Howard Mestas' Blog Page

The Real “Little Italy”

Today we gave our feet a break and enjoyed a bus tour with Kenneth Jackson from Columbia University.  Originally we were supposed to only tour Harlem and the Bronx, but it ended up being nearly the entire city, which was fine by me because Jackson is not only a scholar of the city he was witness to notable periods of transition in urban renewal, ethnic and religious flight, and the growth of business due to the decline in criminal activity.  It was nice to go on a cruise and have him point out things like the subway that went through buildings and the café shown on the Seinfeld series.  I was excited when, out of nowhere, he had us walk up a hill to show us the Morris-Jumel Mansion where Washington hid out while the British occupied Manhattan.  I always wondered where he fled after the disastrous defeat at Brooklyn Heights, and just like that, unexpectedly I now know!  And amazingly, without even

 having to ask, he points out where the Polo Grounds were located and Willie Mayes made his incredibly fabulous overhead catch.  And later he shows us a restaurant where the waiter was so rude and abusive to Robert De Niro, he decided to cast him as an extra in the movie he was filming.  That rude, squeaky voiced waiter turned out to be Joe Pesci (what a shocker!).  It was good to see that places like Harlem and the Bronx were being revitalized and property values were increasing.

Eventually we did a walking tour of little Italy, and just as Jonathan said, it was definitely the “real” little Italy.  The shops and restaurants gave us an understanding of what is meant by a “neighborhood” setting of the boroughs.  For lunch I joined the renowned scholar

Brett Bridgeman for some real Italian cuisine at a place called Emilia’s.  I can’t recall what I ordered, I only know it was very good and my appetizer of “Clams Oreganata” was incredibly delicious.  I can’t say our restaurant was the most original but I heard one of the waiters whisper to another, “Fredo, you’re my older brother, and I love you. But don’t take sides against the family again. Ever.”

Without question New York City lives up to its reputation; boasting cultural, financial, and political dynamics unmatched by any other urban center on the planet.  And in the time between Henry Hudson and 911, some incredible transformations occurred changing an unspoiled wilderness to what we now know as the Big Apple.  It didn’t happen overnight and it couldn’t have happened without some incredible visionaries along the way.  Today’s activities at the Museum of the City of New York helped identify some of those leaders and the obstacles they had to overcome.  Enumerating this information was our dedicated instructor for the day E.Y. Zipris who was not only informative, but so passionate about her lessons that I became motivated to use her methods.  If I didn’t learn anything else today, I was reminded that your method of delivering information to students may be the most important variable.  In other words you can baffle your students with information, but the excitement level of your delivery is probably the most important thing.  E. Y. was a master of delivery, but she also brought loads of information with some innovative methods on how to teach it.  The best idea I learned for the day was to place an actual grid on the floor and use the students like virtual chess pieces to represent buildings and neighborhoods.  Who knew city planning could be so much fun!  Even though Lemo and Hutch looked like begrudging dance partners.  I also liked the idea of using small cardboard boxes that could be written on and accessorized to be used to represent buildings that could be moved around on the grid.  What a great method to teach about the history and development of any community.

 

The Island at the Center of the World

Somewhere in the middle of New York City, in a place of honor, there should be an enormous monument dedicated to 17^th Dutch colonist Adriaen Van der Donck.  Likewise, appropriate mention of his name should grace the halls of Congress in the company of Thomas Jefferson, and John Adams.  For if these American icons are credited with the ideas of revolution and the foundation of the American Republic, van der Donck preceded them by over 120 years.  In his book, “The Island at the Center of the World,” Russell Shorto profoundly makes the case that Dutch Colonial Manhattan, and its political patriarch Van der Donck were the basis for the earliest foundation of republican government not only for New York, but America itself.  In addition the colony established the ideas of ethnic and religious tolerance on top of free market capitalism long before these experiments became accepted ideas.  These are the foundations for modern America; especially for the streets of the cultural and financial capital of the world.  And they were based on the Dutch model.    

After centuries of scholarly neglect, Dutch history in America is only recently coming to light, mainly as the result of the decades’ long work of Germanic linguistics expert Charles Gehring.  Gehring, who Shorto refers to as the “Rosetta Stone,” has meticulously deciphered a large portion of 12,000 pages of manuscripts and records after beginning his work in 1974.  Transactions of ever manner have been revealed from land purchases from Native Americans to marriage and divorce proceedings in the Colony.  What has been determined is that most of the historical “fact” we have known about New Netherland has either been negatively misrepresented, incomplete, or both.  All the reasoning for such distortion is quite obvious, the winners tell history from their point of view or from a platform that sheds the most positive light on them.  Thus, the 1664 English takeover shows a colony inhabited by individuals of the lowest order, disorganized and incapable of continued existence without immediate infusions of Anglican culture and legal discipline.

Nothing could be farther from the truth and one simply needs to begin with 17^th century comparisons between England and Holland, at the time of their earliest transatlantic ventures.  England was on the verge of a century of religious wars where large groups of political and religious refugees would be forced to flee for their lives.   The Dutch, by comparison were in the business of trade in a vast network, and just as foreign goods moved into and out of ports, foreign people did as well.  Although the Dutch were not completely broad minded in mingling with their foreign lot, they were acceptant.  Tolerance, as Shorto points out, was very good for business.  Additionally, Holland was embroiled in its perpetual war for independence against their Spanish overlords and their “Catholic Inquisition” in an age when the concepts of the emerging Enlightenment seemed like a better idea.  Living the reality of being Spanish refugees within their own borders, the Dutch declared themselves a

 “Republic” and laid out the welcome mat for all who were fleeing political and religious tyranny throughout Europe.  Shorto writes that, “Over the course of the 17th century, the Dutch Republic would give intellectual or religious haven to Descartes, John Locke, and the English Pilgrims, the latter of whom lived in Leiden for twelve years before setting out to found a New Jerusalem in New England.”

Leiden was the preferred destination of all of Europe’s intellectual free thinkers, and its printing presses served to preserve their ideas for world.  Galileo’s “Discourses and Mathematical Demonstrations Concerning Two New Sciences” would be published in Leiden in 1638 free from Papal inquisitors and their torches.  In fact, one-half of all books published worldwide in the seventeenth century would be produced in the Netherlands.  Scientists and medical researchers of every sort wandered the streets of Leiden and the namesake university would become the home of the century’s most gifted legal mind, Dutch born Hugo de Groot, who would be known to history as Hugo Grotius.  Grotius came to the University of Leiden with revolutionary ideas about how governments should conduct themselves in times of both war and peace and centered his theories that governance should be based on “natural law” and not from “biblical citations.” His ideas would be the seminal roots for the writings of John Locke, whose own works would influence the likes of Jefferson and other writers of the Declaration of Independence.  Grotius was the leading influence as to how law was taught at Leiden and one of his many champions was Van der Donck who studied law at the university and emerged as a jurist in 1641.

Had he chosen, Van der Donck could easily have rested upon his laurels, becoming a prominent figure in a nation peaking in its golden age, but he opted for an adventurous challenge with no such guarantee.  In May 1641 he ventured across the Atlantic to become the first official “lawman” in Dutch controlled territory, one-hundred-fifty miles up the Hudson, or as the locals called it the North River.  He would serve as sheriff, judge, and jury at the pleasure of a Dutch diamond merchant in a feudal colony of Rensselaerswyck near where the city of Albany would develop.  Aside from his primary duties, Van der Donck became entranced with the wilderness environment at his doorstep, studying everything from the flora and fauna, to the Native Americans.  All discoveries would be catalogued in his major work, A Description of New Netherland.  Unlike contemporary stereotypical works of the day, his text would shine positively on the indigenous tribes classifying them as cultured, civilized people with complex societies; a far cry from the English colonial descriptions as irreligious savages.

Predictably, Van der Donck would become discontented with his role as “enforcer” of a medieval style fiefdom and in 1644 he found his way toward the nerve center of the colony, the island the Indians called Mannahatta.  It was there he became the chief counsel for settlers’ grievances against the head of the Dutch West India Company, Willem Kieft.  Kieft was a distasteful leader who was successful in unifying an incredibly diverse population into one single mindset; that of seeking his expulsion.  The worst of the many grievances against him was his disastrous military campaign against the Indians, and then his refusal to compensate colonists for property loss in the war that would follow.  Behind the scenes, Van der Donck applied his legal training, clandestinely working towards Kieft’s ouster.  The petition seeking a new leader for the colony was the first example for a redress of abuses against a leader in the new world.  Even though it did not have his name on it, experts agree that the bulk of the draft penned on behalf of the colonists was through the hand of Van der Donck who had an unusual way of describing the new world residents.  He called them “Americans.”

The new commander of Manhattan would be the legendary figure that most American’s are familiar with, Petrus “Peter” Stuyvesant who would assume his duties in 1647.  His task was to restore respectability for the West India Company, not only for the inhabitants of the colony, but in the eyes of the governing State’s General and the stock holders back in the Netherlands.  Dutch West India’s reputation had diminished by the time Stuyvesant took charge and its importance took a greater hit with the signing of a peace treaty between the Spain and the Dutch Republic a year later.  The company, after all, had been established as a base for carrying out the war.  Stuyvesant’s duties were problematic from the moment he took command, having to rule over a population that was unlike any other in the world.  Centuries before huddled masses were welcomed into the harbor, the island was a paradigm of incredible diversity acceptant to individuals of every national origin and to the belief systems they brought with them.  The inhabitants were saturated with ideas of natural rights and individual liberties, and they were tolerant of one-another’s frailties.  Nothing aside from a bad work ethic was forbidden.  Those who were indentured through apprenticeship were encouraged to advance themselves through additional careers, thus creating an assemblage of workers who could say to their benefactors, “you are my boss but not my master.”  All of these guidelines were not just tolerated, but encouraged by the Dutch Republic keenly aware that intolerance was bad for trade and business.  It was a far cry from practices in Puritan New England, and it was the place Stuyvesant was assigned to establish discipline.

It was only a matter of time before Van der Donck would again be conveying colonial grievances, this time he would carry them personally to the governing body in The Hague, where he would articulate complaints against Stuyvesant and the “Tyranny of the West India Company.”  To gain public support he would publish his work called The Remonstrance of New Netherland which would serve as the new continent’s earliest version of a declaration of independence, and it would call for a needed municipal charter that would guarantee representative government.  As fate would have it, Van der Donck was the right person at the right time for these political manifestations to occur.  Sadly, however, he was caught up in a political power struggle the Netherlands and was not present on February 2, 1653 when the city of New Amsterdam approved its new municipal charter, an acclamation that would serve to establish the cultural identity of modern New York City.  Stuyvesant, though constrained, was still powerful enough to hamstring Van der Donck’s political ambitions once he returned from abroad.   After accomplishing so much for the new city he helped invent, Van der Donck would never be a major player again.  Like the hero in a Greek Tragedy, he would die in relative obscurity, and with no monument in the island at the center of the world.

Patriots and Loyalists in Revolutionary New York

When students of history learn about the American Revolution they are bombarded with accounts of bravery on the battlefields and the sufferings of winter encampments; and the political maneuvers of the Continental Congress.  Too often, however, the anguish and displacement of civilian populations are ignored.  In her book, “Generous Enemies,” historian Judith Van Buskirk describes in painstaking detail, the incredible burdens faced by the noncombatants of New York City and environs from 1776 to 1783.  As with any war, military quartermasters are primarily concerned with responsibilities of supplying troops; with little regard to the needs of the displaced populace.  In the case of the seven-year-long British occupation of New York City, Loyalist and Patriot civilians alike were forced to find relief with their generous counterparts on the other side.

When it became clear in early 1776 that the British would abandon Boston, panic and confusion reigned supreme among the divided inhabitants of New York City, along with surrounding areas in New Jersey and Connecticut.  Continental troops swarmed the islands at the mouth of the Hudson River, building redoubts and barriers in anticipation of the invasion from the north.  Almost immediately, Loyalists throughout the Hudson Valley faced the oppression of angry Patriot mobs that seemed bent on exploiting the situation to settle long held vendettas.  Property was vandalized; possessions were stolen, and tarring and feathering scenes were not uncommon.  Tories in New York City were forced to become refugees in the surrounding countryside.  But by the end of June in that year, the tides of war would change with the arrival of the British fleet.  By September thirty-two thousand redcoats would replace rebel forces in the city, clearing the way for streams of Loyalist citizens returning to reclaim their property and settle scores.  By this time the largest faction of New Yorkers who had not yet taken sides were in the position where they would have to take a stand.  As Van Buskirk writes, “In the early going, these various wings of the Revolutionary movement had not figured out who they were, what they were supposed to do, or where their responsibilities ended and the next group’s began.”

In contrast to long held beliefs, the British army showed a contemptibly small amount of kinship toward the throngs who remained loyal to the king, focusing instead on the impressments of private property and the pressured recruitment of locals for service in the military.  Two polarized camps would evolve with the Tories occupying the city as the patriot Whig factions settled on the perimeter.  Both sides suffered hardships with the demands of the military, and as the war dragged on and supplies dwindled, it became clear to civilians that their needs would be subordinate to those their respective armies.  With the goal of basic survival and a few creature comforts, opposing political factions began to seek their needs from an old and familiar source they knew they could rely on, their erstwhile friends and family on the other side.  Van Buskirk notes, “A family member within enemy lines still needed help, and an illegal shipment of flour from a relative outside those lines could be arranged.  Such basic human concerns solidified into networks that throughout the war operated actively across no-man’s-land and into the heart of enemy territory.”

Early on, commanders on each side eased “emergency” travel restrictions; only because they were aware that the citizenry were so familiar with the terrain that their movement would be impossible to contain.  Letters between family and friends on each side were common.  Women in particular were accorded more freedom of movement because they were fulfilling the traditional role as “nurturers, providers, and caregivers.”  They would be the ones who were frequently seen at the windows of the city’s prisons aiding relatives because they were not considered to be a threat.  Women could go where no man would dare, but only because they were determined to be “weak and childlike.”  This mobility would afford women the opportunity of being the greatest purveyors of information that could be beneficial to enemy camps.  Van Buskirk writes that, “The news they brought back home and disseminated far exceeded the contribution of famous spies like Nathan Hale.”

During the British occupation, African Americans (free and slave) also enjoyed a greater personal status as never before experienced in the colonies.  Any measure of skill or muscle energy they could provide would be an equal measure of loss to their masters, and to the American side.  With the promise of freedom, thousands flocked to the British side where they roamed freely within occupied lines; many would serve proudly as members of the King’s Navy.  They would become so valuable a commodity that they could negotiate with their former masters for the freedom of their wives and children and for better working conditions if they promised to return.  The British were conscientious of their promises made and availed every effort after the war to evacuate slaves who served, much to the dismay of George Washington who felt they were property that should return to their owners.

Van Buskirk’s research also shattered long propagated myths that the goals of the founders somehow included the creation of an egalitarian society.  Nothing could be farther from the truth; one needs only to examine the disparities in treatment between prisoners of rank and privilege versus the brutality reserved for enlisted men.  In a reflection of 18^th Century society, wealth and birthright usually triumphed over any sense of fairness in the military codes.  Both armies were bound by an “international confraternity of gentlemen” with courtesies extended to members of their own rank.  Captured officers on both sides enjoyed privileges granted to one another that made the war seem like some type of game played among friends.  Officers were not restricted in their travel or in their pursuit of the best available delicacies in food or entertainment.  Van Buskirk notes that, “After the battle of Saratoga, the defeated British General, John Burgoyne, stayed in the mansion house of American General, Philip Schuyler.  One week after the battle, some American officers attended a dinner at General Burgoyne’s table in the Schuyler house.”  Such arrangements were not uncommon and certainly not without the full awareness of the Congress in Philadelphia.  By comparison captured prisoners of the “lower sort” suffered incredible hardships in sugarhouses and prison ships where death from

 disease and neglect were common.  Class distinctions remained a part of society even as the most difficult stages of the war unfolded, and no greater example could be given than the Benedict Arnold-John Andre spy case.  In the most egregious of crimes, Arnold’s plan risked hundreds soldiers lives and could have dealt a strategic blow that may have ended the American cause.  As fate would have it Arnold escaped to safety behind British lines while Major Andre was the captive of the American Army.  The job of espionage was not without risk and spies were hanged routinely, but Andre was a ranking British officer and American officers were sympathetic to his cause.  In what should have been a swift execution, Andre’s case dragged on for ten days before overwhelming public condemnation forced him to the gallows.  By contrast an American enlisted man was hanged just two weeks earlier for plundering.  Another soldier had recently met the same fate for his crime of forging an officer’s handwriting and handing out furloughs and discharges for some of his buddies.  Surely there was no fairness when it came to rank.

Following the events at Yorktown in 1781, Loyalists in New York began to see the writings on the wall and by the start of 1783 the peace treaty in Paris was being worked out.  Once again the reversal of power was hastening its way through the city after seven long years of British authority.  The most flagrant antagonists to American independence found themselves in desperate situations and by the spring, mass evacuations to Britain, Canada or the West Indies were ongoing.  Those who could make their case petitioned for their property or for a chance to remain.  Many of the forlorn realized their best hope was to enlist the support of those on the “other side” who would still be willing to uphold their trust and their reputations.  They would seek the comfort of their old friends and relations; those who had been generous enemies.

UP IN THE OLD HOTEL

Joseph Mitchell was a gifted writer who came to New York City from his native North Carolina just as the Great Depression struck in 1929.  He was just twenty-one years old but soon found himself as a feature writer and a police reporter for The Morning World, the Herald Times, and the World-Telegram.  He covered everything from New York cave dwellers to Albert Einstein and became one of the most popular newspapermen in the city.  His style was to establish a kinship with his subjects and was even known to take up a residence in a cheap hotel to better learn a neighborhood.  Unlike most feature writers Mitchell would seek out eccentric characters and personalities for his stories.  Where most would want to feature high class dining establishments, he would prefer feasts where patrons ate with their fingers and wiped their mouths with table cloths.  He especially felt at home in greasy spoon restaurants with unusual menus; preferably with clams or oysters picked in the bay.  As others aspired to feature the rich and famous, Mitchell would spend time with individuals who managed to eke out a living through difficult and sometimes curious circumstances.  His favorite haunts were lower East Side saloons, Greenwich Village, Harlem, and the neighborhoods near the numerous docks and piers of the city.  Regardless of where the story was told Mitchell made the reader feel as if they were a guest along for the ride and although there was a serious nature to every story, he managed a satirical poke at life’s hardships in what he referred to as “graveside humor.” Considering that most of his features were written in the middle of the nineteenth century during difficult times as Americans were recovering from the lasting effects of the Depression and World War II, his readers may have been looking for an outlet to laugh at themselves or to relish the fact that someone else was actually worse off than they were.

One of Mitchell’s most eccentric characters was a Greenwich Village nonconformist who pushed the definition of the “Bohemian” culture to extreme measures.  Upon meeting him he would introduce himself by saying, “The name is Joseph Ferdinand Gould, a graduate of Harvard, magna cum difficultate, class of 1911, and chairman of the board of Weal and Woe, Incorporated.  In exchange for a drink, I’ll recite a poem, deliver a lecture, argue a point, or take off my shoes and imitate a sea gull.  I prefer gin, but beer will do.”  Gould really was a Harvard grad, but shunned societal evils preferring a life as a street wanderer.  “A steady job would interfere with my thinking,” he claimed.  Gould’s main obsession was his mysterious book he titled “An Oral History of Our Time,” which was basically a mishmash of conversations he would hear between New York’s underclass that he would encounter in flophouses, park benches, and shelters.  By the time Mitchell first interviewed him in 1942, Gould boasted to have been working on his book for at least 26 years and proclaimed to have already written over 9,000,000 words, all in long hand.  “I’m the foremost authority in the United States on the subject of doing without,” he would say.  His diet consisted mainly of “air, self-esteem, cigarette butts, cowboy coffee, fried egg sandwiches and ketchup.”  Copious amounts of ketchup!  While Gould was having his egg sandwich it was customary to empty a bottle or two of ketchup on a plate and then eat it with a spoon!  Proprietors of diners and eateries in the Village would gather up and hide ketchup bottles when he was seen approaching.  Although he was usually a shy person, Gould was never one to pass up a good party.  And after a few free drinks he would put on a one man show with only the slightest encouragement.  He would strip to the waist and do a dance he learned while working on an Indian

 reservation and then take off his shoes and socks and do his incredible imitation of a sea gull; indiscriminately performing a routine with, “awkward, headlong skips about the room, flapping his arms and letting out a piercing caw with every skip.”  He was a loner and had an affinity for sea gulls ever since having one for a pet as a child.  He would say he understood the language of the gulls and that he could translate poetry into it.  When Mitchell did his first story on Gould, it was titled Professor Seagull.

Another of Mitchell’s interesting stories was about a saloon on the east side that was the oldest in all of New York City.  At the time of Mitchell’s feature in 1940 it had only seen four owners since its opening in 1854.  Originally called The Old House at Home, it eventually was renamed McSorely’s Old Saloon after its founder John McSorely affectionately known as “Old John” to his patrons.  This was a peculiar establishment for many reasons not the least of which were the clientele who Mitchell described as a “rapidly thinning group of crusty of men, predominantly Irish, who have been drinking there since they were youths and now have a proprietary feeling about the place.”  Most were lonely old men who would slept in Bowery hotels and spend nearly every waking hour in the dimly lit saloon cramped into chairs that were practically molded into their shapes.  These men had little money, mostly small pensions, and were such fixtures that their peers would assume that someone was dead when they did not show up in the saloon in a week’s time.  Owners and patrons alike were very opposed to change and a strong indication was that there was only one drink on the list, frosty mugs of ale poured perfectly from experienced bartenders.  These men were serious about their drinking and pipe smoking, to the point that women weren’t even allowed in through the doors.  As the story was told, “Old John believed it impossible for men to drink with tranquility in the presence of women.”  Between 1912 and 1930 an artist named John Sloan produced a collection of paintings that were published in national magazines.  All depicted distinctive scenes that could have been found at any given moment in the alehouse and were given titles such as, “McSorley’s Saturday Night,” and “McSorley’s Cats.”  These publications would generate many curiosity seekers to which the regulars were barely tolerant, offering only casual acceptance, “If they behave themselves and don’t ask too many questions.”

The Epic Story of the Building of the Brooklyn Bridge

When you gaze upon the magnificent Manhattan skyline, it’s hard to imagine that less than 150 years ago the city’s tallest structure was a support column for a bridge.  Such was the greatness of the colossus that would connect the first and third largest cities in America.  The Brooklyn Bridge, or the “Great East River Bridge” as it was known in its early years was over a mile long and would be the world’s longest suspension bridge for 20 years following its completion in 1883.  In his book, “The Great Bridge,” bestselling author and historian David McCullough chronicles the structure from a conceptual idea through its completion; examining the staggering odds of the project ever being completed. 

The years following the Civil War were times of healing in America and according to some, the Age of Optimism.  It was a period when it seemed that all things were possible and great achievements were seen as monuments to the nations healing.  A bridge was a “particularly appealing symbol,” McCullough writes, “and seemed such a magnificent example of man’s capacity to master the forces of nature, and that, according to the preponderant wisdom, was what the whole thing was about.  Building a bridge seemed such a clean, heroic thing for a man to do.”  And spanning the East River was just as heroic as any plan could be.  There had been other suspension bridges in the world, but none across such an expanse was ever considered.  According to McCullough, “The chief problem always was the East River, which is no river at all technically speaking, but a tidal strait and one of the most turbulent and in that day, especially, one of the busiest stretches of navigable salt water anywhere on earth.”

The project, however, was not a whim; it was a necessity.  At the time the structure was being considered, Brooklyn was no longer a sleepy sea port on the western end of Long Island, instead it was a prosperous manufacturing center with a population of 400,000 and it was growing faster than New York.  It could not be ignored that the bridge would be a safe alternative to the countless ferries that crossed the channel, especially in the winter months when the passage was frozen or blocked by ice.  At least 13 boats went across the river both day and night.  “New York and Brooklyn must be united,” Horace Greeley declared in the Tribune in 1849.  The construction would commence in 1867.

Perhaps the most daunting challenges to Chief Engineer Washington A. Roebling were in constructing the foundations on which the stone suspension towers would rest.  New York Harbor is one of the deepest in the world and the tidal currents were treacherous.  The method was to use caissons, or underwater chambers that would allow men to dig out the riverbed (in search of bedrock) while actually under the river.  This method had been used in Europe but never in water as deep as this.  Caissons when lowered into the water were like inverted cups that created air chambers where workers could breath.  The trouble was that the air pressure increased as you went deeper causing “caisson sickness” which unknown to them was a form of the “bends” that divers experience when they surface too quickly.  Many workers died or became ill for life because of this ailment, including Roebling who frequented the sites as Chief Engineer.  He would later become disabled and dependent upon his faithful wife to serve as official secretary and diplomatic emissary as his illness forced his confinement throughout the project.  Before his affliction, Roebling was a familiar visitor to the caissons always seeking ways to speed up the project.  The biggest concerns were things that were unforeseen at the beginning such as the giant boulders that needed to be leveled on the New York side.  Workers were moving at a sluggish pace until Roebling made a bold decision to use explosives in the caissons.  This would improve the descent of the caissons to twelve to eighteen inches a week instead of six.  Over the years Roebling would develop many innovations that were breakthroughs in bridge technology such whitewashing the insides of the caissons to improve visibility and creating a mechanical signaling system so that workers could easily communicate with those on top.  Eventually the towers would be completed and the new challenge of creating the suspension cables was presented.  Again Roebling was an innovator by using zinc to galvanize individual wires which were spun into place creating cables.  The coating would prevent the wire from corrosion from the salt air; every step was calculated to make a lasting structure.  McCullough notes that, “The wire was to have a tested strength of not less than 160,000 pounds per square inch.”  This meant that the new bridge would have nearly double the strength of other bridges in use in the day.

After fourteen long years and numerous barriers along the way, the bridge was completed on May 24, 1883 and celebrated to extraordinary fanfare.  The accolades from politicians to editorialists were heard across the land.  On opening day Chester A. Arthur led a procession while the band played Hail to the Chief.  The New York Sun reported, “the climax of fourteen years’ suspense seemed to have been reached, since the President of the United States of America had walked dry shod to Brooklyn from New York.”  On the first full day over 150,000 crossed on foot and thousands more in carriages.  A New York policeman stated that “bridge craze” was in the air as admirers proclaimed it to be, “The Eighth Wonder of the World.”  People who were critics only a decade earlier were now broadcasting to all who could read or listen that the bridge was, “a wonder of science,” and a monument to “public spirit,” “the moral qualities of the human soul, “ and a great, everlasting symbol of “Peace.”  But more than a thing of beauty, it was an engineering marvel of practicality.  The trains began running in September, and within a year 37,000 people a day were using the bridge.  By 1888, the trains were running twenty-four hours a day and handling more than thirty million passengers a year.  Today, with a few modifications for automobile traffic, the structure is still the main junction between Brooklyn and Manhattan.  It was built for beauty and for purpose; it was built to last.  It is truly The Great Bridge. 

What an extraordinary 10 day journey through the Civil War, Gilded Age, and the birthplace of the eight hour work day! I feel gratified I was able to fulfill the obligations of this trip and honored to have been part of such a dedicated group willing to give up their free time away from their families. The students of these teachers will never know how lucky they are. Of course special thanks to Professors Harris and Rees for their foresight in the dynamics of our mission, and for guiding us in the most beneficial ways. And kudos to Scott Whited for being the model of efficiency, and one who always manages to find the most awesome bus drivers.
Starting with the readings, everything about this class has made me a better teacher. Like so many others, I have often thrown around the words “Progressive Era” without really knowing what I was talking about; but as I look back through our educational adventure, I now feel enlightened. The history of the Midwest is generally an area neglected in favor of areas east of the Appalachians and places around the Mason-Dixon Line. But who would have thought the victory for the North in the Civil War was fueled in part through the blood of the Chicago Stockyards? And how many educators really know that the roots of the Progressive Movement started in Wisconsin?
Our first days in Springfield were awe inspiring, especially since we ended last’s year’s journey in Gettysburg. The more I learn about Abraham Lincoln, the more I appreciate the mystery of his life and what he meant to this country. The Lincoln Museum should be a destiny for anyone who wants to know what the history of this nation is all about. Visiting New Salem was a pilgrimage to his greatness and a place where I felt I was living the prologue of his incredible American odyssey. It was remarkable that this year’s journey ended at the Pullman Factory where Lincoln’s funeral car was created, and his last living family member (Robert Todd Lincoln) served as company president. Amazing!
When reviewing the blog pages it’s fascinating to think we were at all those places. How many dedicated people, with such passion for American History did we encounter? There were so many speakers, curators, and professors…all experts in topics we were eager to learn more about. I would like to say I had a favorite moment, or person, but that would be insincere. All were unique and special.
Sometimes unplanned things happen for all the right reasons. It happened for me on the night before we went to Wisconsin. Since it was rainy all day, and cloudy and gloomy that night, the streets were pretty empty and quiet. What a great time to do something fun without crowds and distractions, and for me that something would be visiting Sear’s Tower. And because I like to do things at my own snail’s pace, I would be making the adventure on my own. In a giant boost of confidence I was able to navigate the subway system by myself and within 10 minutes I was exiting the “L” just beneath the towers.
However, nothing worth experiencing ever happens without some sacrifice, in this case it would be my time. The tower was closed because, even though it had stopped raining, the clouds were still hanging out above the 90th floor well below the observation deck. I would have to wait. As the twilight closed in on the city, the sky began to clear. By this time, only one diehard couple was still around to join me on the trip to the top. It was well worth the wait, we had the city skyline to ourselves for two hours! My guide was a man named Lonnie, who was an expert on Chicago, and eager to share any story.
From my perch I was able to see Lake Michigan, where only days before I had waded along its shoreline. I could see where two branches of the Chicago River joined, and the location of what was Fort Dearborn, destroyed by Potawatomi Indians in 1812. With Lonnie’s help, I could see where the Great Fire of 1871 started and the horrific path it followed. It was a new perspective on the fire, much different than following its devastation on a map. I saw the location of the Union Stockyards and my imagination took me back to Upton Sinclair’s book. I was shown the locations of Hull House, Haymarket Square, and the infamous Levee District. Off in the distance was the spot of the 1893 Columbian Exposition, and further north, Wrigley Field. My guide pointed out the individual turfs of Bugs Moran and Al Capone, and the site of the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. All at once, our journey came into focus; we hit the jackpot with this trip.
I know (since we are constantly reminded by Professor Rees) that Jurgis Rudkus was a fictional person. However, there were hundreds of thousands who lived his story. I thought about these people many times on our trip, nameless and homeless like so many who ask for “spare change” on the night streets of the city today. How difficult their struggles must have been in a foreign land, especially in the unforgiving winter months. What desperation they must have felt to have been jobless and blacklisted by greedy factory owners and corrupt politicians; begging for handouts in a language that no one understood. So many perished, but so many more survived. Their progeny have made this city the melting pot it is today.

CHICAGO LABOR HISTORY TOUR

Our final day in Chicago proved to be one of the most informative of the entire trip, and a culminating activity of all our books and classes. When we entered the bus and were introduced to Dr. William Adelman, I didn’t know we were meeting an “institution” of Chicago’s labor history. When this man dies, it will be like a library burning down in the city. And, as if through intervention from a ghost of organized labor’s past, the rainy weather set the mood for a day that helped us all revisit the struggles that helped establish the working standards we all enjoy today.

Researching about the Haymarket Affair, with all its tragedies was a learning experience, but seeing where it all happened made it a living encounter. It’s incredible to think that this site was responsible for May Day, or International Worker’s Day celebrations throughout the world commemorating the struggle for the eight hour day. It’s also sad to realize that the U.S. and Canada are the only two nations on the planet who do not celebrate the holiday.

Dr. Adelman was very poignant in his homage to the entire affair including stops through the courthouse where the injustices were carried through, to the exact location of where the gallows stood and four innocent men were hanged. It’s sickening to think of how the entire tragedy unfolded, and it is also easy to see why these five men (one committed suicide) are considered martyrs who inspired hundreds of thousands of Chicagoans to turn out for the funeral procession. Many teachers on the bus were grumbling about how biased Adelman was toward left-leaning politics, but to me it was all about passion. Here is a man who has spent his entire adult life reliving the struggles of labor versus capital, with all the atrocities that colossal wealth can inflict. I applaud his viewpoints, how could you rationally expect him to be anything else?

Our next stop was at the Martyr’s Monument at the Forest Home Cemetery where it was obvious, even in the rain, that those who fought for worker’s rights were not forgotten. Remnants of flowers and ribbons could be seen in revered places, and Dr. Adelman would continue that veneration by placing red roses with the help of some in our group. The bodies beneath those stones are silent now, but their deeds live on in the collective bargaining the working class enjoys today. It was a solemn moment I’m glad I experienced; it helped put all those many sacrifices in perspective.

Our trip to the Lithuanian restaurant was memorable as well, not only for the unique and tasty food, but because it was a reflection of the many cultures who arrived in Chicago from far away places in search of a better life. To think, these workers may be the descendants of the many downtrodden stockyard workers as described by Upton Sinclair in “The Jungle.” The memorabilia on the walls served as reminders of their distant homeland and their forefathers. What a melting pot Chicago was, and still is.

All day long the gates of the packing houses were besieged by starving and penniless men; they came, literally, by the thousands every single morning, fighting with each other for a chance of life.
UPTON SINCLAIR, “THE JUNGLE”

Seeing the Stockyard gate was an eerie experience. This was the desired focal point of so many immigrants who left their homes for the American dream only to find they would have to compete with thousands of others in a dog-eat-dog environment. This was a place where greedy magnates grew wealthier through the toil of so many who were in a desperate attempt just to survive. Where ambitions met realities through the scope of Social Darwinism, and only the fittest, or perhaps the luckiest survived. I had a solemn reflection of the nearly 400 million animals, who through no fault of their own met their painful destiny there. Yet all that remains is the gate.

Our final stop was the location of the most famous planned community in America and where Pullman Palace Railroad Cars were made. A turbulent strike with a nationwide audience occurred there in 1894 after owner George Pullman kept employees rents the same even though there was a huge cut in their wages. Pullman’s plan was to provide everything his workers could need for basic survival, however, there were many rules that kept them in a cycle of dependence on the community. Political, economic, and social rights were impossible; and when changes or new demands occurred, the workers were at the complete mercy of the owner. This was very similar to the company towns of CF&I in the Southern Colorado where workers had everything, except freedom to move up in life. Under these conditions, strikes are always inevitable. The tour ended with an extraordinary comment from Dr. Adelman when he pointed out the home of the company doctor who gave depositions blaming the lead poisoning of workers on their own personal alcoholism. This gave a final touch to the tour and an insight to Pullman’s attitude towards his employees. Publically he called the workers in the town his “children,” but reality was a different tale.

THE BADGER STATE!

“Badgers, we don’t need no stinking badgers!” Okay, a lame attempt at a famous quote about sheriff’s badges in “Treasure of the Sierra Madre,” (with Humphrey Bogart) and later spoofed in “Blazing Saddles.” My last experience with real badgers was actually years ago as I laughed watching my brother being chased by one of those fierce little devils as I kept driving my pickup ahead, not allowing him to reach safety. As it turned out, it was only funny to me.

But today there were no badgers to be seen, unless you had a good imagination. I looked extremely hard to see that long-clawed furry little creature on the head of that woman’s statue (as we were told) and found nothing! But according to the people of Wisconsin, every citizen there is a badger, if only in spirit. And really, that’s how everybody acted in the city of Madison today. Any research about badgers will reveal that they are tenacious, territorial little guys that will stop at nothing once they’ve established a goal (usually some poor little ground squirrel). That tenacity was in evidence by all the 2-legged badgers on the University of Wisconsin Madison Campus today. I found the speakers and volunteers to be, to the point, and totally focused on their task at hand and like their toothy namesakes, very bold and convincing. I found it hilarious, yet satisfying when Professor Stan Schultz said that he could convince you of a fact, even if it wasn’t really true; just to get the point across. That’s a teaching method I can agree with. And speaking of Dr. Schultz, Professor Rees was spot on in the promo of his teaching methods and his expertise of the Progressive Movement. I liked his contention that the movement started at the grassroots level and persevered for years until the opportunity to get established was realized; in this case the candidacy of Teddy Roosevelt . The whole plan was put in to play through the vision and courage of Wisconsin Congressman Robert La Follette, a real badger of a personality if there ever was one.

Jonathan Pollack’s presentation showed us an innovative way to teach with documents by showing us the changing standards for naturalization following the previous easy road to citizenship up to the 1890’s. I need to find out how to acquire similar documents because that is a great idea on how to teach other subject areas using primary sources. I can’t imagine how difficult the naturalization paperwork is today, but Pollack mentioned that it would require dreaded lawyers to get involved. His methods for teaching public sentiments on immigration were very interesting; I wished I could have asked him more about comparisons between then and now. I also regret there was not enough time to hear him present a historic moment using the voice of sportscaster Dick Vitale, as he did briefly during our great lunch. On a badger rating I would have to give him about a 6-out-of-10 since he wasn’t as aggressive as the others before him.

Harry Miller was the only mild mannered beast of the entire badger pack, but his savvy on how to navigate the incredible UMW history website was very useful. I can hardly wait to start using the webpage since I love historical maps, photos, and paintings.

Jonathon was right, Wisconsin is an interesting state and worth visiting without having to be on your way back from somewhere else. If nothing else, going back for the beer brats would be reason enough. I’m sure our four legged friends would enjoy them as well.

As a history teacher I’m embarrassed to say that the first time I ever heard of Jane Addams and Hull House was last fall at a workshop, but that was before I began researching about Chicago. I now find it incredible, that in the history of the city, she still remains such a small figure. Perhaps it is because of her gender (women tend to get lost in history textbooks), or maybe because the powers who financed the growth of the city were probably a targets of her reform movement at some time. I’d like to think that if the history of the city was written by those who were not born into privilege, she would be on the cover of all the books.

Addams was representative of an individual who was bigger than most in that she actually walked the walk by leaving a life of a socialite to help those who were incredibly less fortunate. Seriously, how many heroes in our nation’s history have actually worked their way down from the top to help others?

Around the latter decades of the 19th Century, rich families began to allow their daughters to attend colleges, as with their sons, and then complete the final cultivation of their scholarship with the obligatory tour of Europe. Then suddenly the doors of opportunity would open widely for the young men and slam shut for their counterparts. This was usually the end of the road for young and brilliant females, but while in England, Addams learned that women could use their wealth and education to make a difference as social reformers; and so Hull House was purchased with her inheritance and the legacy began.

How important was Hull House as a social settlement location? As it turns out, it was a favorite stop for Upton Sinclair as he researched for his book “The Jungle.” His interviews with those seeking refuge and support (especially displaced immigrants) reveal many compelling hardships in the pages of his famous novel. At Hull House, as with many other such places in Chicago, homeless and displaced individuals could find a hot meal, but more importantly they would meet friends who would help them get a new start in an otherwise unfriendly devouring beast of a city. Lost souls, and their children, could learn the skills that would enable them to acclimate to a foreign land; things like learning to read and write could make a world of a difference. A smile at the entrance signaling that you were indeed welcome was by itself a boost that could restart many broken spirits.

There were many facts and details that were given on our visit today, but the sincere welcoming and warmth of the staff and their commitment to the continuity of good deeds was by itself the lesson of the Hull House experience. Jane Addams would have been proud.

Although I am physically drained from today’s events, I wished every day could be so interesting. Let me be the first to admit that I wasn’t totally excited when I looked at the syllabus back in January and saw that we would be spending an entire morning session on a Frank Lloyd Wright Studio Tour. I mean, I knew who he was because I like to watch the Antiques Road Show on PBS, but I really felt like it was just something I couldn’t possibly be interested in. Once again my preconceived ignorance about a subject put me in a position where I had to admit I was wrong. Now I must prepare to spend an inordinate amount of time trying to learn more about this topic in the future; who knew architecture could be so much fun?

This was truly an enjoyable experience and testament to how one person’s talent and confidence can inspire such an impact on society. What an American story! Could he really have only been 21 when he built that house? Think about it;

• A young genius comes up with a fresh and innovative approach to doing things
• He insists on doing it his way, even though others look at him oddly at first
• Others on a local level began to take notice, perhaps with envy
• He makes buckets of money doing the things he loves most
• Before long his influence begins to take over a city, in this case a very large city
• Eventually his ideas spread throughout the Midwest, then all of America
• 100 years later, teachers are still blogging about him on web pages
• Still others will watch rich people buy his things on the Antiques Road Show
• Is this a great country or what?

Next we got to traipse around Wright’s Oak Park neighborhood and see some of the houses he built. This was the most enjoyable part of the day. Even if the homes weren’t built by him, they were all beautiful; especially with the incredible trees surrounding them.

Next on the agenda was a visit to the monstrous Museum of Science and Industry, which was modeled after the World’s Columbian Exposition of 1893. After watching a couple of presentations about the “White City” we were once again on a walking tour around the complex. I found it curious that throughout the presentations, nothing was mentioned about the hypocrisy of the exposition as explained to us last fall by Montana State professor, Robert Rydell, an expert on the White City. Rydell’s edition of an original pamphlet by Ida Wells and Frederick Douglass called, “The Reason Why The Colored American Is Not in The World’s Columbian Exposition,” reveals how fair promoters excluded the contributions of African Americans and would not let them into the gates of the “White City.” If nothing else, the fair denigrated and ridiculed any progress of African Americans and even allowed a Harper’s Weekly circular with racist caricatures to circulate inside the walls with the title, “Darkies Day at the Fair.” A picture of the caricature is in Rydell’s book and it is pretty disgusting. The exclusion of that information almost seemed like a deliberate cover up since, just like 1893, promoters did not want bad publicity.

Today it was back to the Chicago History Museum with our instructor Chip Brady taking us through the Document Based Questions project, or DBQ. I was familiar with this method of teaching from a previous workshop at CSUP, but each time it gets a little bit easier. Brady’s topic was about Prohibition; more specifically, “Why did America change its mind?” This was a pretty crafty question for a lesson topic, because the only way your students will be able to answer effectively is to research why we decided to change the Constitution for a ridiculous amendment anyway. I will use this method when assigning writing assignments, and have my students follow the outline that he gave to us. His method of creating group assignments was very effective and something I will definitely use in my classes.

The walking tour of the Great Chicago Fire of 1871, on the other hand, was a giant disappointment. Perhaps my expectations were too high since I was really pumped up about it the day before, plus I saw Sarah Marcus’ commentary on a Weather Channel documentary about the great fire. The only thing we saw of any interest was a small remnant of an original Chicago street in a back alley near the museum. I have to admit it was a real eye opener to see that just like everything else in the city at the time, even the streets were paved with wood! No wonder the fire was so devastating with that kind of tinder box. As we walked toward the lake, my heart really went out to those desperate people and animals running for their lives toward the water; especially since they would have nothing to return to when it was over.

When we reached the lake, I decided to act spontaneously, so I rented a bike and did my own personal tour of the Lake Michigan bike paths. What a blast! I was able to make the 16-mile loop and still have enough time on my rental to ride the streets into the heart of the city. Yes, that’s me in the top photo under the 25-foot- tall American Gothic Sculpture at Pioneer Court on North Michigan Avenue overlooking the Chicago River. I was able to see the boat tours underneath the bridge; I can’t wait until we do that on Thursday.

Monday morning brought us to the Chicago History Museum, but not after our first adventure with the Chicago Subway. Although it was still a subway, it was much less creepier and much more efficient than the disaster we encountered in Philadelphia.

The morning started with a brilliant presentation by Sarah Marcus who managed to put the settlement and development of Chicago into a perspective that even a stupid caveman could easily understand. The way she was able to take us from a sandbar alongside a lake devoid of European contamination; to a modern American City (and everything in between) in less than two hours was nothing less than remarkable. Perhaps I was able to follow her so well because I have spent considerable time on the Encyclopedia of Chicago page in preparation for this trip, a website in which she was a considerable contributor. Still, it was like watching the city of Chicago unfold like a time lapse image put into fast forward motion. It was an enjoyable presentation; plus I learned to navigate the website in ways I was unfamiliar with.

Later, Heidi Moisan showed us many innovative lesson plans on how to teach with primary sources. Although her ideas focused mainly on Chicago’s labor conflicts, her ideas about how to involve group participation and understanding through reading and use of symbols could be adjusted to include any topic. Her presentation on http://www.greatchicagostories.org and how to teach using the website was incredible. I felt envious of Chicago school teachers and the valuable materials that are at their fingertips and in their neighborhoods. I wished there could be such a resource for the labor and immigrant history for Pueblo, Colorado. That history is there to be studied and celebrated; unfortunately that bottle of pride has been on ice and uncorked far too long. I believe that not only the students, but the Southern Colorado populace in general could benefit from such a resource.

After the museum, I joined a small group of warriors who managed to make it to the “Holy Shrine” of Wrigley Field. This was a pilgrimage that was long overdue since I have been a faithful (but hopeless) Cubs fan for as long as I can remember. When I was a kid I would wait by the roadside on many days for my brother Roger (who was also my legal guardian) to return from work as laborer at the Allen Coal Mine near Trinidad. The first question he would ask was, “Did the Cubs win today?” Ernie Banks was his hero, and Roger was mine. As the great Harry Caray would say; big brother, “This Bud’s For You.”

Our first full day in Chicago was a memorable one, especially since we had the morning to ourselves; one to fill our souls with discovery and first impressions. This was that special moment we all waited for after months of and research about the city. Finally the significance of that planning had been realized.

I know that each of us had our own anticipation about what we most wanted to see on that first day; for me it was where I could see panoramas of Lake Michigan and the cityscape from the lakefront. I was soon rewarded when I took a bench seat beneath the mist of Buckingham Fountain. The Mother Ship had arrived.

After spending about two hours taking in the scenery it was off to the Art Institute of Chicago which turned out to be everything Jonathon said it would be. Too many times I felt like a real hillbilly when I turned around to see people staring at me because of the way I was gaping at some of the artwork. I know I violated the customary decorum of viewing such masterpieces, but when you’ve spent over 20 years working with textbooks, then seeing the original work that is in those pages, I think I should be forgiven. There were many pieces that captured long gazes, but I found myself returning to American Gothic, and to Paris Street, Rainy Day. The artist who I will find myself reading about in the future was Renoir. There was something about his works that really made a connection with my imagination, although I don’t know what it was. I guess that is why people go to special places to study art. I hope to discuss this with the art teacher at my school; perhaps there can be some collaboration between his classes and mine.

After leaving the Art Institute, it was off to Grant Park. This was another anticipated place for me, ever since Barack Obama gave his victory speech from that location on election night. I know I couldn’t have been there for the actual moment, but I have a fantastic imagination for such things. Along the way I walked through the fabulous Millennium Park Pavilion and traversed along the incredible BP Bridge; and incredible aluminum serpentine structure amidst a flowering botanical garden. The photo at the top of the page was taken from this walk which was an adventure I will long cherish and return to again in my lifetime if I should be so fortunate.

What a memorable day for learning about Lincoln’s early life and his road to greatness. Of all the legends in American History with simple men strapping up their own boot strings and rising to the top, his story is priceless. Seeing where he got his start in New Salem and then comparing it to his home in Springfield was an eye opening moment. Of course, the events in our day were mixed up with our schedule having us see his burial chamber in the middle of two formative periods prior to his presidency.

In the morning, we saw the old Illinois State House, but that turned out to be a bummer since nothing original was really in there. It was like visiting London Bridge which was disassembled and relocated in Lake Havasu City, Arizona. I’m sorry, but the effect just wasn’t as cool as it could have been. Ditto for the visit to his law partnership offices where nothing was original except for the flooring, at least that’s what they think.

But the day in Springfield wasn’t a total bust. Seeing the actual home where he and his family lived, and being able to place my hands on the same hand rail he touched was an awesome experience! Having the whole city block preserved with most of the original homes was also quite special. It was an eerie, transcendental experience in the home thinking about how happy and successful the family was there, while knowing just how much tragedy and turmoil they were destined to experience. I was thinking how I wished I could go back in time and tell him, “Hey Abe, don’t get into politics man.” But then again, our country might not have survived as we know it. While visiting his tomb a little later, I thought about all the choices he made and what must have been going through his mind when the south seceded after he was elected president. Talk about a crappy start to your new job. I have an even greater respect for Lincoln than I did before, and I am prouder than ever to be an American. I would give anything to be able go back and tell him before he died that there would one day be an African American president, and that he would announce his candidacy in Springfield.

The afternoon took us into New Salem, which was place where Lincoln would develop all the skills that would separate him from the life of a backwoodsman to a career in law and statesmanship. New Salem was a commercial village where frontiersmen would stop for goods and services on their way between bigger cities. As destiny would have it Lincoln’s raft became stuck on the check dam supporting the gristmill, which was the economic focus of the village. With time to kill, he wandered in for a visit and liked it so much he would end up spending the next six years there. This would end up being the turning point in his young adult life as he would become the person we are most familiar with. Many of the legendary stories we like to read about, like his famous wrestling match, and his first love happened in New Salem. His popularity and prominence in the community was so great that even with no military experience, he was voted captain of the militia force that headed off for the Black Hawk War. After his professional skill became polished, he made the move to Springfield, and the rest is history, or more precisely, America’s destiny.

HOME OF THE RAILSPLITTER

Liking Lincoln

Today was a fun day and one filled with new insights and ideas. First off, I have never been to a presidential library before, so why not start off with the one dedicated to the best president in our history. Erin Bishop got things started with some interesting new lessons and ideas about the historiography of Lincoln, with many facts that I had never heard before. Just when you thought you knew it all! I had known before that Lincoln got his start as part of the Whig Party, but I didn’t know it had shaped his political philosophy so much. Bishop’s plans on how to use and evaluate primary and secondary sources was something I will find useful in making future presentations to my students. Her message was that we should evaluate not only the location and the moment when a primary source occurred, but also the circumstances in which it was created. For example, when we read the words, “I love you,” at the end of a letters the meanings are quite different when the message was to someone’s grandma instead of to their sweetheart.

Most intriguing were the exchange of letters between Lincoln and his step brother John D. Johnston, who by most accounts was quite the “lollygagger” compared to his more ambitious sibling. Basically, Johnston was trying to borrow eighty dollars from Lincoln, a request that was not only denied but accompanied with a scolding letter in return. When summarizing the predicament, Lincoln quipped, “Your thousand pretences for not getting along better, are all non-sense – they deceive no body but yourself. Go to work is the only cure for your case.” The letter is tersely and signed, A. Lincoln. This was a side of Lincoln that no one in the class had ever seen before.

The morning’s prep at the library was great conveyance to what was to follow at the Lincoln Museum in the afternoon. I have to say that the entire museum experience was somewhat of a religious pilgrimage to a history geek. I wished we would have had more time…I could have spent the entire day there. Most stunning to me was that it was the first time I had ever seen Lincoln and his family in something other than black and white! To see these very lifelike figures in “living color” was moment of revelation in my personal connection to Lincoln as a human being, and not just some mythological hero whose incredible story had been invented. The most touching moment for me was the bedroom scene where Mary and Abe were leaving the presidential ball to look after their ailing son Willie, who sadly as it would turn out, was on his death bed. The lifelike figurines and the sound of music coming from the dance floor of the White House were so realistic that I could feel the grandeur and the grief of the moment. There is so much I have already learned about the greatness of our sixteenth president, but I have only scratched the surface. Today was a giant step for me.

Sinful Second City

A ‘Business doing Pleasure’ in Chicago

Karen Abbott’s Sin in the Second City is a lascivious chronicle of legalized prostitution in Chicago and nearly every other metropolitan area in the first decade of 20th Century America. If one were to turn the clock forward about 100 years you would be mindful of the recent scandals involving disgraced former New York Governor Eliot Spitzer and current Louisiana Senator David Vitter.
Abbott’s story centers around two sisters who by every measure challenged the traditional job description of the oldest profession by opening a respectable brothel in the otherwise contemptible Levee district of Chicago’s lower south side. Born Minna and Ada Lester in 1870’s Virginia, the sisters used their $35,000 inheritance to open up what would become a lucrative brothel in Omaha, Nebraska. Their fortunes would be more than doubled with “adventure” seekers making their way through the town’s Trans-Mississippi Exposition in 1898, however, as the show left the town, so did the high paying customers.
When it was time for a move, what greater place was there to relocate than in Chicago? It was a place with many wealthy men, most of whom had gained their fortunes through less than noble means. Abbott writes that, “The newspapers printed scoreboards that tabulated murders and muggings, as if such crimes were scheduled like baseball games and horse races.” The Tribune Newspaper wrote, “Chicago, has come to be known over the country as a bad town for men of good character and a good town for men of bad character.” Chicago would be the sisters’ new town and they would rattle the customary way of operating the flesh-for-sale industry by opening a “high-class brothel,” if such words could somehow be compatible. The sisters would exploit the closing signature of a beloved grandmother who would sign her letters as, “Everly Yours,” which would be transferred to their new adopted last name “Everleigh.” The Everleigh Club would become both a noun and an action verb to describe their new enterprise and its activities. All gratifications would commence in surroundings that spared no expenses such as gourmet foods, fine champagne, and music from a $15,000 gold leafed piano.
Certainly there could be no such business without stately “courtesans” to attract big spenders to the “sporting life,” which was curious vernacular for whoredom and its seekers. As sister Ada would explain, “To get in a girl must have a pretty face and figure, must be in perfect health, must look well in evening clothes. If she is addicted to drugs or to drink, we do not want her.” Of course there would be other requirements, such as developing the ability to carry on an intelligent conversation with a wealthy whoremonger envisioning the conquest of a high society woman. If a girl could make the cut to become a “butterfly,” she could expect to earn at least $100 per-week (with tips) which was remarkable considering a factory girl brought home about $6 weekly.
Of course there were many darker sides of the story regarding the social and economic status of women in the time period. As far as the alleged sporting life was concerned, not every girl in the industry measured up to butterfly status. As Abbott writes, most worked in “gambling parlors and opium dens and brothels where inmates dangled bare breasts from windows.” Some dives had names like, “Bucket of Blood” along a street called “Bed Bug Row.” Most houses had “whippers” who would flog prostitutes for not meeting an expected quota of tricks. Under the best conditions, girls were fortunate to pocket 15-dollars a week. Disease, addiction, and short life spans were all expectations for harlots along the Levee.
Above all was the fear of “white slavery,” where young girls could be coaxed by predatory agents with promises of marriage or employment, only to be “drugged, robbed of their virtue by professional rapists, sold to Levee madams, and dead within five years.” Hull House founder Jane Addams lamented, “Never before in civilization have such numbers of young girls been suddenly released from the protection of the home and permitted to walk unattended upon the city streets and to work under alien roofs.” Sadly, there was little opportunity for women who were widows, orphans, immigrants, or otherwise not connected to wealthy families.
One tragic account is of a little girl who learned the trade by washing her mother’s clients and learning to prepare opium before her fifth birthday. At seven she began her career by auctioning off her virginity. Recounting her descent into the family business, she said, “I ain’t ashamed of what I did…it seems just like anything else—like a kid whose father owns a grocery store. He helps him in the store. Well my mother didn’t sell groceries.”
If prostitution is the oldest profession, then professional zealotry in the cause of “purity” would come in second. Missions full of “saints” would slum their way in protests through the Levee District, while prosecutors and attorneys would obsess about legal maneuvers intended to bring an end to the “sin” profession. Eventually the crusaders would focus on political maneuvers leading to legislation called the “Mann Act,” which was to limit the extent of white slave trafficking. In later years, the whole “white slavery” issue would prove to have been more about hysteria than about young girls being forced into debauchery. As it turned out, most girls entered the vocation through their own choice, although most certainly as a last resort in times of desperation.
The Mann Act did have one extremely positive result in that it emboldened the Illinois State Legislature to investigate the link between low wages and prostitution. The effect was that eight minimum wage bills passed through Illinois, and would serve as a model for other states to follow.