A Fresh Start with a New Purpose

It’s time for me to get a fresh start, and so I am here, back to blogging. I know that the interweb circuitry that connects my blog address to your RSS feed probably rusted out a long time ago, but I hope that you will dust it off and come with me on a new journey.

For the past three years, I’ve been teaching the U.S. History survey at a state college (which I will call State College). It’s a job that is rewarding (at times) and frustrating (at times), and while I enjoy interacting with students, I miss a certain type of intellectual engagement—the type that involved talking about cool books on esoteric historical subjects, geeking out on interesting movies, and swapping tips on how to get other people interested in the things I am interested in. In some ways, I think that this was the heart of the grad school experience. But, I also want to keep this more grounded than the hours-long dissections of Foucault, or detailed analysis of Benedict Anderson (no offense to either of them). So, I’m going to focus on things that I’ve found useful or helpful in teaching—the monographs that I turned into interesting lectures, the lectures that worked, the essay prompts and subjects that got students thinking, and the free resources that are available on the web. I will be here, on a periodic basis, writing brief summaries of books, films, current events, etc. and then saying why I think whatever-it-is is cool. I will be focusing on the positive—it’s damn hard to write a book, make a movie, or make a difference—and I would like to celebrate those efforts. This doesn’t mean, though, that I will never offer criticism. But I think that taking a work and lauding it for what it does well is underrated. 

With all that being said, let me get started with one of my favorite time periods. When I first started teaching at State College, I didn’t much like the early nineteenth century. I hadn’t spent much time with it, and preferred the colonial period or Gilded Age and Progressive Era. But as I’ve taught, I’ve really come to appreciate it. Particularly the 1820’s-1840’s. It was a time of great economic, social, and geographic expansion for the United States. Not unlike our own time, it was a period when the world seemed to shrink as it speed up—new forms of transportation closed distances, cities grew and became more anonymous, technology caused great leaps in manufacturing. And people worried about all of it. What did the future hold? How would young people stay morally pure without the eyes of the community upon them? How did they know that people were who they said they were and not frauds? How did the expanding middle class differentiate itself from those above and below? The center of this was world was New York City. Recently connected to the Midwest river system by the Erie Canal, and a node in the web of the Atlantic world, New York City in the 1830’s was in the midst of a building and population boom. 

Karen Haltunnen explains in her book Confidence Men and Painted Women that in New York City, middle class people expressed these concerns by setting up two “straw men”: confidence men, and painted women. Confidence men were those who lured the recent male migrants into sin and, inevitably, moral and physical ruin. Think Lord Wotton in The Picture of Dorian Gray. The young, naïve man arrives in the city and meets someone who he thinks is reputable (because the guy has the appearance of being of good character). The Confidence Man shows the younger man around town, to the places where young people congregate. This journey may start of respectably, but it will soon lead to dens of sin—brothels, gambling houses, saloons, and the like. And once the young man has set foot off of the path of morality, the depravity will spread like a cancer, until it has consumed every part of him and he is found robbed and murdered, floating in the Hudson (as this illustration from the 1860's shows:

 These types of warnings are very melodramatic, and were also used heavily in the Temperance Movement).

For women, the Painted Woman was one who was artificial—her outside appearance did not match her inner reality. The emphasis for women was therefore sensibility and sincerity. In the case of sensibility, women were supposed to be like one raw, exposed nerve; reacting to everything around them and showing that reaction. If you think of Marianne, the younger sister in Jane Austin’s Sense and Sensibility, you will begin to get the picture. The girl reacts to everything, and seems to have no filters. One part of the way that women showed that they were sensible was through fashion. Gone were the elaborate dresses and bonnets, and in their place were simpler dress and accessories. The dress, which emphasized restraint (literally in the sense that you couldn’t lift your arms very far), and a bonnet which would frame the sincere face instead of distracting from it. But the problem with this was that it could be faked. For women, then it was all about the unbelievably long list of social protocol rules. If you were part of that world, you would know how to behave, and if you weren’t, it would expose you as a fraud. 

It was into this world that a river of migrants rushed into New York City. One drop in the river in this flow was a (soon to be infamous) prostitute, named Helen Jewett.

Helen was likely murdered by her lover, Richard P. Robinson. Her murder has all of the juicy elements of a romantic novel—a young woman in love but tied to a life where she couldn’t be monogamous, hiding from a past, murdered, her corpse snatched from its resting place and dissected, and then her name and story exposed by the press, from which thousands across the United States would come to know her. (Here I am drawing very loosely from Patricia Cline Cohen’s excellent book The Murder of Helen Jewett: The Life and Death of a Prostitute in Nineteenth-Century New York) But it’s also more than that. Jewett is a good way to talk about the dynamics that I mentioned above. She and Robinson were recent migrants to the city. She was originally from Maine, he was from Connecticut. She was from a poor family, and had been basically indentured into a wealthy and prominent Maine household. He was the son of a wealthy and prominent Connecticut landowner. She had left the house where she was a servant, slipping her low-class past, changing her name (which was originally Dorcas Doyen) as she made her way down the coast from Augusta to New York City. Here, she was a high-class prostitute, and came into contact with many civic leaders of the day. He was a clerk, which was an emerging white-collar business trade. Before the 1830’s he would have been living with his employer’s family, but with the urban expansion, wealthy businessmen had begun to move out of the downtown, leaving their clerks to stay in boardinghouses.

Here, then, is one of the main elements of middle-class anxieties: the lower class woman masquerading as a middle or upper-class woman, seducing the upright young clerk. Led into descent, he will eventually murder her. And although the newspapers generally thought that he did it, Robinson had a strong following from among the young clerks in the city. They blamed Jewett for being a “disgrace to her sex” (as one letter writer put it) and for seducing Robinson away from a wholesome life.

Because I don’t have much time in the current class, I focus on these issues. But there are several connections that I think would be excellent to make here. One would be to bring in Christine Stansell’s City of Women, and put Jewett more into the context of wage-earning women. Another would be to focus on the role of Confidence Men and speculation in business, and talk about the changing urban economy, and the financial panics of the period (here Jane Kamensky’s The Exchange Artist would be helpful).

For student projects, I see two main directions. One is to examine Godey’s Ladies Book, and the fashion and expectations for women. The other would be to look at newspapers, and particularly those in New York City, to get an idea of this rapidly changing urban world. Both of these would give students a sense of what life was like during that time period, and the ways that it was changing.

Summer ends?

So it's Labor Day weekend, and I'm at a coffee shop, working (or, at this moment, taking a break from it). I've just overheard the barista yell something that makes historians cringe: "Why do I need to know how to look stuff up? History is just reading a book and writing a story about it." It's a little bit disheartening to be so misunderstood, I'll admit, and as much as I'm tempted to go and engage her in a conversation about it, I'm also jaded enough that I know it probably wouldn't matter that much. The process of writing history is something that more or less has to be done to be understood. Hopefully she'll get it before the end of the semester.

But it's also indicative of the end of summer, and the sudden influx of LOTS of 18-22 year olds, and the process of getting them acclimatized to the town and campus, a task which largely falls to the rest of us. Yes, it's about teaching them our subjects, but it's also about having the patience to teach them about lots of other things, too. They come to us as inwardly focused (as 18 year olds, pretty much regardless of who they are), and it's our job to introduce them to the fact that there is a much larger world. Often the academic teaching is the more rewarding than the life-lessons, mostly because we get to talk about what interests us. But, as someone who isn't teaching this year, the other life lessons have recently been brought home to me. For example, the people who walk down the (clearly-marked) bike paths. Whether under iPod headphones (which, as a user I can't issue a general indictment against) or talking on the phone, the kids aren't paying attention to their surroundings, and can't hear the frustrated bicyclist (ok... me) dinging a bell at them. In worst-case scenarios, this gets them killed- a few years ago a girl was struck by a bus when talking on her cell phone as she crossed the street. But it's also indicative of their focus as almost entirely inward, a direction which may or may not reverse over the course of their time here. It is certainly not something that the general population has lost, as indicted in everything from national politics to traffic jams- a "me first" mentality that puts everyone and everything else second to one's own wants and needs. We all do it a little bit- the challenge (and for some of us a more daily one than for others) is to see above and beyond ourselves, to have patience with those who haven't yet reached this point, and to have the endurance to try to help them get them to it.

I am enough of a historian to recognize that complaints about the "rising generation" have echoed for a long time, and enough of an optimist to hope that we will change enough of these kids to make a difference. And perhaps I'll go talk to that barista after all.

silences

I began drafting the chapter that I'm currently working on several weeks ago. In the absence of immediately available primary source material, I relied heavily on a book which has proven to be very unreliable. After getting some of the sources and looking at them myself, I realized the extent to which the author had creatively extracted and selected quotes. It's something we all do, as historians, but there are limits that must be adhered to, and fine lines which can't be crossed in representing our sources and their authors. To me, it mostly comes down to intention- you can't, as a scholar, deliberately misrepresent something. You can fail to see things, or fail to get past your own world view, but when you impose your argument on the sources, and bend them too much to your own will, you begin to loose your objectivity, and the scholarship suffers for it. Since the book that I've been using wasn't written by an academic, it has also impressed me (somewhat depressingly) with the need for professional standards which at their best ensure that deliberate misinformation isn't disseminated.

But this has also gotten me thinking about the things we don't say or are best left unsaid in our own lives. Our own creative editing, deliberately constructed and carefully nurtured blind spots, and the things we don't even tell ourselves, much less other people. I still admire the search for truth all the way down- a relentless pursuit of who, what, where, how, and most importantly, why- in both scholarship and one's personal life. But the examined life is a tough road, and I'm increasingly of the mind that even in our own lives things are rarely so simple as truth and fiction, because there are simply too many truths and too many fictions. And, let's face it- fiction is often more persuasive, simply because it is so flexible; the truth is what is (or at least our own perception of what is), but fiction encompasses what might/would/should/could be. Its seductive qualities are in it's very nature, and I think that it is what many times makes us want to believe it, perhaps so much that we come to believe it, rather than a once-existant truth. In other words, when you begin to see the space between the notes, sometimes it becomes an alternate tune, which is somehow more interesting than the original, and eventually you don't remember the original anymore. But, in that process, the silence is foundational because it allows for the space of creation although one of its ultimate ironies is that it is the thing that is most easily ignored.

A town deflates

My town, which is essentially a company town, dances to the rhythm of the university. Because it is such a huge institution, the tempo shifts dictated by the university's schedule are not small, and this weekend is proof of that. It's graduation weekend. Over the course of the past week, finals week, I've seen the usual convoy of cars stuffed to the ceiling with the entirety of some undergrad's possessions. The cars (usually driven by parents, and most of the time double-parked in front of dorms and apartments) herald the migration of the undergraduates back to their suburban Chicago jobs, homes, and lives. Today is convocation, and so in a week the town will return to its summer-time quiet. It's a day I've looked forward to since all the 35,000 or so students arrived in August, meaning I could no longer find an easy parking spot or table in a coffee shop, had to show up early for movies, and wait in line at the grocery. And yet, there's a feeling of emptiness, as the temporariness of student life once again cycles through- communities and friendships made so fast and firm during the year will be eroded with summer-time absence, only to be resurrected in the fall.

It's times like these that I reflect on my own career path: to shepherd young people into finding and creating themselves (at least that's what I tell myself optimistically). Watching students in their graduation regalia pose for pictures in front of buildings and statues, I remember the feeling of pride and fear- to be ending something they've done their whole lives, and yet buoyant in that ending and the possibilities in it. What will they do with their lives? How will they make their worlds? I realize the comfort of a path chosen, even as I envy them their choice. And yet would I go back? No, most definitely not. I am happy to be in proximity, without wanting to change places. This is a temporary nostalgia; practically by the time the last Chicago-bound minivan hits the road, I'll forget what it feels like to have tens of thousands of late-teenagers and early-twenty-somethings around, and enjoy the ease and elbow room of this place in summer. And, by August I will have forgotten the emptiness of the town, and will once again look up from my work, wonder where the time went and where all the people came from, as we all start the dance again.

I'm back!

Ok, so if you're checking this, I've either told you that I'm back posting, or you are very persistent and hopeful, and deserve far more kudoes than I can ever offer. Apologies for it being such a long time between postings. I actually forgot my Blogger password (or rather have had an embarrassing time trying to figure out how the new google interface works), so after many loops around the various help pages, hopefully have things solved.

The dissertation progresses, although slowly. I'm back revising chapters 1-3, and trying to write the additional 3 chapters. Yeah, it has been (and will continue to be), that kind of year. In the mean time, I'm also scanning in microfilm, something I have become an expert on. On a daily basis, I'm happy, although I wish things were going a lot faster than they currently are. One of the dissertation help webpages I've read talks about journaling every day, so I may try that for a while (if so, you'll have to forgive me if my posts degenerate into random and unfinished thoughts). At the moment I'm working on Chapter 1, which is about how the YW's religious stance was redefined by an international context. So, I've been looking a lot for things on religion in India, particularly Bible study. Along the way, though, I'm finding funny/sad/poignant moments, one of which I've posted below. Imagine not being able to ride a motorcycle (I assume because one couldn't wear pants) as late as 1914! How different my wardrobe would be....


Quote from my notes:
“Miss Melcher has just come in from Ryapuram in the little car (the YWCA ‘Humberette’) to tell me the tragedy of a puncture, which is the second one to her credit! With our work scattered to the farthest ends of Madras, a motor-car surely is a time-saver and a strength-saver. It is even the most important part of Association equipment. More so than roll-top desks, iron beds with thick, hot mattresses, or clothes- in India! YMCA Secretaries have motor-cycles and some of them have side-cars! A side car for YWCA Secretaries is useless and they cannot ride a motor-cycle any more than they can ride a horse astride, without reproach.”
World's YWCA Archives, India01- Letter to “Dear Friends at Home” from Jessie E. Mather, July 28 1915

It's not a Sunday, but...

I just had to write, even though it's not a Sunday. I've been having problems logging on to the new blogger/google site, so I figured this was as good a time as any to give y'all an update. And, since this is day 2 of being snowed in (pictures farther down), it feels like a Sunday to me!

On Sunday I printed out my chapter, to try to make sense of it- all 60 pages of it. I'm not sure it helped that much, although it's amazing how different things look on paper rather than on screen. I have several large blocks which were bugging me that need to be shifted around, but that should help the general flow. I've still got some writing to do, but hopefully with today fully at home I'll make lots of progress. In between shoveling snow, that is. For those of you who haven't heard about our Blizzard (it deserves a capital "b"), we got about a foot of snow, and that was before drifting. Instead of a quote from my notes, I've posted pictures below. Lukily my neighbor has a snow blower (which explains why their driveway is imaculate even when we get 1") which he has periodically used on my behalf over the last day or two (which I greatly appreicate, as I anticipate having to go out before next Tuesday).

From last night:

I went out to shovel in the evening, and was met by my neighbors on either side:

One of whom had a snowblower, so he took a picture of me with it. I didn't actually get to blow any snow with it, though.

To give you an idea of the depth, with the shovel for reference.

The view of the driveway:

And what a difference a day and no cloud cover makes! With only the very high-level clouds and little wind, it is beautiful although cold. This is the view down my street a few hours ago, when I went out to shovel (looking East)- the recycle bin stands at a little over 4 feet tall:

(and then looking West):

And then at my house- notice that the accumulated depth is over a foot, and then when shoveled it's quite a bit higher (and the cat in the middle window). I didn't do all of the driveway myself; just as my back was really starting to hurt a man came by and offered to do it for $25, which I took him up on (money well spent, I say):

This is the planter box which is easily 3 feet:

More on Sunday- I hope that you are all well and warm!

I'm Back!

Hi Everyone- sorry to be so long between posts. With the holidays and all, things were a bit frenetic. My 16 year old car (which I've had for the last 13 years- most of my driving life) finally gave up the ghost, so there were many logistical things that needed to be taken care of right then.

The chapter (which seems at times almost eternal) is finally well under way; yesterday's work foray to the coffee shop yielded pages 36-38. Given that I still have lots to cover, I have a feeling it's going to be mammoth- probably about 70 pages. I've been going back and forth about what that means for completion next year (I will, I WILL graduate in May of '08), whether with chapters that long I can cut the two middle ones. But, I'm a little ways off from deciding that (after all, I have to write the other three before I need to decide), and have yet to talk to my advisor about it.

My job progresses- although it was sold to me that I'd be able to work on the dissertation while I'm there, that hasn't happened much yet. Instead, I've been doing fun data-entry type things like inventorying files (my own damn fault). It's been a good job, though, in the sense that I've realized how much I enjoy teaching. A few days ago a student came in to ask for advice on a research project, and I had more fun at work in that 30 minutes than I had for the past two weeks put together. I didn't get hired by the department for teaching during the summer, and I'll probably stick with advising for next year (if I don't get a fellowship- cross your collective fingers!), so it'll be a while before I teach again. To counter that (and for several other reasons), I'm auditing a class this semester, which I'm really looking forward to. It meets later in the semester, so I'll be sure to let you know how it goes.

In the mean time, I'll leave you with a quote from the section of the chapter which talks about communications networks between the national office of the YW in New York and the Foreign Secretaries. I particularly focus on the Director of the Foreign Division, Sarah Lyon, who wrote what she calls "pastoral letters" to the Secretaries abroad. She usually ended with a brief talk about the current fashions. Since it's been so cold outside everywhere (the Oranges in California! Ice in Oklahoma! Dangerous wind chills in Illinois!) I thought we could all use a reminder that one day, it will be warm.

"New York in summer is quite different from former days for, taking a leaf out of Europe’s book, almost every hotel and restaurant sets up an outdoor café made attractive by green trees and bright awnings. Were you to drop in, you might wear your popular boucle sport dress, which of course you knitted yourself. Or if that is too warm, put on one of the patriotic cottons in aqua or lettuce shades. Wear flowers at your jugular or your sternum! Any one of a variety of hat will do, but many are wearing very shallow crowns- sometimes I think the shallower the brain the shallower the crown atop it! An elastic is supposed to serve as mooring, but I’ve never seen so many hats flying down the street with populace in mad pursuit as this spring. I asked ‘K.K.’ what to tell you about styles, and her contribution was a laconic, ‘You might tell ‘em shorts are getting shorter.’ Since it is true, I add the item, though you may prefer the latest sport toggery on your holiday, namely culottes."
(Sunday, May 31, 1936).