushing me to rethink a site I’m overseeing in Charlestown, where we’re uncovering a mixed-ethnicity neighborhood razed for gentrification in the 1880s. Also, I’ve been revisiting William Faulkner’s Absalom, Absalom! for the nth time. Archaeology and Southern Gothic have more in common than you’d think: both obsess over buried secrets and the weight of history.
What did you want to be when you grew up?
A forest ranger. Growing up in the Smokies, I imagined a life spent tracking wildlife and preserving wilderness. But at UNC Chapel Hill, I took a course on Appalachian folklore and stumbled into a field school at the abandoned Judaculla Rock complex. We were documenting Cherokee petroglyphs, and I realized archaeology wasn’t just about the past. It was a way to defend marginalized histories. The ranger dream faded when I saw how artifacts could testify for communities whose stories were erased by Progress with a capital P. Still, I’ve never fully left the woods. My current project involves surveying Revolutionary War-era charcoal pits in Massachusetts forests. Turns out, you can take the boy out of the mountains…
Why are you a member of SHA?
SHA isn’t just a professional network; it’s a collective memory. Early in my career, I presented a paper at the SHA conference on tobacco pipe production in the Piedmont. An elder archaeologist pulled me aside and said, “You’re describing craft resistance; enslaved potters subtly subverting plantation molds.” That five-minute conversation reshaped my dissertation. Now, as a mentor myself, I value SHA’s role in cross-generational dialogue. Our field grapples with urgent questions: repatriation, climate threats to coastal sites, and the ethics of “disaster archaeology.” SHA is where those conversations crystallize into action. Plus, their workshops on GIS and LiDAR have kept this old dog relevant in a tech-driven era.
At what point in your career did you first join SHA?
I first joined the Society for Historical Archaeology while I was in graduate school. I was looking for opportunities to network with professionals in the field and to learn more about historical archaeology beyond the confines of my academic program. Joining SHA was a great decision, as it has provided me with countless opportunities to connect with colleagues, share research, and attend conferences and workshops.
How many years have you been a member (approximately)?
I’ve been with SHA for nearly 30 years now. I first joined as a young graduate student, eager to learn from those who had spent years excavating the layers of history. Over the decades, as I transitioned into a role as project director, my involvement deepened, from contributing to research publications to mentoring the next generation of archaeologists. SHA has been an integral part of my career, offering continuous learning and a supportive network through every phase of my professional journey.
What are your strengths and weaknesses as an archaeologist?
One of my greatest strengths lies in my ability to manage complex projects and maintain a clear vision from the initial dig to the final analysis. I’m very detail-oriented, which helps in assembling disparate pieces of data into a coherent story. However, this meticulousness can sometimes turn into an obsession with data, where I lose sight of the bigger picture. I’ve had to learn to balance detailed analysis with broader interpretive insights. I’m actively working on embracing more interdisciplinary approaches and incorporating diverse perspectives to ensure that my interpretations are both nuanced and comprehensive.
Which benefit of belonging to SHA do you find the most beneficial?
The committees. SHA’s committees are where policy gets made. I’ve served on the Ethics Advisory Committee for a decade, helping draft guidelines for descendant community engagement. It’s thankless work: endless Zoom calls and peer-reviewing position statements, but it matters. When a tribal nation in Oklahoma used our guidelines to reclaim artifacts from a museum, I felt like we’d moved the needle. Conferences are fun, but committees are where you roll up your sleeves and build the field’s future.