H5 Quiz 1 Prof. Mostkoff Spring 2014 1. The first colonization of America by people from Asia probably

H5 Quiz 1 Prof. Mostkoff Spring 2014 1. The first colonization of America by people from Asia probably

began about �.a. 150,000 years ago. �.b. 5,000 years ago. �.c. 40,000 years ago. �.d. 10,000 years ago. 2. One revolutionary result of the development of agriculture was �.a. the appearance of the state. �.b. the feasibility of the division of labor. �.c. an improvement in the status of women. �.d. the abandonment of hunting. 3. A serious weakness of slash-and-burn farming was that it �. a. led to overpopulation. �.b. required a strong central authority. �.c. soon exhausted the soil. �.d. encouraged tribal warfare. 4. The word “Indian” is a misnomer, because of two reasons:

a. Because Columbus made a mistake thinking he was in Asia and because the name was easy for him to pronounce.

b. Because Columbus made a geographical mistake and because not one of the peoples in the Americas had a word in its language which could be translated as “Indian.”

�.5. Two examples of sedentary peoples in the Americas were: �.a. Chichimecs and Zapotec. �.b. Tupi and Guarani

�.c. Aztec and Tlaxcalans. .6. By 1502 the Aztec had spread their empire: �.a. from the center of Mexico to the northernmost tip of North

America. �.b. From the Center of Mexico to Central America �.c. From the fringes of the arid northern plateau to the lowlands

of Tehuantepec, and from the Atlantic to the Pacific. 7. A factor that greatly aided Aztec imperial expansion was �.a. the highly productive chinampa system of agriculture. �.b. Aztec superiority in weapons and military technique. �.c. belief in the sacrifice of war prisoners for the survival of the universe. �.d. the geographical advantages of the Valley of Mexico for defense and offense. 8. The main integrating force in Aztec society was the �.a. military. �.b. merchant class. �.c. artisans. �.d. priesthood. 9. The Maya agricultural system was based on �.a. slash-and-burn farming. �. b. chinampa farming. �.c. large imports of grain from central Mexico. �.d. a mix of slash-and-burn farming and more intensive agricultural methods. 10. Our knowledge of Maya history has been much enhanced by the discovery �.a. that many of the sculptured glyphs record important events

in the lives of Maya rulers. �.b. of native codices containing much historical material. �.c. that Maya writing was truly syllabic and could easily be deciphered. �.d. of a Spanish translation of Maya oral historical traditions. 11. The central Andean area in Inca times was characterized by �.a. large amounts of arable land. �.b. a very limited number of edible plants. �.c. a rich variety of environments, making possible extensive food production. �.d. a forbidding environment of coastal deserts, bleak plateaus, and snowcapped mountains. 12. The two basic groups in society among the Nahuatl speaking people were:

a. dependents and slaves b. nobles and slaves c. nobles and commoners d. merchants and commoners

13. There was no private property among the commoners of the Inca society

a. T b. F

14. The emperor credited with many reforms and innovations in the Inca state is �.a. Topa Inca. �.b. Pachacuti Inca. �.c. Atahualpa. �.d. Huascar.

15. The Incas possessed �.a. pictographic writing. �. b. alphabetic writing. �.c. a system of communicating by signs. �.d. a record-keeping device called the quipu. 16. The Inca state may best be described as a �.a. totalitarian state. �.b. socialist state. �.c. welfare state. �.d. class-structured state in which commoners were exploited by the rulers and nobility. 17. A serious weakness of the Inca Empire was �.a. chronic discontent and revolts on the part of conquered peoples. �.b. the difficulty of maintaining control over such a vast area. �.c. the emergence of a military caste that challenged the supremacy of Inca rulers. �.d. the rise of a feudal nobility that threatened Inca centralized authority. 18. Many activities thought to reflect the benevolence of the Inca state actually were �.a. invented by pro-Inca chroniclers writing after the conquest. �.b. traditional village cooperative functions taken over by the Inca state for its own ends. �.c. examples of the “divide-and-rule” policy of Inca rulers. �.d. designed to prevent rebellions on the part of conquered peoples. 19. The ayllu was a �.a. kinship group, the members of which married within the group.

�.b. kinship group, the members of which married outside the group. �.c. territorial group, the members of which recognized no kinship bonds. �.d. group of people from the interior of the empire resettled in the newly conquered province. 20. A Calpulli was:

a. the favorite fruit tree of the Aztecs b. The smallest unit of social organization made of one

single family c. A very important religious ceremony among the

commoners. d. A hamlet

21. Social stratification was most developed in the �.a. band. �.b. state. �.c. chiefdom. �.d. tribe. 22. Economic life in Aztec Mexico rested on a base of �.a. large-scale trade with the Inca Empire. �.b. hunting and fishing. �.c. intensive and extensive agriculture. �. d. craft industry. 23. Before the Spanish conquest, gender parallelism in the Andean world guaranteed women �.a. the right to share in political decisions of the Inca state. �.b. leadership positions in the ayllu. �.c. access to land, herds, water, and other material resources. �.d. a subordinate role in the gendered hierarchy of Inca society.

24. The Triple Alliance was an agreement to share the spoils of conquest among �.a. Texcoco, Tenochtitlán, and Tlacopán, facilitating Aztec domination of Mesoamerica. �.b. Texcoco, Tenochtitlán, and Tlacopán, facilitating Inca domination of Mesoamerica. �.c. Spain, Portugal, and England, thereby facilitating European domination of Mesoamerica. �.d. Inca, Aztec, and Maya lords, thereby facilitating imperial domination of Mesoamerica. 25. From the point of view of Spanish administration, the two very important aspects that distinguish sedentary from non-sedentary and semi-sedentary were:

a. That the sedentary groups already knew how to plant crops and they were magnificent textile manufacturers.

b. That their local merchants provided goods from all around the sedentary areas and thus the Spabniards cold introduce that trade to Europe.

c. That the sedentary peoples had social stratification and tribute mechanisms, both systems that Spaniards are going to readily exploit.

 

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T he 1920s was a decade fi lled with sharp contrasts — between Prohibi-tion laws and speakeasy nightclubs, modern science and fundamentalist reli- gion, economic boom and fi nancial bust, popular heroes and social villains.

T he 1920s was a decade fi lled with sharp contrasts — between Prohibi-tion laws and speakeasy nightclubs, modern science and fundamentalist reli- gion, economic boom and fi nancial bust, popular heroes and social villains. Charles Lindbergh was one of the heroes. In May 1927, Lindbergh fl ew his small, single- engine plane, The Spirit of St. Louis, from New York to Paris, a distance of 3,620 miles. He did it alone and without stopping — a tense journey that stretched over 33 hours. Nobody had ever done this before. Return- ing home to tickertape parades, Lindbergh became Time magazine’s fi rst Man of the Year in 1928. The handsome young aviator captivated the nation by combining exper- tise in modern technology with the tradi- tional virtues of hard work and individual

achievement. Amid the grinding routine of modern industrial life, Lindbergh showed that an adventurous individual could make a difference.

Samuel Insull taught Americans the same lesson — with a twist. A fi nancial entre- preneur who was more important than Lindbergh and almost as well known, Insull began the decade as a hero and ended it as a villain. Insull was born in England and came to New York as the personal secretary to the great inventor Thomas Edison. In 1892, he moved to Chicago, where he built a small electrical power company into a giant enterprise. By 1907, Insull’s Commonwealth Edison Company was providing electrical power for the entire city; by 1924, his Chicago Rapid Transit Company was offering transportation to many of its residents as well. At the peak of his power in 1929, Insull controlled electric utility companies in 5,000 communities in thirty-two states. To assemble this utility empire, Insull used the tools of modern capitalism: He

[Growing up, I never]

thought of myself as an

American. I came from

Brooklyn, and in Brooklyn

there were no Americans;

there were Jews and

Negroes and Italians

and Poles and Irishmen.

Americans lived in New

England, in the South, in

the Midwest: alien people

in alien places. ––Norman Podhoretz (b.1930)

Modern Times 1 9 2 0 – 1 9 3 223

C H A P T E R

670

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C H A P T E R 23 Modern Times, 1920–1932 � 671

created a pyramid of holding companies that allowed him to manage companies val- ued at $500 million with a personal investment of only $27 million. He funded the rest by issuing low-priced stocks and bonds, which nearly one million Americans eagerly snapped up.

Insull’s electrical empire, along with Henry Ford’s mass production techniques, helped to give Americans the highest standard of living in the world and to create a new consumer culture. Millions of Americans could now enjoy a plethora of assembly- line-produced goods: cars, refrigerators, phonographs, and radios. The values of the nineteenth-century middle classes — the Protestant ethic of hard work, self-denial, and frugality — gave way to an optimistic fascination with consumption, leisure, and self-realization, some of the essential features of modern life.

Then, suddenly and unexpectedly, the collapse of the stock market in 1929 and the coming of the Great Depression threw the nation and its political and business leaders into disarray. By 1932, Insull’s pyramid of utility companies had collapsed in bankruptcy, and 600,000 investors had lost their life savings. The Chicago fi nancier fl ed to Greece and then to Paris, not in triumph — like Lindbergh — but in disgrace. At home, Americans faced silent factories and massive unemployment, putting the opti- mism of the 1920s to the test.

The Business-Government Partnership of the 1920s The business-government partnership fostered by World War I expanded throughout the 1920s. As the Wall Street Journal enthusiastically proclaimed, “Never before, here or anywhere else, has a government been so completely fused with business.” — and, the Journal might have added, so successfully fused. The nation’s prosperity from 1922 to 1929 seemed to confi rm the wisdom of allowing corporate interests to manage economic life. Gone, or at least submerged, was the reform impulse of the Progressive era (see Chapter 20). Middle-class Americans no longer viewed business leaders as greedy robber barons but saw them as respected — even sacred — public fi gures. President Calvin Coolidge captured the prevailing public mood when he solemnly declared, “The man who builds a factory builds a temple. The man who works there worships there.”

Politics in the Republican “New Era” With the ailing Woodrow Wilson out of the presidential picture in 1920, the Democrats nominated Governor James M. Cox of Ohio for president and Assistant Secretary of the Navy Franklin D. Roosevelt as vice president. The Democratic platform called for U.S. participation in the League of Nations and a continuation of Wilson’s progressivism. The Republicans, now led by the conservative, probusiness wing of the party, selected Ohio Senator Warren G. Harding and Massachusetts Governor Calvin Coolidge as their candidates. Sensing the desire of many Americans to put the war and the stresses of 1919 behind them, Harding promised “not heroics but healing, not nostrums but nor- malcy.” On election day, he won in a landslide, beginning a Republican dominance that would last until 1932.

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672 � PA R T F I V E The Modern State and Society, 1914–1945

Warren Harding had not been an outstanding state politician in Ohio, and he did not cut an impressive fi gure in the U.S. Senate. But with victory nearly certain in 1920, Republican Party leaders wanted a pliable candidate. Genial, loyal, and mediocre, “Uncle Warren” fi t the bill. Harding knew his limitations and assembled a strong cabinet, composed of progressives as well as conservatives, to guide the government. Charles Evans Hughes, former reform governor, Supreme Court justice, and presi- dential candidate, took fi rm control of the State Department. As secretary of agricul- ture, Henry C. Wallace created new links with farm organizations, while Attorney General Harlan Fiske Stone, a future chief justice, cleaned up the mess at the Depart- ment of Justice left by the Palmer raids. Financier Andrew W. Mellon ran the Treasury Department and quickly reduced the high wartime tax rates on corporate and per- sonal income, freeing up money for private investment.

The most active member of the Harding administration was Secretary of Com- merce Herbert Hoover, the well-known head of the wartime Food Administration. Under Hoover’s direction, the Commerce Department fostered the creation of 2,000 trade associations representing companies in almost every major industry. Govern- ment offi cials worked closely with the associations, providing statistical research, sug- gesting industry-wide standards, and promoting stable prices and wages. By creating informal governmental ties between government and industry — an “associated state” — Hoover hoped to achieve through voluntary cooperation what Progressive- era reformers had sought through governmental regulation.

Unfortunately, not all government-business cooperation served the interests of the public. The Republican-dominated Federal Trade Commission (FTC) ignored antitrust laws that prohibited collusion among companies to raise prices. Similarly, the Supreme Court, now headed by the former conservative Republican president William Howard Taft, refused to break up the mammoth United States Steel Corporation; as long as there was some competition in the steel industry, the Court ruled, the company’s dom- inant price-setting position was within the law.

If U.S. Steel was law-abiding, many of President Harding’s political associates were not. When Harding died suddenly of a heart attack in San Francisco in August 1923, evidence of widespread fraud and corruption in his administration was just coming to light. The worst scandal concerned the secret leasing to private companies of govern- ment oil reserves in Teapot Dome, Wyoming, and Elk Hills, California. Secretary of the Interior Albert Fall was eventually convicted of taking $300,000 in bribes and became the fi rst cabinet offi cer in American history to serve a prison sentence.

Following Harding’s death, Vice President Calvin Coolidge moved to the White House. In contrast to Harding’s political cronyism and outgoing style, Coolidge personifi ed the austere rectitude of a New England Yankee. Coolidge’s reserved per- sonality and unimpeachable morality reassured Republican voters, who were drawn primarily from the native-born Protestants, business owners, and skilled workers but also included propertied farmers and African Americans. To win their backing for his presidential candidacy in 1924, Coolidge called for isolationism in foreign policy, economy in government, tax cuts for business, and limited aid to farmers.

As the Democrats gathered to nominate a candidate, they were sharply divided. Traditionally, the party had drawn its strength from white voters in the Jim Crow South and immigrant-based urban political machines in the North. But in the 1920s,

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C H A P T E R 23 Modern Times, 1920–1932 � 673

these two groups of Democrats disagreed mightily over Prohibition, immigration re- striction, and the mounting power of the racist and anti-immigrant Ku Klux Klan (Map 23.1). These cultural confl icts produced a hopeless deadlock between northern supporters of Governor Al Smith of New York and southern and western advocates of former Treasury Secretary William A. McAdoo of California. After 103 ballots, the delegates compromised on John W. Davis, a wealthy and infl uential Wall Street lawyer who hailed from West Virginia.

The 1924 campaign featured a third-party challenge by Senator Robert M. La Follette of Wisconsin, who ran on the Progressive Party ticket. La Follette’s candi- dacy mobilized reformers and labor leaders as well as disgruntled farmers. His progressive-minded platform called for nationalization of railroads, public owner- ship of utilities, and a constitutional amendment to allow Congress to overrule the Supreme Court.

Governor elected with Klan support

U.S. senator elected with Klan support

Major areas of Klan violence

� � �

N

S

E W

0 250 500 kilometers

0 500 miles250

PACIFIC OCEAN

A T L A N T I C O C E A N

Gulf of Mexico

OREGON

CALIF.

NEVADA UTAH

IDAHO

MONTANA

WYOMING

COLORADO

ARIZONA NEW MEXICO

TEXAS

OKLAHOMA ARK.

LA.

MISS. ALA.

TENN.

KY.

FLA.

GA.

S.C.

N.C.

VA. W. VA.

PA.

N.Y.

VT. N.H.

ME.

MASS.

CONN.

R.I.

N.J.

DEL.

MD.

NORTH DAKOTA

SOUTH DAKOTA

NEBRASKA

KANSAS MO.

IOWA

MINN.

WIS.

ILL. IND.

OHIO

MICH.

WASH.

M E X I C O

C A N A D A

� � �

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MAP 23.1 Ku Klux Klan Politics and Violence in the 1920s Unlike the Reconstruction-era Klan, the Klan of the 1920s had substantial strength in the West and Mid- west as well as the South. Although the Klan is often viewed as a rural movement, its strongest “klaverns” were in Los Angeles, Atlanta, Detroit, and other large cities. KKK members operated as moral vigilantes in areas where they were strong; elsewhere, their aggressive tactics triggered riots between Klansmen and their ethnic and religious targets.

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674 � PA R T F I V E The Modern State and Society, 1914–1945

The Republicans won an impressive victory: Coolidge received 15.7 million votes to Davis’s 8.4 million and La Follette’s 4.9 million. Signifi cantly, only 52 percent of the electorate cast ballots in 1924 (and in most subsequent elections), compared to more than 70 percent in presidential elections of the late nineteenth century. A drop in vot- ing by men, rather than apathy among newly enfranchised women voters, caused most of the decline.

After achieving the suffrage in 1920, politically conscious women sought posi- tions in Democratic and Republican party organizations but had little success. African American women were equally unsuccessful as they struggled for voting rights in the South and passage of a federal antilynching law. Women were more infl uential as lob- byists. The Women’s Joint Congressional Committee, a Washington-based coalition of ten white women’s organizations, including the newly formed League of Women Voters, lobbied actively for reform legislation. Its major accomplishment was the pas- sage in 1921 of the Sheppard-Towner Federal Maternity and Infancy Act. The fi rst federally funded health-care legislation, the act lowered infant mortality by subsidiz- ing medical clinics, prenatal educational programs, and visiting nurse projects. How- ever, conservatives charged that the Sheppard-Towner Act was part of a Communist plot to socialize American medicine and an attack on the rights of the states, which traditionally handled public health measures. Indeed, many men in Congress sup- ported the act because they feared the voting power of newly enfranchised women. By the late 1920s, when it became clear that women did not vote as a bloc, Congress cut off appropriations for the program.

As support for reform languished on the national level, some state leaders pursued ambitious progressive agendas. In New York, where Al Smith and Robert Wagner were developing a social-welfare liberal agenda (see Chapter 20), new legislation expanded aid to public schools; boosted workers’ compensation programs; and created new state forests, scenic parks, and automobile parkways. However, the dominant motif of the 1920s was limited government, which placed responsibility for the nation’s well-being in the hands of its corporate business leaders.

Corporate Capitalism The revolution in business management that began in the 1890s fi nally triumphed in the 1920s. Large-scale corporate bureaucracies headed by chief executive offi cers (CEOs) replaced individual- or family-run enterprises as the major form of business organization. Few CEOs owned a signifi cant part of their enterprises, but they — and not the thousands of stockholder owners — controlled daily operations. Moreover, many corporations were so large that they dominated their markets. What the famous eighteenth-century economist Adam Smith had called the “invisible hand” of market forces had given way to the “visible hand” of managers who controlled output, prices, and their own salaries.

Indeed, by 1930, a handful of managers stood at the center of American economic life. Because of a vigorous pattern of consolidation during the 1920s, the two hundred largest businesses controlled almost half the nonbanking corporate wealth in the United States. The largest number of mergers occurred in rapidly growing industries such as chemicals (in which Dupont emerged as the leader), electrical appliances and

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C H A P T E R 23 Modern Times, 1920–1932 � 675

machinery (Westinghouse and General Electric), and automobiles (General Motors). Rarely did any single corporation monopolize an entire industry; rather, an oligopoly of a few major producers dominated the market.

The nation’s fi nancial institutions expanded and consolidated along with its cor- porations. Total banking assets rose from $48 billion in 1919 to $72 billion in 1929. Mergers between Wall Street banks enhanced the role of New York as the fi nancial center of the United States and, increasingly, the world. In 1929, almost half the nation’s banking resources were controlled by 1 percent of American banks, a mere 250 depositories.

Immediately after World War I, the nation experienced a series of economic shocks. As Americans spent their wartime savings, they sparked rampant infl ation: Prices jumped by one-third in 1919 alone. Then came a sharp two-year recession that raised unemployment to 10 percent and cut prices more than 20 percent. Finally, the economy began to grow smoothly and many Americans began to benefi t from the suc- cess of corporate enterprise. Between 1922 and 1929, the gross domestic product grew from $74.1 billion to $103.1 billion, approximately 40 percent, and per capita income rose impressively from $641 to $847 (about $10,000 today, one-third of present per capita income).

An abundance of new consumer products, particularly the automobile, sparked this economic expansion. Manufacturing output expanded 64 percent during the decade, as factories churned out millions of cars, refrigerators, stoves, and radios. To produce these goods, basic industries supplied huge quantities of raw materials: steel, copper, chemicals, natural gas, electrical power, oil, and gasoline. Scientifi c management, fi rst introduced in 1895 by Frederick W. Taylor (see Chapter 20), was widely implemented in the 1920s. In combination with more effi cient machinery and new methods of mass production, it increased productivity by 40 percent, boosting workers’ pay and corporate profi ts.

The economy had some signifi cant weaknesses. Agriculture — which still em- ployed one-fourth of all workers — never fully recovered from the postwar recession. During the war, American farmers had borrowed heavily to expand production, but the revival of European output produced a glut in world markets. The price of wheat quickly dropped by 40 percent, corn by 32 percent, and hogs by 50 percent, and they never completely recovered. Between 1919 and 1929, the farmers’ share of the national income plummeted from 16 percent to 8.8 percent. As their income plunged, farmers looked to Congress for help. The McNary-Haugen bills of 1927 and 1928 proposed a system of federal price supports for a slew of agricultural products: wheat, corn, cot- ton, rice, and tobacco. President Coolidge opposed the bills as “class” (special-interest) legislation and vetoed both of them.

Other “sick industries,” particularly coal and textiles, also missed out on the pros- perity of the 1920s. Like farmers, these businesses had expanded output during the war and now faced overcapacity and falling prices. This underside of American eco- nomic life foreshadowed the Great Depression of the 1930s.

Unlike farmers and miners, industrial workers and white-collar employees shared in the prosperity of the 1920s. Henry Ford and other major corporate employers paid their workers well, thereby increasing their buying power as consumers. Many indus- tries went to a shorter workweek (fi ve full days and a half day on Saturday), giving

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676 � PA R T F I V E The Modern State and Society, 1914–1945

their employees more leisure time. Profi table fi rms, such as International Harvester, offered workers two weeks of paid vacation every year.

The 1920s marked the advent of welfare capitalism, a system of labor relations that stressed management’s responsibility for employees’ well-being. At a time when unemployment compensation and government-sponsored pensions did not exist, General Electric, U.S. Steel, and other large corporations offered workers health insur- ance, old-age pension plans, and the opportunity to buy stock in the company at below-market prices. Other fi rms subsidized mortgages or contributed to employee savings plans. Their goal was to create a loyal and long-serving workforce, particularly among managers, dedicated offi ce workers, shop supervisors, and skilled machinists. But such welfare plans covered only about 5 percent of the industrial workforce.

Welfare capitalism had a second goal of deterring production-line workers from joining labor unions. Some companies set up employee committees to voice workers’ complaints and consult regularly with managers over working conditions. Other cor- porations accused unions of being un-American because they campaigned for “closed shops” that required workers to become members; employers celebrated the “Ameri- can Plan” of an open, nonunion shop. Decisions by the conservative-minded Supreme Court undercut union activism and government regulation of the labor market. In Colorado Coal Company v. United Mine Workers (1925), the Court ruled that a striking union could be penalized for illegal restraint of trade. The Court also struck down federal legislation regulating child labor, and in Atkins v. Children’s Hospital (1923), it voided a minimum wage for women workers in the District of Columbia. Such deci- sions and aggressive antiunion campaigns caused membership in labor unions to fall from 5.1 million in 1920 to 3.6 million in 1929 — only 10 percent of the nonagricul- tural workforce. Welfare capitalism seemed to represent the wave of the future in in- dustrial relations.

Economic Expansion Abroad The growing power of U.S. corporations was apparent in the international arena. American manufacturers actively promoted foreign sales of consumer products: ra- dios, telephones, automobiles, and sewing machines. To supply these markets, fi rms built factories and took over existing businesses in foreign countries. General Electric set up production facilities in Latin America, China, Japan, and Australia; General Motors expanded its sales in Europe by taking over the Vauxhall Motor Company in Britain and Opel in Germany. Other American fi rms invested abroad in new sources of supply. Seeking lower livestock prices, three major American meatpackers — Swift, Armour, and Wilson — built plants in Argentina. The United Fruit Company devel- oped plantations in Costa Rica, Honduras, and Guatemala; other American compa- nies set up sugar plantations in Cuba and rubber plantations in the Philippines and Malaya. Standard Oil of New Jersey acquired oil reserves in Mexico and Venezuela (a precursor to American oil investments in the Middle East after World War II). During the 1920s, foreign investments by U.S. corporations more than doubled, reach- ing a total of $15.2 billion.

American banks were equally active in providing funds to European countries to rebuild their war-torn societies and to fulfi ll their international debt obligations. The

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C H A P T E R 23 Modern Times, 1920–1932 � 677

banks loaned money to Germany, enabling it to pay reparations to the Allied Powers. Britain and France then used these funds to pay off their wartime loans from the United States. While American political leaders insisted on payment of these debts (“They hired the money, didn’t they?” scoffed President Coolidge), they made re- payment very diffi cult. The Fordney-McCumber Tariff of 1922 followed the long- standing Republican policy of using high tariffs to exclude foreign-made goods.

American Companies Abroad United Fruit was one of the many American companies that found opportunities for investment in South America in the 1920s. It then had to “sell” tropical foods to American consumers. To boost sales, the company published elaborate and informative color advertisements. Bananas were suffi ciently exotic that the ads explained to consumers how to tell when bananas were ripe and never to put them in the ice-box, the precursor of the electric refrigerator. Duke University Library, Special Collections.

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678 � PA R T F I V E The Modern State and Society, 1914–1945

Unable to sell their goods in the United States, European nations could not easily earn the dollars needed to pay their debts.

In 1924, U.S. diplomats and bankers met with their counterparts from France, Great Britain, and Germany to address the debt situation. The meeting produced the Dawes Plan, named for Charles G. Dawes, the Chicago banker who negotiated the agreement. The plan reduced the reparations that Germany owed to the Allies and provided for substantial American bank loans to assist the Germans in keeping up with the payments. European fi nancial stability now depended on the continuing fl ow of American capital.

This fragile system of international fi nance collapsed with the crash of the Amer- ican stock market in October 1929. The outfl ow of capital from the United States to Europe slowed and then stopped, undermining the fl ow of reparation payments. The stock market crisis also increased congressional support for a policy of economic na- tionalism. The Hawley-Smoot Act of 1930 raised tariffs on imports to an all-time high and made it nearly impossible for the Allied Powers to pay off the remaining $4.3 bil- lion in war loans. Even as American corporations successfully extended their sales and investments to the corners of the earth, American politicians and bankers failed to create a stable structure of international fi nance.

Foreign Policy in the 1920s American foreign policy during the 1920s and 1930s was both isolationist and inter- nationalist. By refusing to join the League of Nations and the Court of International Justice (the World Court), the United States declined to play an active role in interna- tional politics; in this regard, the nation’s stance was clearly isolationist. However, as the Dawes Plan indicates, the United States pursued a vigorous, internationalist eco- nomic policy. Offi cials in the Department of State and the Department of Commerce worked constantly to open up new foreign markets for American manufacturers and bankers and to protect existing American interests in other countries.

These initiatives were particularly important in the Caribbean and Latin America, the site of considerable investments by U.S. companies and considerable military in- tervention to protect those investments. Both continued during the 1920s. To quell civil unrest and protect American interests, the U.S. government stationed troops in the Dominican Republic from 1916 to 1924. American military forces likewise re- mained in Nicaragua almost continuously from 1912 to 1933 and in Haiti from 1915 to 1934. Relations with Mexico remained tense, a legacy of U.S. intervention during the Mexican Revolution (see Chapter 21) and of the Mexican government’s efforts to nationalize its oil and mineral wealth. This Mexican initiative alarmed Standard Oil of New Jersey (owned primarily by the Rockefeller family) and other U.S. petroleum companies with investments in Mexico.

While the United States maintained its dominant position in the Western Hemisphere, it reduced its political and military commitments in East Asia and Europe. The Washington Naval Arms Conference of 1921 revealed American strat- egy in the Pacifi c. Secretary of State Charles Evans Hughes won acceptance of a bold plan that placed strict limits on naval expansion. His goals were to avoid huge U.S. naval expenditures and to prevent Japan from expanding its naval forces and

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becoming the dominant nation in East Asia. The major naval powers agreed to scrap some warships; to halt the construction of large battleships for ten years; and to maintain a fi xed ratio of naval tonnage among the fl eets of Britain, the United States, Japan, France, and Italy. As one commentator quipped, in a short speech Hughes sank “more ships than all the admirals of the world have sunk in a cycle of centuries.”

Seven years later, American Secretary of State Frank Kellogg devised another low- cost diplomatic plan, this time to calm French fears of a new German invasion. To avoid committing the United States to a pact that would guarantee France’s territorial integrity, Kellogg persuaded French foreign minister Aristide Briand to support a broader agreement condemning all militarism. Fifteen nations signed the pact in Paris in 1928; forty-eight more approved it later. The signatories agreed to “condemn re- course to war for the solution of international controversies, and renounce it as an instrument of national policy.” The U.S. Senate ratifi ed the Kellogg Plan 85 to 1, but critics correctly pointed out that the agreement lacked mechanisms for enforcement and was lit- tle more than an “international kiss.”

Pious declarations were no cure for the mas- sive economic, political, and territorial problems that World War I had created. U.S. policymakers vacillated, as they would in the 1930s, between as- suming a larger role in world events and fearing that treaties would limit their ability to act uni- laterally. Their diplomatic efforts would ulti- mately prove inadequate in the face of the mount- ing international crises that led to World War II.

A New National Culture The 1920s marked the development of a mass national culture that emphasized lei- sure, consumption, and amusement. Automobiles, paved roads, the parcel post service, movies, radios, telephones, mass-circulation magazines, brand names, and chain stores suddenly took center stage. Together, they linked Americans — in the mill towns in the southern Piedmont, outposts on the Oklahoma plains, and ethnic enclaves in states along the Atlantic and Pacifi c coasts — in an expanding web of national experience. In fact, as consumerism spread around the world, American products and culture achieved global infl uence.

A Consumer Society In homes across the country during the 1920s, Americans sat down to breakfasts of Kellogg’s corn fl akes and toast from a General Electric toaster. They got into Ford Model Ts to go to work or to go shopping at Safeway, A&P, or Woolworth’s, some of the many chain stores that had sprung up across the country. In the evening, the fam- ily gathered to listen to radio programs such as Great Moments in History, to catch up on events in the latest issue of Reader’s Digest, or enjoy the melodramatic tales in True

� In what ways did government and business work together during the “new era”? How was it diff erent from the Progressive Era? Why did it change?

� Describe American foreign policy—both political and economic—during the 1920s. Was it isolationist or internation- alist?

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Story; on weekends, they might see the newest Charlie Chaplin fi lm at the local theater. Millions of Americans now shared similar cultural experiences.

Still, many Americans — blacks, immigrants, working-class families, and many farmers — did not participate fully in the new commercial culture or accept its middle- class values. As one historian explains, “Buying an electric vacuum cleaner did not turn Josef Dobrowolski into True Story’s Jim Smith.” Moreover, the unequal distribution of income limited many consumers’ ability to buy the enticing new products. The bottom 40 percent of American families had an average annual income of only $725 (about $8,200 today); after paying for food, housing, and clothing, these families had only $135 to spend on everything else. Many Americans stretched their incomes by taking advan- tage of newly devised installment plans that allowed people to purchase cars, radios, refrigerators, and sewing machines “on time.” “Buy now, Pay later,” said the ads, and millions did. By 1927, two-thirds of American cars were fi nanced through monthly payments, and consumer lending grew to $7 billion a year — the tenth-largest business in the United States.

New appliances — electric refrigerators, radios, fans, irons, vacuum cleaners — had a dramatic impact on women’s lives. While single women were steadily increasing their participation in the paid workforce, most married women spent their time as house- wives and mothers. Electric appliances made housewives’ chores much less arduous but also encouraged middle-class housewives to do their own housework and laundry, replacing human servants with electric ones. The new gadgets also raised standards of cleanliness, encouraging women to spend more time doing household chores. For most women, leisure time remained scarce.

To encourage consumers to view the new products as “necessities” rather than “luxuries,” manufacturers were spending no less than $2.6 billion a year on advertising by 1929. A new advertising industry (centered on New York City’s Madison Avenue) devised sophisticated ways to spur sales, often aided by experts in the growing aca- demic fi eld of psychology. Some ads for medicine featured white-coated doctors to suggest scientifi c approval of their products. Other ads appealed to people’s social as- pirations by depicting elegant men and women who smoked certain brands of ciga- rettes or drove a Buick, Pierce-Arrow, or other make of car. Ad writers also preyed on people’s insecurities, coming up with a variety of socially unacceptable “diseases,” such as the dreaded “B.O.” (body odor).

Consumers were less the passive victims of manipulative advertising agencies than willing participants in a new culture. For many middle-class Americans, the tra- ditional criteria for judging self-worth — personal character, religious commitment, and social standing — now had a powerful rival: the gratifi cation of personal desires through the acquisition of more and better possessions.

The World of the Automobile No possession typifi ed the new consumer culture better than the automobile. “Why on earth do you need to study what’s changing this country?” a Muncie, Indiana, resident asked sociologists Robert and Helen Lynd. “I can tell you what’s happening in just four letters: A-U-T-O!” The showpiece of modern consumer capitalism, the automobile revolutionized American economic and social life.

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Mass production of cars stimulated the prosperity of the 1920s. Before the intro- duction of the moving assembly line in 1913, Ford workers took twelve and a half hours to put together an auto; subsequently, they did the job in only ninety-three minutes. By 1927, Ford was producing a car every twenty-four seconds. Auto sales climbed from 1.5 million in 1921 to 5 million in 1929, a year in which Americans spent $2.58 billion on cars. By the end of the decade, Americans owned 23 million cars — about 80 percent of the world’s automobiles — an average of one car for every six people.

The boom in the auto industry rippled through the American economy. It stimu- lated the steel, petroleum, chemical, rubber, and glass industries and, directly or indirectly, provided jobs for 3.7 million workers. Highway construction became a billion-dollar-a-year enterprise, fi nanced by federal subsidies and state gasoline taxes. Car ownership broke down the isolation of rural life, spurred the growth of suburbs, and, in 1924, spawned the fi rst suburban shopping center: Country Club Plaza outside Kansas City, Missouri.

The auto also changed the way Americans spent their leisure time. Although gasoline was not cheap (about $2.50 a gallon in 2008 prices), Americans took to the roads, becoming a nation of tourists. The American Automobile Association, founded in 1902, estimated that in 1929 about forty-fi ve million people — almost one-third of the population — took vacations by automobile, patronizing the “auto- camps” and tourist cabins that were the forerunners of post–World War II motels. Like the movies, cars changed the dating patterns of young Americans. Contrary to many parents’ views, premarital sex was not invented in the backseat of a Ford, but a Model T offered more privacy than did the family living room or the front porch and contributed to increased sexual experimentation among the young.

The Movies and Mass Culture The new mass media — glossy magazines, radio, and especially movies — formed the centerpiece of a common national culture. American movies had their roots in turn- of-the-century nickelodeons, where for a nickel, working-class audiences viewed one-reel silent fi lms such as The Great Train Robbery. By 1910, the moviemaking in- dustry had moved to southern California, which had cheap land, plenty of sunshine, and varied scenery — mountains, deserts, cities, and the Pacifi c Ocean — within easy reach. By the end of World War I, Hollywood reigned as the movie capital of the world, producing nearly 90 percent of all fi lms.

As directors produced feature fi lms and exhibited them in large, ornate theaters, movies attracted a middle-class audience. Early movie stars, including Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplin, Mary Pickford, and Douglas Fairbanks, became idols who set na- tional trends in clothing and hairstyles. Then a new cultural icon, the fl apper, burst on the scene to represent emancipated womanhood.

Actress Clara Bow was Hollywood’s favorite fl apper, a bobbed-hair “jazz baby” who won a movie contract at the age of eighteen. Three years later, she was a star — the lead character in It, one of the fi rst movies to gross $1 million. Whatever “It” was, Clara had it. With her boyish fi gure and shock of red hair, she had a strikingly sensual pres- ence; “she could fl irt with a grizzly bear,” wrote one reviewer. Thousands of young women took Bow as their model. Decked out in short skirts and rolled-down silk

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stockings, fl appers wore makeup, smoked, danced to jazz, and fl aunted their liberated lifestyle. Like so many cultural icons, the fl appers represented only a tiny minority of women, but thanks to the movies and advertising industry, they became the symbol of women’s sexual and social emancipation.

The movies were big business, grossing $1.6 billion in 1926. The large studios — United Artists, Paramount, and Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer — dominated the industry and were run mainly by eastern European Jewish immigrants such as Samuel Goldfi sh (later Goldwyn). Movies became even more profi table and culturally powerful with the advent of the “talkies.” Warner Brothers’ The Jazz Singer (1927), starring Al Jolson, was the fi rst feature-length fi lm to offer sound. Despite the enormous expense — some $300 million to equip fi lm sets and thousands of theaters with sound equipment — all the major studios quickly made the transition to “talkies.” By 1929, the nation’s 23,000 movie theaters were selling ninety million tickets a year.

That The Jazz Singer was the fi rst talkie was not a coincidence. Jazz music captured the sensibility of the 1920s, especially its creative excitement and sensual character. As a word, jazz was originally a vulgar term for the sex act; as music, it was (and is) an improvisational form whose notes are rarely written down. Jazz began in the dance halls and bordellos of turn-of-the century New Orleans and was a thor- oughly American — indeed, African American — art form. Most of the early jazz musicians were black, and they carried its rhythms to Chicago, New York, Kansas City, and Los Angeles. The best-known performers were composer-pianist Ferdinand “Jelly Roll” Morton, trumpeter Louis “Satchmo” Armstrong, composer-bandleader Edward “Duke” Ellington, and singer Bessie Smith, “the empress of the Blues.”

Phonograph records increased the appeal of jazz and the blues by capturing their spontaneity and transmitting it to a wide audience; jazz, in turn, boosted the infant recording industry. Soon, this uniquely American art form had caught on in Europe, especially in France. Because jazz often expressed black dissent against the straightfor- ward, optimistic rhythms of white music, it became popular among specifi c types of white Americans — young people, intellectuals, and social outcasts — who felt stifl ed by middle-class culture. Later in the century, other African American musical forms — notably rhythm-and-blues and hip-hop — would again challenge middle- class values by injecting themes of sex and violence into American popular culture.

Mass-circulation magazines and the radio were also key factors in the creation of a national culture. In 1922, ten magazines each claimed a circulation of at least 2.5 million, including Time, the Saturday Evening Post, the Ladies’ Home Journal, and Good Housekeeping. Tabloid newspapers, which highlighted crime, sports, comics, and scandals, became part of urban culture, and news services such as the Associated Press (AP) and United Press (UP) appeared on the national scene. Thanks to AP and UP, people across the United States read the same articles.

The newest instrument of mass culture, professional radio broadcasting, was truly a child of the 1920s. In November 1920, station KDKA in Pittsburgh carried the presidential election returns; a mere nine years later, 800 stations, most affi liated with the Columbia Broadcasting System (CBS) or the National Broadcasting Company (NBC), were on the air, and nearly ten million American households (40 percent of the total) owned a radio. Unlike the situation in Europe, where radio was a government monopoly, American radio stations were licensed by the government but privately

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C H A P T E R 23 Modern Times, 1920–1932 � 683

owned; they drew their revenue from advertisers and corporate sponsors. One of the most popular radio shows of all time, Amos ’n’ Andy, which premiered on the NBC network in 1928, featured two white actors playing stereotypical black characters. Stock phrases from the weekly show, such as “Check and double check,” quickly be- came part of everyday speech. So many people “tuned in” (a new phrase of the 1920s, similar to “log on” today) to Amos ’n’ Andy that other activities came to a halt during the show’s airtime.

All That Jazz The phonograph machine expanded the popularity of jazz, which now could be heard at home as well as in a city jazz joint. “Crazy Blues” by Mamie Smith and her Jazz Hounds sold a million records in 1920 and convinced record companies that there was a market among African Americans for what were called “race records.” By the 1950s, black music had become “American” music. Perry Bradford, the piano player and composer of “Crazy Blues,” was also the composer of “Keep A Knockin,” which Little Richard made into a major rock ’n’ roll hit in 1957. Division of Political History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC.

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As the workweek shrank and paid vacations increased, Americans had more time and energy to expend on recreation. Cities and suburbs built baseball diamonds, tennis

courts, swimming pools, and golf courses. Sports became a big business as private entrepreneurs built huge football and baseball stadiums and hired professional teams to play in them. Fans could attend games, listen to them on the radio, or catch highlights in the movie newsreels. Star athletes such as boxer Jack Dempsey, golfer Bobby Jones, and baseball slugger Babe Ruth became national celebrities. Excluded from the white teams, out- standing black athletes such as baseball pitcher Satchel Paige played on teams in the Negro National League and the Southern Negro League.

Redefining American Identity As movies, radio, advertising, and assembly-line products began to transform the country into a modern, cosmopolitan nation, many Americans welcomed these changes as exciting evidence of progress. Others were uneasy. Flappers dancing to jazz, youthful experimentation in Model Ts, sexually suggestive movies — these harbingers of a new era worried native-born Americans of religious stock. They were also trou- bled by the powerful presence in American cities of millions of Catholic and Jewish immigrants from Europe and African American migrants from the South. Beneath the clichés of the Jazz Age and the Roaring Twenties were deeply felt tensions that surfaced in confl icts over immigration, religion, Prohibition, and race relations. At stake was the defi nition of what it meant to be an American.

The Rise of Nativism Tensions between city dwellers and rural folk escalated sharply during the 1920s. For the fi rst time in the nation’s history, more people lived in urban areas — ranging from small towns of 2,500 people to large cities — than in rural areas. There was no mistak- ing the trend. During the 1920s, about 6 million Americans left farms for the cities. By 1929, ninety-three cities had populations over 100,000. New York City exceeded 7 mil- lion; Chicago boasted almost 3 million, and the population of Los Angeles had exploded to 1.2 million. However, because political districts did not refl ect this shift in population, rural areas still controlled most state legislatures. As cities demanded more services and tax dollars from state governments, confl ict between the two regions was inevitable.

Racial and ethnic pluralism intensifi ed these struggles. When native-born white Protestants — both farmers and city dwellers — looked at their society in 1920, they saw a nation of 105 million people that had changed dramatically in only forty years. Dur- ing that time, more than 23 million immigrants had come to America, and many of them were Jews or Catholics from southern and eastern Europe. Senator William Bruce of Maryland branded them “indigestible lumps” in the “national stomach,” implying

� How do you explain the rise of a national culture in the 1920s? In what ways did Americans across the nation begin to share com- mon experiences?

� Which had a greater impact on American life: the automobile or the movies? In more specifi c terms, compare the historical contributions of Henry Ford and Clara Bow.

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that they might never be absorbed into the dominant culture. Such nativist sentiments, which recalled the reaction to immigrants from Ireland and Germany in the 1840s and 1850s, were widely shared.

Nativist animosity fueled a new drive against immigration. “America must be kept American,” President Coolidge declared in 1924. Congress had banned Chinese im- migration in 1882, and Theodore Roosevelt had negotiated a “Gentleman’s Agree- ment” that limited Japanese immigration in 1907 (see Chapter 21). Now nativists charged that there were too many European immigrants and certainly too many who were anarchists, socialists, and radical labor organizers. Responding to these concerns, Congress passed an emergency immigration act in 1921 and a more restrictive mea- sure, the National Origins Act, in 1924. The act cut immigration quotas to 2 percent of each nationality present in the United States in 1890, when the census had listed few people from southeastern Europe and Russia. In 1929, Congress imposed even more restrictive quotas, setting a cap of 150,000 immigrants per year from Europe and continuing to ban most migrants from Asia.

The new laws continued to permit unrestricted immigration from countries in the Western Hemisphere, and Latin Americans arrived in increasing numbers. Over one million Mexicans entered the United States between 1900 and 1930.

Some were fleeing the chaos of the Mexican Revolution of 1910, but many migrated in response to American labor shortages during World War I. Nativists lobbied Congress to cut this flow, and so did the leaders of labor unions, who pointed out that a fl ood of impov- erished migrants would lower wages for all American workers. But Congress heeded the pleas of American employers, especially large-scale farmers in Texas and California, who wanted cheap labor. Only the coming of the Great Depression cut off migration from Mexico.

Another expression of nativism in the 1920s was the revival of the Ku Klux Klan (KKK) (see

Patriotic Protestant Nativism While the Ku Klux Klan of the 1860s and 1870s stood for the cause of Confederate nationalism and white racism, the new KKK of the 1920s embraced the values of American patriotism and Protestantism. In its view, neither Catholics nor Jews could be real “Americans.” This powerful image of a hooded knight on horseback, replete with the symbolism of Flag and Cross, conveys not only the movement’s ideology but also its latent violence. Picture Research Consultants & Archives.

C H A P T E R 23 Modern Times, 1920–1932 � 685

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We are a movement of the plain people, very weak in the matter of culture, intellectual support, and trained leadership. We are demanding, and we expect to win, a return of power into the hands of the everyday, not highly cultured, not overly intellectualized, but entirely unspoiled and not de- Americanized, average citizen of the old stock. . . . This is undoubtedly a weakness. It lays us open to the charge of being hicks and “rubes” and “drivers of second-hand Fords.” We admit it. Far worse, it makes it hard for us to state our case and advocate our crusade in the most effective way, for most of us lack skill in language. . . . To understand the Klan, then, it is necessary to understand the character and present mind of the mass of old-stock Americans. The mass, it must be remem- bered, as distinguished from the intellectu- ally mongrelized “Liberals.” These are . . . a blend of various peoples of the so-called Nordic race . . . which, with all its faults, has given the world almost the whole of modern civilization. . . . These Nordic Americans for the last generation have found themselves increasingly uncomfortable. . . . Finally came the moral breakdown that has been going on for two decades. . . . All our traditional moral standards went by the boards or were so disregarded that they ceased to be binding. The sacredness of our

A M E R I C A N V O I C E S

Sabbath, of our homes, of chastity, and fi nally even of our right to teach our own children in our own schools fundamental facts and truths were torn away from us. . . . One more point about the present attitude of the old-stock American: he has revived and increased his long-standing distrust of the Roman Catholic Church. . . . [which is] the chief leader of alienism, and the most dangerous alien power with a foothold inside our boundaries. . . . The Ku Klux Klan . . . is an organiza- tion which gives expression, direction and purpose to the most vital instincts, hopes, and resentments of the old-stock Ameri- cans, provides them with leadership, and is enlisting and preparing them for militant, constructive action toward fulfi lling their racial and national destiny . . . a defi nite crusade for Americanism! . . . There are three of these great racial instincts. . . . These are the instincts of loyalty to the white race, to the traditions of America, and to the spirit of Protestant- ism, which has been an essential part of Americanism ever since the days of Roanoke and Plymouth Rock. They are condensed into the Klan slogan: “Native, white, Protestant supremacy.”

S O U R C E : Hiram Wesley Evans, “The Klan’s Fight for Americanism,” The North American Review 223 (March 1926): 37–39.

The Fight for Americanism H I R A M W E S L E Y E VA N S Hiram Wesley Evans was a Texas dentist and the Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan, which

boasted a nationwide membership of three million. He published this defense of the Klan

in The North American Review, a leading journal of opinion. Like fascist movements in Italy

and Germany, the Klan focused on racial identity. For the KKK, “real” Americans were those

of Nordic (northern European) descent; all others were “aliens,” including those of southern

or central European ancestry (Italian, Spanish, Polish, Czech, etc.) and those with Jewish or

African forebears.

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Chapter 15). Shortly after the premiere in 1915 of Birth of a Nation, a popular fi lm that glorifi ed the Reconstruction-era Klan, a group of southerners gathered on Stone Mountain outside Atlanta to revive the racist organization. Taking as its motto “Native, white, Protestant supremacy,” the modern Klan recruited thousands of sup- porters in the Far West, the Southwest, and the Midwest, especially Oregon, Indiana, and Oklahoma. Its largest “klaverns” were in urban areas. The new Klan did not limit its harassment to blacks but targeted Catholics and Jews as well (see American Voices, p. 686). Its tactics remained the same: arson, physical intimidation, and economic boycotts. The KKK also turned to politics, and hundreds of Klansmen won election to local offi ces and state legislatures. At the height of its power in 1925, the Klan had over three million members — including a strong contingent of women who pursued a political agenda that combined racism, nativism, and equal rights for white Protes- tant women.

After 1925, the Klan declined rapidly, undermined by internal rivalries, rampant corruption, and the conviction for rape and murder of David Stephenson, the Klan’s Grand Dragon in Indiana. In addition, the passage of the National Origins Act in 1924 robbed the Klan of a potent issue. Nonetheless, the Klan remained strong in the Jim Crow South; during the 1930s, some northern Klansmen supported the American Nazi movement, which shared its antiblack and anti-Jewish beliefs.

Legislating Values: Evolution and Prohibition Other cultural confl icts erupted over religion and alcoholic beverages. The debate between modernist and revivalist Protestants, which had been simmering since the 1890s (see Chapter 18), came to a boil in the 1920s. Modernists, or liberal Protestants, found ways to reconcile their religious beliefs with Charles Darwin’s theory of evolu- tion and other scientifi c principles. Revivalist Protestants, who were strongly rooted in fundamentalist Baptist and Methodist churches, insisted on a literal reading of the Bible. So did popular evangelical preachers, such as Billy Sunday and Aimee Semple McPherson, who used storefront churches and open-air revivals to popularize their own brands of charismatic Christian fundamentalism.

Religious controversy entered the political arena when fundamentalists wrote their beliefs into law. In 1925, the Tennessee state legislature made it “unlawful . . . to teach any theory that denies the story of the Divine creation of man as taught in the Bible, and to teach instead that man has descended from a lower order of animals.” The American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU), which had been formed during the Red Scare to protect free speech rights, challenged the constitutionality of the law. It intervened in the trial of John T. Scopes, a high school biology teacher, who had taught the prin- ciples of evolution to his class and faced a jail sentence for doing so. The case attracted national attention because Clarence Darrow, a famous criminal lawyer, defended Scopes, and William Jennings Bryan, the three-time Democratic presidential candidate and ardent fundamentalist, spoke for the prosecution.

The press dubbed the Scopes trial the “monkey trial.” The label referred both to Darwin’s argument that human beings and other primates share a common ancestor and to the circus atmosphere at the trial, which was broadcast live over a Chicago radio station. The jury took only eight minutes to deliver its verdict: guilty. Although the

C H A P T E R 23 Modern Times, 1920–1932 � 687

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Tennessee Supreme Court overturned Scopes’s conviction, the controversial law remained on the books for more than thirty years. As the 1920s ended, science and religion were locked in a standoff. Beginning in the 1980s, fundamentalists would launch new political attacks against Darwin and modern science (see Chapter 32).

Like the dispute over evolution, Prohibition — the “noble experiment,” as it was called — involved the power of the state to enforce social values (see Chapter 22). Americans drank less after the Eighteenth Amendment took effect in January 1920, but those who continued to drink gave the decade its reputation as the Roaring Twen- ties. Urban ethnic groups — German, Irish, and Italian — had long opposed restric- tions on drinking and refused to comply with the new law. Some Americans brewed their own beer or distilled “bathtub gin.” Many others patronized illegal saloons and clubs, called speakeasies, which sprang up in every city; there were more than

The First Modern Evangelist: Aimee Semple McPherson (1890–1944) Aimee McPherson founded the Foursquare Gospel Church, which now claims a worldwide membership of over three million. Born as Aimee Kennedy in Ontario, Canada, she married missionary Robert Semple in 1907. After his death in China, she married Harold McPherson and eventually settled in Los Angeles. By 1923, McPherson was preaching to a radio audience and to crowds of 5,000 at her massive Angelus Temple. In 1926, she attracted national attention by disappearing for a month and claiming that she had been kidnapped. Many people suspected that McPherson was at a romantic hideaway with the temple’s radio operator, but her preaching career fl ourished into the 1930s. She died of an overdose of sedatives in 1944. © Bettmann/Corbis.

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30,000 speakeasies in New York City alone. Liquor smugglers operated with ease along Canadian and Mexican borders and used speedboats to land cargoes of wine, gin, and liquor along the Atlantic Coast. Organized crime (the “Mob”), already strong among Italians and Jews in major cities, took over the bootleg trade and grew wealthy from its profi ts. The “noble experiment” turned out to be a dismal failure.

The Americans who favored repeal of the Eighteenth Amendment — the “wets” — slowly built support for their cause in Congress and the state legislatures. The coming of the Great Depression hastened the process as politicians looked for ways to create jobs and raise tax revenues. With the ratifi cation of the Twenty-fi rst Amendment on December 5, 1933, nationwide Prohibition came to an inglorious end.

Intellectual Crosscurrents As millions of Americans celebrated victory in the Great War and prosperity in peace- time, infl uential writers and intellectuals rendered bitter dissents. The novelist John Dos Passos railed at the obscenity of “Mr. Wilson’s war” in The Three Soldiers (1921) and again in 1919 (1932). Ernest Hemingway’s novels In Our Time (1924), The Sun Also Rises (1926), and A Farewell to Arms (1929) powerfully portrayed the dehuman- izing consequences and futility of war. In his despairing poem The Waste Land (1922), T. S. Eliot portrayed a fragmented civilization in ruins.

Infl uenced by Eliot’s dark vision, writers offered stinging critiques of what they saw as the complacent, moralistic, and anti-intellectual tone of American life. In Babbitt (1922), the novelist Sinclair Lewis satirized the stifl ing conformity of a middle-class businessman. In 1925, Theodore Dreiser wrote his naturalistic masterpiece An American Tragedy, and F. Scott Fitzgerald published The Great Gatsby, both probing indictments of the mindless pursuit of material goods and wealth.

More affi rmative works of art and literature emanated from Harlem, the center of African American life in New York City. During the 1920s, Harlem stood as “the symbol of liberty and the Promised Land to Negroes everywhere,” as an infl uential black minister put it. Talented African American artists and writers fl ocked to Harlem, where they broke with older genteel traditions of black literature to assert cultural ties to Africa. The poet Langston Hughes drew on the black artistic forms of blues and jazz in The Weary Blues (1926), a groundbreaking collection of poems. And he captured the upbeat spirit of the Harlem Renaissance when he asserted, “I am a Negro — and beautiful.”

Like Hughes, the leading lights of the Harlem Renaissance championed racial pride. Authors Claude McKay, Jean Toomer, and Jessie Fauset explored the black experience and represented the “New Negro” in fi ction. Augusta Savage used sculpture to draw attention to black accomplishments. Zora Neale Hurston spent a decade collecting folklore in the South and the Caribbean and incorporated that material into her short stories and novels. This creative work embodied the ongoing African American struggle to fi nd a way, as the infl uential black intellectual W. E. B. Du Bois explained, “to be both a Negro and an American.”

The vitality of the Harlem Renaissance was short-lived. During the Jazz Age, wealthy white patrons and infl uential publishers courted its writers. But white interest

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and black creativity waned as the depression of the 1930s cut incomes and sparked riots in Harlem over jobs and living conditions. However, the writers of the Harlem Renaissance found a new popularity during the civil rights movement of the 1960s, when black intellectuals rediscovered their work.

As black artists championed racial pride, the Universal Negro Improvement Association (UNIA) mobilized African American workers. Led by Jamaican-born Marcus Garvey and based in Harlem, the UNIA championed black separatism. The charismatic Garvey urged blacks to return to Africa, arguing that peoples of African descent would never be treated justly in white-run countries. The UNIA grew rapidly in the early 1920s and soon claimed four million followers, including many recent migrants to northern cities. It published a newspaper, Negro World; opened “liberty halls” in northern cities; and solicited funds for the Black Star Line steamship company, to trade with the West Indies and carry American blacks back to Africa.

The UNIA declined as quickly as it had arisen. In 1925, Garvey went to jail for mail fraud because of his solicitations for the Black Star Line; two years later, President Coolidge commuted Garvey’s sentence but ordered his deportation to Jamaica. With- out Garvey’s leadership, his movement quickly collapsed.

Culture Wars: The Election of 1928 Cultural issues — the emotionally charged questions of Prohibition, Protestant fun- damentalism, and nativism — set the agenda for the presidential election of 1928. The national Democratic Party, now controlled by its northern urban wing, nomi- nated Governor Alfred E. Smith of New York. Smith was the fi rst presidential candi- date to refl ect the aspirations of the urban working classes and of European Catholic immigrants. A Catholic and the grandson of Irish peasants, Smith began his politi- cal career as a Tammany Hall ward heeler, became a dynamic state legislative leader and reformer, and matured as the effective four-term governor of the nation’s most populous state.

But Smith had liabilities. He spoke in a heavy New York accent and sported a brown derby that highlighted his ethnic working-class origins. Middle-class reformers questioned his ties to the political bosses of Tammany Hall; temperance advocates op- posed him as a “wet.” The governor’s greatest handicap was his religion. Although Smith insisted that his beliefs would not affect his duties as president, most Protestants opposed his candidacy. “No Governor can kiss the papal ring and get within gunshot of the White House,” declared a Methodist bishop from Buffalo.

The Republican nominee, Secretary of Commerce Herbert Hoover, was also a new breed of candidate. Hoover had never run for any political offi ce and did not run very hard for the presidency, delivering only seven campaign speeches. He rested his candidacy on his outstanding career as an engineer and administrator; for many Americans, he embodied the managerial and technological promise of the Progressive era. Beyond that, Hoover had the benefi t of eight years of Republican prosperity and strong support from the business community. He promised voters that his vision of individualism and cooperative endeavor would banish poverty from the United States.

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Hoover won a stunning victory. He received 58 percent of the popular vote to Smith’s 41 percent and 444 electoral votes to Smith’s 87. Because many southern Protestants refused to vote for a Catholic, Hoover carried Texas, Virginia, and North Carolina, breaking the Democratic “Solid South” for the fi rst time since Reconstruc- tion. Equally signifi cant, Smith won the industri- alized states of Massachusetts and Rhode Island and carried the nation’s twelve largest cities (Map 23.2). The Democrats were on their way to fash- ioning a new identity as the party of the urban masses and social welfare liberalism, a reorienta- tion that the New Deal would push forward in the 1930s.

Ironically, Herbert Hoover’s victory put him in the unenviable position of leading the United States when the Great Depression struck in 1929. Having claimed credit for the prosperity of the 1920s, the Republicans could not escape blame for the depression.

Candidate Popular

Vote Percent of

Popular Vote Electoral

Vote

Herbert C. Hoover (Republican)

444

87

21,391,993

15,016,169

58.2

40.9Alfred E. Smith (Democrat)

13

29 15 24

38

6

3 14 7 5

184 4

18 8

45

13

13 15

5

13

12

3

10 8

6

8

20 10

9 12

10 12 14

6

9

12

12

7

3 3

4

4

4

3

5

5

10

MAP 23.2 Presidential Election of 1928 Historians still debate the extent to which 1928 was a “critical” election, that is, one that produced a signifi – cant realignment in voting behavior. Republican Herbert Hoover swept the popular vote and the electoral vote, but Democrat Alfred E. Smith won majorities not only in the South, his party’s traditional stronghold, but also in Rhode Island, Massachusetts, and (although it is not evident on this map) in all of the large cities of the North and Midwest. Subsequently, the Democrats won even more votes among African American and European ethnic groups, making them the nation’s dominant political party until the 1980s. For more help analyzing this map, see the Online Study Guide at bedfordstmartins.com/henrettaconcise.

� What changes in American society prompted the activities of nativists, the Ku Klux Klan, and religious fundamentalists? How did these groups express their outrage?

� What were the similarities and diff erences between the Harlem Renaissance and Marcus Garvey’s UNIA movement?

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The Onset of the Great Depression, 1929–1932 Booms and busts are characteristic features of the business cycle in capitalist economies, and they were familiar features of the American landscape. Beginning with the Panic of 1819, the United States had experienced a recession or panic about every twenty years. But none was as severe as the Great Depression of the 1930s, and none lasted as long.

Causes and Consequences The economic downturn began almost imperceptibly in 1927. For fi ve years, Americans had spent money at a faster pace than their incomes had risen. As consumers ran short of cash and credit, spending declined and housing construction slowed. Soon, inventories piled up; in 1928, manufacturers began to cut back production and lay off workers, rein- forcing the slowdown. By the summer of 1929, the economy was clearly in recession.

A few commentators noted the slowdown in production, but most celebrated the rapid rise in the stock market. Stock prices surged 40 percent in 1928 and 1929 as in- vestors got caught up in a speculative frenzy. On “Black Thursday,” October 24, and again on “Black Tuesday,” October 29, the bubble burst. On those two bleak days, mil- lions of shares changed hands in panic trading. Practically overnight, stock values fell from a peak of $87 billion to $55 billion.

The crash exposed long-standing weaknesses in the economy. Agriculture was in the worst shape because farm products had sold at low prices for a decade. In 1929, the yearly income of farmers averaged only $273, compared to $750 for other occupations. Because farmers accounted for one-fourth of the nation’s workers, their meager buying power had long been a drag on the economy. Two other major industries — railroads and coal — had also fallen on hard times. As automobile and truck traffi c increased, railroad revenues from passenger travel and freight shipments declined, forcing several railroads into bankruptcy. Coal-mining companies experienced similar fi nancial diffi culties. Battered by overexpan- sion, obsolescent machinery, and bitter labor struggles, they faced sharp competition from companies producing other sources of energy: hydroelectric power, fuel oil, and natural gas. A fi nal structural weakness was the unequal distribution of wealth. In 1929, the top 5 percent of American families received 30 percent of the nation’s income while the bot- tom 50 percent received only about 20 percent, most of which was spent on food and housing. Once the depression began, a majority of the population lacked suffi cient buy- ing power to revive the economy.

The Great Crash itself had a devastating impact. It wiped out the savings of thou- sands of individual investors and dealt a severe blow to many banks, which had in- vested heavily in corporate stocks or lent money to speculators. Hundreds of banks failed, and because bank deposits were uninsured, their depositors lost some or all of their money. Frightened customers withdrew their savings from solvent banks, forcing them to close as well and deepening the crisis.

The American economy now went rapidly downhill. Between 1929 and 1933, the U.S. gross domestic product fell almost by half, from $103.1 billion to $58 billion. Con- sumption dropped by 18 percent, construction by 78 percent, and private investment by 88 percent. Nearly 9,000 banks closed their doors, and 100,000 businesses failed. The consumer price index declined by 25 percent, and corporate profi ts fell from $10 billion to $1 billion. Most tellingly, unemployment rose from 3.2 percent to 24.9 percent;

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twelve million people were out of work, and many who had jobs took wage cuts. “We didn’t go hungry,” said one family, “but we lived lean.”

The downturn became self-perpetuating. The more the economy contracted, the longer people expected the decline to last; so corporations did not invest in new plants, and consumers refused to buy new cars or appliances. “You could feel the depression deepen,” recalled writer Caroline Bird.

President Hoover later blamed the severity of the American depression on the in- ternational factors, and his analysis had considerable merit. During the 1920s, the fl ow of international credit depended on American banks and corporations; their loans and investments in European countries allowed those nations to pay reparations and war debts and to buy U.S. goods. Now U.S. banks and companies reduced their foreign in- vestments, disrupting the European fi nancial system and cutting demand for American exports. The Hawley-Smoot Tariff of 1930 cut trade still further by raising American rates to all-time highs and prompting European governments to impose similar restrictions. When Great Britain also abandoned the “gold standard,” which assisted international trade by stabilizing exchange rates among currencies, there was a further contraction of commerce and a fall in demand for American agricultural products.

Soon, the crisis brought on a worldwide depression. In 1929, the United States had produced 40 percent of the world’s manufactured goods. As American companies cut back production, they reduced their purchases of Argentine cattle, Brazilian coffee, Chinese silk, Mexican oil, Indonesian rubber, African minerals, and raw materials from many other countries. Thus, the American crash of 1929 undermined fragile economies around the globe.

Herbert Hoover Responds Campaigning for the presidency in 1928, Herbert Hoover predicted a “fi nal triumph over poverty.” Even after the Great Crash, he stubbornly insisted that the downturn was temporary. “The Depression is over,” the president told a delegation of business executives in June 1930.

As the slump continued, Hoover adopted a two-pronged strategy. Refl ecting his ideology of voluntarism and his longtime reliance on the business community, he turned fi rst to corporate leaders. Hoover asked business executives to maintain wages and pro- duction levels and rebuild Americans’ confi dence in the capitalist economic system.

But the president recognized that voluntarism might not be enough, given the depth of the crisis, and he proposed government action as well. Following the stock market crash, he cut federal taxes in an attempt to boost private spending and corpo- rate investment. Hoover called on state and local governments to provide jobs by in- vesting in public projects; and by 1932, he had secured an unprecedented increase in federal spending for public works to $423 million. Some presidential initiatives were misguided. For instance, the Revenue Act of 1932, which increased taxes to balance the budget, choked both consumption and investment. Similarly, Hoover’s refusal to consider direct federal relief for unemployed Americans and to rely on private charity — the “American way,” he called it — was a mistake; unemployment during the depression was too massive for private charities and local governments to handle.

Hoover’s most innovative program was the Reconstruction Finance Corporation (RFC), which Congress approved in January 1932. The RFC was modeled on the War

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Finance Corporation of World War I and, like that agency, stimulated economic activ- ity by providing federal loans to railroads, banks, and other businesses. This strategy of pump priming — infusing funds into the major corporate enterprises — was meant to increase production and thereby create new jobs and invigorate consumer spend- ing. This plan might have worked, but the RFC lent money too cautiously; by the end of 1932, it had loaned out only 20 percent of its $1.5 billion in funds.

Compared with previous chief executives — and in contrast to his popular image as a “do-nothing” president — Hoover had responded to the national emergency with government action on an unprecedented scale. But the nation’s needs were also un- precedented, and Hoover’s programs failed to meet them.

Rising Discontent As the depression continued, many citizens came to hate Herbert Hoover. The American vocabulary now included “Hoovervilles” (shanty towns where people lived in packing crates) and “Hoover blankets” (newspapers). Rising discontent led

Hoovervilles By 1930, homeless people had built shantytowns in most of the nation’s cities. In New York City, squatters camped out along the Hudson River railroad tracks, built makeshift homes in Central Park, or lived at the city dump. This photograph, taken near the old reservoir in Central Park, looks east toward the fancy apartment buildings of Fifth Avenue and the Metropolitan Museum of Art, at left. © Bettmann/Corbis. For more help analyzing this image, see the Online Study Guide at bedfordstmartins.com/henrettaconcise.

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to violence. Bankrupt farmers banded together to resist the bank agents and sheriffs who tried to evict them from their land. To protest low prices for their goods, thou- sands of farmers joined the Farm Holiday Association, which cut off supplies to urban areas by barricading roads and dumping milk, vegetables, and other food- stuffs onto the roadways. Layoffs and wage cuts led to violent industrial strikes. When coal miners in Harlan County, Kentucky, went on strike over a 10 percent wage cut in 1931, the mine owners called in the state’s National Guard, which crushed the union. A confrontation in 1932 between workers and security forces at the Ford Motor Company’s giant River Rouge factory left three workers dead and fi fty with serious injuries.

Civil disorder erupted in the nation’s cities. In 1931 and 1932, unemployed citi- zens demanded jobs and bread from local authorities, and hard-pressed wage earners staged rent strikes. Some protests were the work of the Communist Party, which hoped to use the depression to overturn the capitalist system. Although the strikes and

The Soup Kitchen Some of the most vivid images from the depression are of long lines of men standing outside soup kitchens, like the one pictured here, and of well-dressed men on street corners selling apples and off ering shoe shines. Most of the people in this line are white men but there are a few blacks. Some of the men wear worker’s caps but almost as many wear fedoras, the stylish hat favored by the middle and upper classes. The absence of women is striking; many women chose to endure deprivation rather than violate standards of respectable behavior by soliciting aid in public. © Bettmann/Corbis.

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marches received broad support, they won few converts to communism. In the early 1930s, the American Communist Party had only 12,000 members.

Not radicals but veterans staged the most publicized — and most tragic — protest. In the summer of 1932, the “Bonus Army,” a ragtag group of about 15,000 unem- ployed World War I veterans, hitchhiked to Washington to demand immediate payment of their Service Certifi cates, a pension award that was due to be paid in 1945. “We were heroes in 1917, but we’re bums now,” one veteran complained bitterly. While their leaders unsuccessfully lobbied Congress, the Bonus Army set up camps near the U.S. Capitol building. Eventually Hoover called out regular army troops under the command of General Douglas MacArthur, who would become a leading fi gure during World War II and the Korean War. A headstrong commander who habitu- ally exceeded his orders, MacArthur forcefully evicted the marchers and burned their main encampment to the ground. As newsreel footage showing the U.S. Army attacking and injuring its veterans reached movie theaters across the nation, Hoover’s popularity plunged.

The 1932 Election Despite this discontent, the nation was not in a revolutionary mood as the election of 1932 approached. Middle-class Americans had internalized the ideal of the self-made man and blamed themselves for their economic hardships. Despair and apathy, not anger, characterized their mood (see Voices from Abroad, p. 697). The Republicans, reluctant to dump an incumbent president, unenthusiastically renominated Hoover. The Democrats turned to Governor Franklin Delano Roosevelt of New York, who had persuaded his state’s legislature to run a budget defi cit to fi nance innovative relief and unemployment programs.

Roosevelt, born into a wealthy New York family, was a distant cousin to former president Theodore Roosevelt, whose career he emulated. After attending Harvard College and Columbia University, Roosevelt served as assistant secretary of the navy during World War I (as “T.R.” had done before the Spanish-American War). Franklin Roosevelt’s service in the Wilson administration, in combination with his famous name and speaking abilities, made him the Democrats’ vice presidential nominee in 1920. Then, in 1921, a crippling attack of polio left both of his legs paralyzed for life. Strongly supported by his wife, Eleanor, he slowly returned to public life and campaigned successfully for the governorship of New York in 1928 and again in 1930.

Roosevelt’s campaign for the presidency in 1932 pledged vigorous action but gave no indication as to what it might be: “The country needs and, unless I mistake its tem- per, the country demands bold, persistent experimentation.” He won easily, receiving 22.8 million votes to Hoover’s 15.7 million. Despite the nation’s economic collapse, Americans remained fi rmly committed to the two-party system. The Socialist Party candidate, Norman Thomas, got fewer than a million votes, and the Communist nom- inee, party leader William Z. Foster, drew only 100,000 votes.

Elected in November, Roosevelt would not begin his presidency until March 1933. (The Twentieth Amendment, ratifi ed in 1933, set subsequent inaugurations

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One does not need to be long in New York (or for that matter in Chicago, in Cleveland, in Detroit, in Kansas, or in Buffalo) to see that there are plenty of real tragedies, as well as plenty of not-so-real ones. . . . In New York, one has only to pass outside the central island bounded by Lexington and Sixth Avenues to see hardship, misery, and degradation, accentuated by the shoddy grimness of the shabby houses and broken pavements. Look down from the Elevated [railway], and there are long queues of dreary-looking men and women standing in “breadlines” outside the relief offi ces and the various church and other charitable institutions. Times Square, at any hour of the day and late into the evening, offers an exhibit for the edifi cation of the theater- goer, for it is packed with shabby, utterly dumb and apathetic-looking men, who stand there, waiting for the advent of the coffee wagon run by Mr. W. R. Hearst of the New York American. . . . At every street corner, and wherever taxi or car has to pause, men try to sell one apples, oranges, or picture papers. . . . On a fi ne day, men . . . line every relatively open space, eager to shine one’s shoes. It is perhaps because so many people are doing without this “shine,” or attempting with unfamiliar hands and a sense of deep indignity to shine their own, that the streets look shabby and the persons on them so much less well- groomed than of yore. The well-shod feet of

the States struck me forcibly on my fi rst visit; the ill-cleaned feet of New York struck me as forcibly in January and April 1932. . . . Yes, distress is there; the idle are there. How many, no one really knows. Ten million or more in the country; a million and a half in New York are reported. They are there; as is, admittedly a dark undergrowth of horrid suffering that is certainly more degraded and degrading than anything Britain or Germany knows. Their immense presence makes a grim background to the talk of depression: there is an obscure alarm as to what they may do “if this goes on.” . . . The American people, unfamiliar with suffering, with none of that long history of catastrophe and calamity behind it which makes the experience of European nations, is outraged and baffl ed by misfortune. . . . The nation now suffers from a despair of any and every kind of leadership. Every institu- tion is assailed; even the sacred foundations of democracy are being undermined. The defeatism that has been so lamentably evidenced in Congress is not peculiar to Congressmen, any more than is the crude individualism of their reactions. It lies like a pall over the spirit of the nation. . . . How to break it nobody knows.

S O U R C E : Mary Agnes Hamilton, “In America Today,” in America through British Eyes, ed. Allan Nevins (Gloucester, MA: Peter Smith, 1968), 443–444.

Breadlines and Beggars M A R Y AG N E S H A M I LTO N British writer and Labor Party activist Mary Agnes Hamilton arrived in New York in

December 1931. Following a wide-ranging lecture tour, Hamilton wrote a book conveying

her impressions of American life. Her observations of conditions in New York City during

the grim winter of 1931–1932 suggest the devastation and despair gripping urban America.

V O I C E S F R O M A B R O A D

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for January 20.) As FDR waited, Americans suf- fered through the worst winter of the depres- sion. Nationwide, the unemployment rate stood at 20 to 25 percent; in three major industrial cit- ies in Ohio, it was staggering: 50 percent in Cleveland, 60 percent in Akron, and 80 percent in Toledo. Public-welfare institutions were to- tally overwhelmed. Despite dramatic increases in their spending, private charities and public relief agencies reached only a fraction of the needy. The nation’s banking system was so close to collapse that many state governors closed banks temporarily to avoid further withdrawals. By March 1933, the nation had hit rock bottom.

S U M M A RY By the 1920s, the United States had become a modern, urban society based on cor- porate business enterprises and mass consumption. As we have seen, the Republican Party controlled the national government and fostered a close partnership with busi- ness interests. At home, Secretary of Commerce Herbert Hoover promoted industry- wide trade associations; abroad, diplomats assisted American businesses while avoid- ing entangling alliances.

We also explored how movies, radio, and other mass media encouraged the devel- opment of a national culture. This emergent culture placed an emphasis on leisure, consumption, and amusement. However, families needed a middle-class income to take full advantage of the goods (such as cars, radios, and vacuum cleaners) and life- styles promoted by the new advertising industry. Most farmers remained outside the charmed circle of prosperity, as were most African Americans and most working-class immigrants from Europe and Mexico.

Not everyone welcomed the new secular values of the 1920s. Cultural disputes over prohibition, evolution, and immigration led to the creation of the new Ku Klux Klan and further disrupted the already fractured Democratic Party. Republican politi- cal ascendancy continued under President Herbert Hoover, who expected to extend the prosperity of the Roaring Twenties.

Instead, Hoover had to deal with the Great Depression. As we have seen, the depres- sion had many causes: speculation in stocks, weaknesses in major industries, and fragile international fi nances. When Hoover’s policies failed, voters turned to Democrat Franklin D. Roosevelt, who entered offi ce facing massive unemployment, a banking crisis, and a despairing citizenry.

Connections: Society As we noted in the essay that opened Part Five, two central themes of the years be- tween 1914 and 1945 were internal migration within the United States and intolerance toward immigrants and racial minorities. Both were apparent in Chapter 22. There,

� What were the domestic and foreign causes of the Great Depression? How did President Hoover respond to the economic emergency?

� In what ways did the state and federal governments intervene in the cultural confl icts and economic crises of 1920s?

� What problems in the economy and society of the United States were exposed by the Great Depression?

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C H A P T E R 23 Modern Times, 1920–1932 � 699

we described attacks during World War I against German Americans and the postwar riots against newly arrived African Americans in Chicago, East St. Louis, and other cities. As we have just seen in Chapter 23, nativist sentiment reached a peak in the mid-1920s as the “new” Ku Klux Klan harassed Catholics, Jews, and blacks and Con- gress enacted restrictive immigration legislation. Chapter 24 will continue that story by explaining how the Great Depression of the 1930s prompted a “reverse migration” back to Mexico, Asia, and Europe. It will also discuss the movement to California of 350,000 farmers from the “dust bowl” states of the Great Plains and explain how New Deal agri- cultural programs forced many African Americans to leave the rural South. Finally, in Chapter 25, we will see that World War II triggered a new round of internal migration

1920 � Eighteenth Amendment imposes Prohibition

� First commercial radio broadcast

� Warren G. Harding elected president

� Census reveals major shift of people from farms to cities

1920–1921 � Economic recession cuts jobs

1921 � Sheppard-Towner Act assists maternal care

� Washington Conference leads to naval disarmament

1922–1929 � Record economic growth expands consumption

� Automobile Age begins 1922 � T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land

published 1923 � President Harding dies;

succeeded by Calvin Coolidge

� Time magazine founded 1924 � Dawes Plan reduces

German reparations � Teapot Dome scandal � U.S. troops withdrawn from

Dominican Republic � National Origins Act limits

immigration

1925 � F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby published

� Height of Ku Klux Klan’s power

� Scopes trial over free speech and the teaching of science

1927 � First “talkies” in movie industry

� Charles Lindbergh’s solo fl ight

1928 � Herbert Hoover elected president

� Kellogg-Briand Pact condemning militarism signed

1929 � Ernest Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms published

� Stock market crash 1930 � Hawley-Smoot Tariff cuts

imports 1931 � Miners strike in Harlan

County, Kentucky 1932 � Reconstruction Finance

Corporation created � Bonus Army rebuff ed in

Washington � Communist-led hunger

marches in cities � Farm Holiday Association

dumps produce � Franklin D. Roosevelt

elected president

T I M E L I N E

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700 � PA R T F I V E The Modern State and Society, 1914–1945

and race riots and, in an extreme example of racial prejudice, the internment of more than 100,000 Japanese Americans.

F O R F U R T H E R E X P LO R AT I O N Lynn Dumenil, The Modern Temper: American Culture and Society in the 1920s (1995), and Loren Baritz, ed., The Culture of the Twenties (1970), provide good overviews. For politics, consult Ellis W. Hawley, The Great War and the Search for a Modern Order (1979), and Lee Nash, ed., Understanding Herbert Hoover (1987). For fi ction, see Sinclair Lewis’s classics, Main Street (1920) and Babbitt (1922). To watch the rise of consumer society, log onto memory.loc.gov/ammem/coolhtml/coolhome.html. On the Harlem Renaissance, read Alain Locke, ed., The New Negro (1925), and con- sult www.math.buffalo.edu/~sww/circle/harlem-ren-sites.html. For Marcus Garvey, see www.pbs.org/wgbh/amex/garvey. Good studies include Kevin Boyle, Arc of Justice: A Saga of Race, Civil Rights, and Murder in the Jazz Age (2004), and David Levering Lewis, W. E. B. Du Bois (2000). “Flapper Station” at home.earthlink.net/~rbotti details the new youth culture; on speakeasies and their music, go to www.authentichistory.com/1920s/music/index .html. Also see “Jazz Roots” at www.jass.com and www.redhotjazz.com. On 1920s fi lms, go to www.fi lmsite.org/20sintro.html; for advertisements, see scriptorium.lib .duke.edu/adaccess. For America’s fi rst media superstar, see www.charleslindbergh .com. The Scopes trial is covered at www.law.umkc.edu/faculty/projects/ftrials/scopes/ scopes.htm. For the crash of 1929, see www.nytimes.com/library/fi nancial/index-1929-crash .html and www.pbs.org/wgbh/amex/crash.

T E S T YO U R K N O W L E D G E To assess your mastery of the material in this chapter and for Web sites, images, and documents related to this chapter, visit bedfordstmartins.com/henrettaconcise.

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The post T he 1920s was a decade fi lled with sharp contrasts — between Prohibi-tion laws and speakeasy nightclubs, modern science and fundamentalist reli- gion, economic boom and fi nancial bust, popular heroes and social villains. appeared first on homeworkhandlers.com.

This article was downloaded by: [St. John’s University Libraries] On: 23 May 2012, At: 13:40 Publisher: Routledge Informa Ltd Registered in England and Wales Registered Number

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Contesting the Norm: Women and Professional Sports in Late Nineteenth- Century America Roberta J. Park a a University of California, Berkeley, USA

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Contesting the Norm: Women and Professional Sports in Late Nineteenth-Century America

Roberta J. Park*

University of California, Berkeley, USA

Athletic opportunities for females have reached an extent that few women living in the nineteenth century might ever have imagined. For more than two decades the women’s 10,000-metre run has been part of the Olympics. Women’s wrestling was added at Athens in 2004 and women’s boxing competitions will begin at the 2012 London Games. Changing cultural norms, especially those brought forth by ‘women’s movements’ of the 1960s as well as the ensuing amazingly successful athletic performances that women attained, have been of the utmost importance. In the United States, as the ‘New Woman’’ of the late 1800s began to engage in a modest game of golf or tennis, or take a leisurely bicycle ride, the then dominant theme – strenuous physical activity is inimical to a female’s health – that had been articulated in books like Edward Clarke’s Sex in Education, Or a Fair Chance for Girls (1873) began to be challenged. Few late nineteenth-century women offered a greater challenge than did ‘professional sportswomen’ like pedestriennes Ada Anderson and Exilda La Chapelle, competitive cyclist Louise Armiando, and the boxer Hattie Stewart. Whereas their feats were ignored by more elevated publications like Scribner’s Magazine and Outing daily newspapers sometimes could be quite complimentary. The coverage given by Sporting Life (considered by many to be the major sports journal of the times) was somewhat mixed. When it came to baseball (the game that ‘made men men’) Sporting Life was vehemently opposed to any woman engaging in America’s ‘national pastime’. So was Albert Spalding, co-founder of the lucrative A.G. Spalding Sporting Goods Company. This article sheds new light upon these and other still too little known matters regarding women who ‘contested the norm’ in late nineteenth-century America.

Keywords: women; professional; strenuous sports

Introduction

The last five decades have witnessed a remarkable growth in the number of sports in which women and girls participate. Until quite recently long-established norms regarding gender and what was deemed appropriate for females had denied them the extent of opportunities that exist today. Whereas at the 1960 Rome Olympics only 610 of the competing athletes had been women (not quite 12% ), at the 2008 Beijing Games 4,639 of the slightly more than 11,000 athletes were females – a rise to more than 42%.1 Olympic competition for women in the 10,000-metre run began at the 1988 Seoul Games. Women’s wrestling, long considered quite inappropriate for

*Email: rjpark@berkeley.edu

The International Journal of the History of Sport

Vol. 29, No. 5, April 2012, 730–749

ISSN 0952-3367 print/ISSN 1743-9035 online

� 2012 Taylor & Francis http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/09523367.2012.675205

http://www.tandfonline.com

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females (even though a few had engaged in it for more than a century), was added to the programme of the 2004 Athens Olympics. Women’s boxing will take place for the first time at London in 2012.2

Opportunities for such advances had been fostered by the ‘women’s movements’ that began to rise to power in a number of countries during the 1960s. In the United States the passage of the Education Amendments Act of 1972 was of singular importance for advancing opportunities for girls as well as for women.3 ‘The new feminism’, which also began in the 1960s, ushered in what has become a remarkable number of books that have dealt with bringing forth information, previously largely ignored, about what women have achieved throughout history and how some have challenged traditional beliefs about their ‘presumed limited abilities’. Carroll Smith- Rosenberg’s Disorderly Conduct: Visions of Gender in Victorian America was one of the earlier works that called for casting new light upon such matters. In the opening chapter entitled ‘Hearing Women’s Words: A Feminist Reconstruction of History’, Smith-Rosenberg wrote: ‘[T]hose of us who in the early 1970s responded to the feminist call to discover our collective past had been brought up in the assumptions and methods of conventional history. . . . Then we struggled to master the skills necessary to reconstruct women’s past’. The most ‘revolutionary’ aspect of women’s history, she continued, became a ‘refusal to accept gender-role divisions as natural. . . . Gender, we insisted, was man-made, the product of cultural definitions, not of biological forces’. The book’s final section is entitled ‘The New Woman as Androgyne: Social Disorder and Gender Crisis, 1870–1930’.4

The late nineteenth/early twentieth century was a period during which some women engaged, quite successfully, in sports that were much more strenuous than most people even today may realise. This matter, a central focus of this research, will be examined in some detail in the last four sections of this article. Words that appear in the opening chapter of Susan Cahn’s Coming on Strong: Gender and Sexuality in Twentieth Century Women’s Sport (1995), one of the earlier of the now extensive number of books that have made it essential to reassess the engagement of women in sport, are particularly relevant: ‘The notion that ‘‘refined’’ women played suitable ‘‘refined’’ games protected elite sportswomen from violating the boundary between proper womanhood and ‘‘vulgar’’ women of other classes’.5 However, overlooking the accomplishments of these presumptive ‘lower class’ women usually results in an all too preconceived understanding of the past.

Setting the Context

By the time that Smith-Rosenberg’s Disorderly Conduct appeared scholars in disciplines ranging from history and sociology to gender studies and more were beginning to turn to ‘sport’ as a viable lens for examining various aspects of the past of females – both homogeneous and varied. It did not take long to discern that the dominant text ascribed to what women’s role had been and what they had accomplished – or been denied opportunities to accomplish – had been far too constrained. Instead, at a time when the cultural norms had sought to confine their activities many women had ‘broken the bonds’ and achieved much more than conventional wisdom was willing to believe that they could. By the 1870s ‘more elevated’ women were attaining approval to engage in ‘genteel’ sports such as archery, tennis, and golf. The National Archery Association sponsored its first woman’s national championship in 1879; the National Tennis Association and the

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United States Golf Association would do likewise in 1887 and 1895 respectively.6 At the same time that the late nineteenth-century ‘new women’ were gaining modest opportunities to engage in these less physically demanding sports, scores of pedestriennes7, competitive female cyclists, and even women wrestlers and boxers were performing across the United States. Many received much more positive attention than one might have expected in daily newspapers and in some, but not all, sporting journals. The more refined press almost totally ignored them.

Although engaging in any physical activity challenged the dominant theme promoted by American physician Edward Clarke in his 1873 book Sex in Education, Or a Fair Chance for Girls,8 none did so more than did the feats of pedestriennes, competitive female cyclists, women wrestlers and boxers, and female baseball players who (in small numbers) were engaging in that game by the 1880s. In his book (which went into 17 editions in 13 years) Clarke also maintained that when females expended energy on mental activity (for example, education) this depleted the energy that they needed for proper physical development. Instead, girls and young women should be passive and concentrate on developing their reproductive systems.9 Julia Ward Howe, a supporter of women’s suffrage and founder in 1876 of the Association of American Women (an organization that advocated women’s education), was among those who took umbrage. In 1874 she edited Sex and Education: A Reply to Dr. E. H. Clarke’s ‘Sex in Education’, which drew upon the opposing views of men as well as women. Thomas Wentworth Higginson, a supporter of co-education and a college classmate of Clarke, stated that Clarke’s negative assertions about women lacked any basis in science. Mrs. Horace Mann maintained that mental activity was ‘as good for women’ as it was ‘good for men’ and that Clarke had erroneously judged all women by ‘the invalids’ he had attended as a doctor. Co-education, she believed, could be beneficial for both sexes.10 Others – both women and men – agreed. This was reflected in papers published in the North American Review in 1882. Long-standing ‘woman’s rights’ advocate Elizabeth Cady Stanton (then over 65 years of age) insisted that girls and boys should meet ‘every day on the play-ground’. James Read Chadwick (Instructor in Gynecology, Harvard Medical School) maintained that when girls ran, played ball and other active games both their health and their minds improved.11

Nevertheless, some individuals continued to support Clarke’s views. Addressing the question of how women and men differed, Francis Parkman (whose health had been so delicate that he had been obliged to give up even scholarly activity for several years) maintained that biology had determined for the female an entirely different role than that of the male.12 However, by 1897 (when Parkman’s ‘The Woman Question’ was published) such assertions would be increasingly difficult to sustain. Parkman apparently did not know or did not care, that substantial numbers of women had been engaging quite successfully for several years in sports such as tennis and much more physically demanding activities such as pedestrianism, cycling contests, wrestling, and even baseball.

It is worthy of note that with the exception of baseball, these women usually received reasonably favourable treatment in newspapers and in many, but not all, sporting journals – even when they competed against males. However, accounts of their participation – and certainly their accomplishments – did not appear in the Cosmopolitan, Fortnightly Review, Scribner’s Magazine, and other more ‘elevated’ publications even though by the 1880s and 1890s these were giving at least a modicum of attention to women’s participation in genteel activities such as golf and

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leisurely cycling. Discussing the emergence of tennis as a game for women at places like the Philadelphia Cricket Club and the Staten Island Cricket Club, for example, Henry W. Slocum stated in Outing in 1889: ‘To enumerate and describe all of the clubs in the neighborhood of New York City that gladly welcome ladies to membership would be an almost endless task’.13 The image of a modest young woman tranquilly cycling that appeared in Scribner’s Magazine for June 189614 was a far cry from portrayals of professional cyclists such as Louise Armaindo, whose feats were celebrated in publications like Sporting Life and the National Police Gazette.

A portion of Chapter 1 of Martha Banta’s 1987 book Imaging the American Woman: Idea and Ideals in Cultural History, an account of visual and verbal representations of ‘the New Woman’ who rose to power in the United States in the decades between the Philadelphia Centennial Exposition of 1876 and 1918, is devoted to ‘athletics’ (that is, sports). However, it includes nothing about individuals such as Louise Armaindo or other professional sportswomen. According to Banta’s analyses, the three dominant representations of the turn- of-the century ‘American Woman’ were: the alluring Beautiful Charmer, recognised for her virtuousness as well as physical attractiveness – she might also be a ‘manipulator of men’s hearts’; the ‘New England Woman’ (known for her thoughtfulness and dedication); and the ‘Outdoors Girl’ (who cavorted and even engaged in certain sports). Those discussed, with accompanying images, in Imaging the American Woman are lady cyclists, golfers, swimmers and Vassar College girls playing the ‘new’ game of basketball.15

Lina and Adelia Beard’s The American Girls Handy Book: How to Amuse Yourself and Others, which went to several editions, was one of the indications of the increasing opportunities that middle- and upper-class females would begin to have. The Preface to the 1893 edition contains the following words: ‘One of our objects is to impress upon the minds of the girls the fact that they all possess talent and ability to achieve more than they suppose possible’. However, in addition to a chapter about the home gymnasium it contained only brief comments about walking, archery and tennis. Subsequent editions would considerably extend the range. In the Preface to the 1905 edition the authors wrote: ‘In this age of wonderful discoveries and rapid developments . . . [girls] now enter the regular college, and in addition to the studies, take part in many if not all the athletic sports of the boys’.16

The late nineteenth-century ‘New Woman’ had been a controversial figure. Conventional thinkers were troubled by her efforts to escape traditional domestic constraints and by her endeavours to achieve greater opportunities for appearances in public (sport was one of these) and the right to vote. Others were encouraged by what these women were doing to open wider doors that were keeping most females constrained. In a manner not unlike what many hoped for when they seized upon ‘athletics’ as a means to give graphic expression to the equity – if not equality – set forth in Title IX of the 1972 Education Act, numbers of late nineteenth/early twentieth-century American women had seen in sports a valuable way to ‘free their bodies’ and expand their opportunities as social beings.

Strong and ‘Think-Set Heroines’ Re-emerge in the Late 1800s

In 1727, while titled English ladies might have been playing a genteel game of battledore on the lawns of their husbands’ country estates, Elizabeth Wilkinson had

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fought Hannah Highfield for three guineas at Hockley-in-the-Hole. Mrs. Stokes (‘the City Champion’), the ‘Hibernean Heroine’, and other female boxers entertained crowds at James Figg’s London amphitheatre. In 1768 a female contestant known as ‘Bruising Peg’ outclassed her opponent. In North Wales during the late 1700s Margaret Evans was reputed to have enjoyed a reputation as ‘such a powerful wrestler that . . . few young men dared try a fall with her’.17 Wagering was ubiquitous and most, perhaps all, such contests were staged. Foot-racing, typically associated with county fairs, was then the most popular women’s sport. Women also were engaging in walking races (pedestrianism) well before Captain Barclay’s famous 1809 feat. In 1765, a young woman completed 72 miles from Blencogo, Scotland to Newcastle in two days.18 In the aptly subtitled ‘Debility and Strength’ chapter of Women’s Sports: A History, Allen Guttmann included information about French and Russian wrestlers, foot-racing in France and Germany, and other contests involving women during the nineteenth century. However, with the exception of Dahn Shaulis’ interesting account of two of the most famous late nineteenth- century female pedestriennes – Ada Anderson and Bertha Von Hillern – and brief comments in books like Edward Sears, Running Through the Ages (2001) it is difficult to find historical accounts of women and professional sports in late nineteenth-century America.19

During the last portion of the nineteenth century a resurgence of interest in such sports involving females occurred. On 1 September 1875 (six days after Captain Matthew Webb became the first person to swim the English Channel), Agnes Beckwith swam five miles from London Bridge to Greenwich Hospital Pier. Accompanied by an estimated 100 boats, 14-year-old Emily Parker (‘The Mermaid of the Thames’) then swam from London Bridge to Blackwall Pier for a side wager of £50.00.20 Shortly thereafter she completed nearly 10 miles to Woolwich Gardens; it was claimed that 5,000spectators watched the plump (140 lb) young woman achieve this remarkable feat. Within less than a month several young women were also engaging for prizes in swimming contests on New York’s East River.21 When six ‘fair New Jersey maidens’ contested for prizes in a 200-yard race on the Passaic River in 1883 the victor by two yards was 18-year-old Kittie Garner. Marie Finney and Ada Webb were noted female swimmers during the 1880s and early 1890s. In 1901, Cora Beckwith of Buffalo, New York (who maintained that she had swum from Dover to Calais in the company of Captain Webb) announced that she would attempt to swim through the same Niagara rapids where 18 years earlier Webb had lost his life.22

Females also entered into rowing competitions. Annie Keefe and Jennie O’Neill apparently had rowed against each other on New York’s Harlem River in 1867. Three years later several thousand spectators, including ‘a large number of women’, purportedly watched Lottie McAlice and Maggie Lew in a one and-a-half mile sculling race. McAlice (victor in 18:54) was awarded a gold watch offered by the Pittsburgh Nonpareil Club; The Times devoted a quarter of a column to the event under the heading ‘Woman’s Rights’. The New York Clipper featured a well-dressed young oarswoman on the 20 August 1870 front page of its 20 August 1870 edition. The third race at the Tenth Annual Regatta of the Empire City Rowing Club in 1871 was ‘for ladies only in single scull working boats’.23 A double-scull race for ladies was also held. In 1878, several arranged to row flat-bottomed boats for prizes at Fair Haven, New Jersey. Two withdrew from the ‘senior’ race after a debate over whether coaching would be allowed and the field was left to Sarah Bennett, Annie Bennett and Emily Snyder. Sarah, who finished with a stroke of 32, was said to have a rowing

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style similar to that of Charles Courtney (who recently had turned professional after rowing for nine years as an amateur).24 Interest in such matches declined shortly thereafter but occasional events continued to be held. In 1884, two ‘muscular’ women named Ms Dooley and Ms Mooney raced on New York’s Staten Island Sound. Sporting Life maintained that considerable money had been wagered on the outcome; however, darkness and allegations of fouls convinced the judges that the match would have to be rescheduled. In November 1895, Rosa Mosentheim (St Louis) won the ladies mile-and a-half single scull during an ‘international rowing regatta’ at Austin, Texas, in 15:17.5. These contests were conducted in quite a different atmosphere than was rowing at Wellesley and other small women’s colleges, where the carefully secluded sport was being embraced by physical education instructresses for the health benefits it was thought to confer.25

Professional cyclists such as Louise Armaindo engaged in demanding competi- tions, sometimes against male cyclists.26 Although ignored by more elevated publications they usually, but not quite always, received favourable treatment in the public press. For a short time female boxers also enjoyed some popularity. Hattie Stewart was said to be an excellent ‘specimen of physical development’ with a ‘right cross’ similar to that of the noted heavyweight fighter John L. Sullivan. Ostensibly, Stewart could hold her own with at least some male boxers.27 Although interest in such contests soon decreased, during the early 1900s some women would continue to appear in special matches or on the vaudeville circuit.28 Female pedestrian races would attract some of the greatest attention.

Female Pedestrians Re-emerge

Rowing requires special equipment and the attainment of skills that are not inherently natural. Running, and especially walking, contests call for the types of coordination that humans may use daily. The ‘naturalness’ of the activity, the fact that no special equipment was needed, the relative ease of finding halls in which contests could be staged, and the possibility of attracting paying audiences all favoured the growth of women’s participation in pedestrianism during the 1870s and 1880s. The catalyst was the resurgence of interest in male events.

Although interest in pedestrianism in Britain had declined by the 1830s it did not disappear. During the 1840s and 1850s, Bell’s Life in London and Sporting Chronicle still included numerous announcements of male pedestrian matches. Across the Atlantic in 1835 wealthy New Yorker John Cox Stevens offered $1,000 to any man who could complete 10 miles in less than an hour. Louis Bennett (‘Deerfoot’) and Edward Payson Weston (who would undertake a 400-mile walk from Boston to Washington, DC in 1861 for Abraham Lincoln’s presidential inauguration) became especially popular figures. Weston would help increase interest in the sport by engaging in long distance contests in both Britain and the United States. In March 1870 The Spirit of the Times noted that ‘the Parker Sisters’ (ages 15 and 16) had walked 80 miles in Princeton, Illinois for a purse of $100.00. The patronage of Sir John Dugdale Astley, who sponsored a series of international matches between male pedestrians in 1878 and 1879 (and Astley’s guarantee of $4,000 and a richly adorned belt), gave added interest to the sport. Over a period of 18 months, thousands of Londoners crowded into Islington’s Agricultural Hall – New Yorkers crowded into Gilmore’s Garden (soon renamed Madison Square Garden) – to watch and wager on Astley Belt contests.29

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Women as well as more men took to the tracks. Perhaps the first American woman to have taken up the sport was Annie Gibbons of Rochester, New York, who set out to walk 100 miles in 24 hours. She also competed against Annie Mattice for a purse of $500 in a five-day contest at Cincinnati, Ohio. Early in 1876, Millie Rose (referred to as ‘the Indianapolis pedestrian’) engaged in a 50-mile walk as part of a 300-mile contest between Mary Marshall and the German walker Bertha Von Hillern at Chicago’s Second Regiment Armory. (The noted Irish-American race walker Daniel O’Leary was in charge of the arrangements for the match.) Von Hillern and Marshall (winner of the first encounter, who apparently had been a book canvasser30 and had walked long distances for the job) began another six-day match at New York’s Central Park Garden for a purse of $1,000 the following November. She was declared the victor over a much fatigued Marshall. Determined to regain her stature in the sport, Marshall quickly issued a challenge to walk against any man for 20 miles each of three consecutive evenings, the winner to take the $500 purse. Victorious over ‘an ambitious youth’ named Van Ness, she then looked forward to a return match against Von Hillern.31 Across the Atlantic in August 1876, Bella St. Clair completed the task of walking 1,000 quarter miles (250 miles) at North Woolwich Gardens with two days to spare. Sixteen women had also engaged in a competition at Birmingham’s Bingley Hall. The Lord’s Day Observance Society considered such contests offensive to females and referred to Madame Willets’s efforts to replicate Captain Barclay’s walk of 1,000 miles as a ‘demoralizing’ exhibition.32

Sporting outfitter and entrepreneur Ed James included bits of information and sketches of several of the best-known women pedestrians in his 1877 manual Practical Training, a 100-page compilation of training tips and record performances of champion rowers, runners and walkers.33 Most participants were probably attracted for financial reasons or the hope of gaining a moment of glory – the same things their male counterparts sought. As did boxing, wrestling and various other late nineteenth-century sports, the female ‘walking mania’ offered entertainment, and for some observers opportunities for what they hoped would be a bit of voyeurism. Some of the pedestriennes may actually have been engaged in the ‘walking trade’ and some, apparently, were mistresses of the men identified as their ‘trainers’. Women also competed against men. In November 1878, Bertha von Berg lost a 100-mile match at Watertown, New York to John MacConnell by six laps. Three months earlier, The Times had reported that a Madame Ada Anderson had just completed walking for six consecutive days at King’s Lynn, Norfolk.34

By December 1878 Anderson was in the United States at Brooklyn’s Mozart Garden ready to begin walking 2,700 quarter miles in 2,700 consecutive quarter hours (675 hours). As her miles accumulated newspaper accounts increased in both frequency and length. A thousand spectators, it was claimed, had watched as she completed her task on the evening of 13 January 1879. Half the crowd, the New York Times asserted, was comprised of ‘women who stood through hours of terrible crushing without complaint, satisfied if they could now and then catch a glimpse of the woman they have come to regard as one of the most wonderful of their sex’. Wagering on the outcome was high and there was amazement that the little English pedestrienne had successfully completed her task.35 The Boston Globe called the event ‘The Most Remarkable Feat on Record’ – something that no other woman had yet accomplished. Now aged 36, it was reported that Anderson had first of all walked 1,000 half-miles (500 miles) in 1,000 half-hours (500 hours) in September 1877 at the

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Cambrian Garden in Wales. This had been followed by walks of 1,250 miles in 1,000 hours at Plymouth and 1,500 miles in 1,000 hours at Leeds. Her last performance before leaving for the United States had been a walk of 2,688 quarter-miles in 2,688 quarter-hours at Peterborough.36

During the victory celebrations that followed her Mozart Gardens performance, Madame Anderson declared that she had been a singer, actress, circus clown and proprietress of concert halls. When she decided to become a professional walker she had been advised, apparently, to go to America and ‘win a name before attempting any extraordinary feat in the old country’. It was her hope to continue for a year then settle down to a more domestic life. For her various efforts, she was able to deposit several thousand dollars. However, the Brooklyn Women’s Christian Temperance Society objected to such walking on the Sabbath and considered her efforts to have been a ‘pitiful display of womanhood . . . contrary to the dictates of humanity and the laws of God’.37 Nonetheless, thousands of other individuals clearly were interested in Madame Anderson and the many other pedestriennes who took advantage of the public’s craze for observing, and betting on, such contests.

At the same time that Madame Anderson was completing her 2,700 quarter-miles other pedestrians (male as well as female) were toiling away in large and small halls across the United States. Annie Bartell (the ‘Westchester Milkmaid’) and Lulu Loomer (a 22-year-old former trapeze performer) appeared at the Brewster Building in New York City. ‘Clad in a short walking suit of black velvet with gilt ornament’, Bartell (aged about28) carried a whip (perhaps in emulation of Anderson, for whom this was a trademark). According to the New York Times, only 32 spectators were present the first day; however, the audience was considerably larger the following evening and included a ‘number of the gentler sex’.38 Upon completing a 2,700 quarter-mile walk at Jersey City, Josie Wilson immediately announced that she would continue to 3,000 quarter-miles. At the same time other events were in progress. Rose Franklin, referred to as ‘the English pedestrian’, was walking 2,800 quarter-miles at the Adelphi Theater in Williamsburg, where a spectator occasionally joined her for a turn or two on the small track.39

The newspapers were only infrequently critical; and even if a match were likely to have been staged, the amazing endurance of the better female performers was often noted. On the evening of 17 February 1879, 18-year-old Millie Reynolds began a 32- day, 3,000 quarter-mile walk at Boston’s Revere Hall. It was reported that the ‘large boned and muscular’ young woman walked ‘with a determined air’. James Robinson, an English trainer, Dr Dennett and three female attendants had been engaged for her care. Three days into the trial the Boston Globe reported on Reynolds’s condition. After 800 quarter-miles, her feet were said to be as ‘sound as a dollar, her eyes bright, her courage of the best’. While all this was going on, various male pedestrian contests were underway at Boston’s Institute Hall. On 18 February 1879 the last event of the programme was a 25-mile walk for a purse of $100 between Helene Freeman and James Black (President of the Middlesex Rowing Association, who was making his first public appearance as a walker). After a number of lead changes, Freeman won by one lap. At approximately the same time 18-year-old Lillian Hoffman completed a 500 quarter-mile walk at Providence, Rhode Island with what was said to have been a 78 average pulse rate.40

Meanwhile, Exilda La Chapelle was pursuing 2,700 quarter-miles in 2,700 quarter-hours at Chicago’s Foley Theater. Attired in her favourite red suit, and accompanied by the well-known fast walker James Smith and her manager Charles

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Davies, La Chapelle ran and walked her last quarter-mile to the enthusiastic cheering of a large crowd. She thereupon declared that she would extend the walk another 50 hours and extinguish Madame Anderson’s record. As was often the case at male pedestrian events, a number of ‘added attractions’ had been included alongside her performance (for example, a mile race for professionals; the appearance of noted long distance walker John Ennis). During the last evening of La Chapelle’s programme two young girls named Smith and Gardner contested each other in a short walk-run.41

On 28 February, ‘attired in a neat and most becoming black silk costume trimmed with maroon and gold’, Lulu Loomer was again on the track in an effort to eclipse Madame Anderson’s record. Shortly thereafter, the Baltimore American reported that a number of women were engaged in a similar contest at Philadelphia. Eighteen set off on a six-day walking match at Gilmore’s Garden on 26 March 1879. Although many lacked training and experience, the group included several who were already well-known – La Chapelle (Canadian), Von Berg (presumably originally from Holland, the eventual winner), Cora Cushing (Irish), Madame Tobias (New York), Madame Franklin (English), and Bella Killbury – as well as several lesser known local and foreign participants. The Spirit of the Times included a detailed account of the event and made note of six other cities in which female pedestrian races were also occurring. Some 3,000 spectators were present on the last day of the Gilmore’s Garden match. Von Berg received $1,000 in prize money and the championship belt.42 (A few weeks earlier, Killbury had completed a 400-mile seven- day walk at Eagle Hall in Hoboken, New Jersey. It was said that she also had received a medal for walking 200 miles against a man named Colston and had won medals for swimming, trapeze and saving a drowning person.)43 Two of the 18 women who had competed in the six-day match at Gilmore’s Gardens were said to own ‘valuable real estate in New York City’ and had entered the contest ‘just for fun’. Some of the others were referred to as indigent young girls and ‘gray-haired matrons’ with no attendants, entrance money, food to sustain themselves during the ordeal, or proper clothing. No sooner had the women vacated the Gilmore’s Garden track than 40 male contestants set out on a six-day competition. At the end of four days, 27 had dropped out.44

Cities and towns from Maine to Oregon reported an astonishing number of pedestrian races. The majority of these involved males but scores of females also appeared. Many were locals (such as May Belle Sherman, Sadie Donley, Belle Weston, and the 13 other females who participated in California in 1879). Von Berg seems to have been everywhere. In October 1879 she withdrew after 231 miles in a six-day ‘go-as-you-please’ tournament at San Francisco’s Mechanics Pavilion. In May 1880, along with La Chapelle, Tobias, and a dozen other women, Von Berg was back in San Francisco for another contest. Weekly newspapers even carried cartoons of fashionable ladies in their own parlours and at parties emulating the pedestriennes. When promoter D.E. Rose announced a ‘go-as-you-please’ women’s match for Madison Square Garden to take place in early 1881, The Spirit of the Times speculated that hordes of aspirants would apply.45

In the early 1880s, Pennsylvania native Madame Du Pree, who was said to be 40 years of age, allegedly bested three male pedestrians at Las Vegas, New Mexico. Amy Howard, touted by Richard Kyle Fox (proprietor of the National Police Gazette) as the ‘female champion pedestrian of the world’, began a six-day contest against Madame Tobias and Carrie Anderson at Baltimore’s Monumental Theater

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on 19 June 1882. With typical bombast, Fox referred to her ‘wonderful speed and endurance’ and declared that Howard would next meet any female pedestrian in America for from $1,000 to $3,000 a side. When the overseas correspondent for Sporting Life provided a report of Edward Payson Weston’s 5,000-mile attempt at Victoria Palace in 1884 he included caustic comments about the 20 or so women who were currently engaging in a six-day match at Birmingham’s Bingley Hall. With the same vitriol that it had for females who dared engage in America’s ‘national game’ (baseball), Sporting Life expressed amazement that upwards of 3,000 spectators had been willing to witness this ‘female farce’.46 Although contests continued, interest in both men’s and women’s pedestrianism would be on the wane shortly thereafter.

Even those publications that gave attention to female pedestrians had taken somewhat different attitudes. Much depended upon what they considered their audience to be. The Spirit of the Times, which billed itself as ‘The American Gentleman’s Newspaper’ (and gave its greatest attention to the turf, yachting, billiards and baseball), combined fairly straightforward reporting in its ‘Athletics’ column with often supercilious editorial commentaries. Reporting on the March 1879 women’s six-day match at Gilmore’s Gardens, it quipped: ‘Half a dozen were women who had been accused, more or less unjustly, of walking in diverse buildings’. The hint of prostitution was followed by an observation that spectators had included a remarkable number of ‘leaders of fashion and well-known society belles’ (female pedestrian and other such contests had often attracted the rich as well as the working class) and comments about individuals who had taken the ‘high moral ground’ in denouncing these exhibitions as ‘disgusting and immoral’.47

Ever ready to sensationalise, the National Police Gazette was replete with captions like: ‘The Pretty Female Pedestrians—Queer Female Eccentricities’. The Gilmore’s Garden race, editor Fox intoned, had displayed both ‘shapely limbs’ and ‘spindles’. Revelling in phrases like ‘the floor was cleared of the wrecks of the race by sending Williams to her home and poor Farrand, who is fifty years of age, to Bellevue Hospital’, he hinted, with no just cause, that two of the entrants had died. Yet Fox also complimented Von Berg, winner of the $1,000 prize money and champion belt, on her steady pace.48 Across the Atlantic Britain’s Saturday Review declared that the entire enthusiasm for pedestrianism was ‘stupid’. There was nothing ennobling, the writer claimed, about men walking ‘for money under artificial conditions’ and America had added a new and unattractive dimension by encouraging women to do so. If the author of the Saturday Review article knew that Madame Anderson was British he did not acknowledge the fact.49

The Wheel

As the fortunes of pedestrianism declined, those of another endurance activity began to rise. During the 1870s, the ‘Ordinary’ bicycle replaced the velocipede. Touring clubs were quickly formed and races among males such as the early endurance run from Bath to London in 1874 became popular. With its large front and small rear wheels, the ‘Ordinary’ was difficult to ride and most women were disinclined to use it even for recreation. However, a few achieved fame as competitors. Florida native Elsa Von Blumen had taken up cycling on the recommendation of her physician. Described as a young woman of German descent ‘with light brown hair and blue eyes’, she was one of the favourites of the 1880s. Louise Armaindo (sometimes her team-mate, sometimes her adversary) had been born near Montreal, Canada on 12

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October 1860. She learned to ride in 1881, making her first appearance against her teacher ‘Professor’ F.S. Rollinson. With a four-mile handicap, she beat him in a 25- mile race on 4 February 1882 and went on to win at several more venues. Other female cycling competitors included Kittie Brown, Lettie Stanley, Helen Baldwin, and May Allen.50

Between 9 and 14 March 1882, Mademoiselle Armaindo (one of the most famous) completed 617.5 miles in 72 hours. Shortly thereafter she defeated the noted male champion T.W. Eck in a 10-mile race at Toronto then won a 10-mile race at Montreal in slightly over 40 minutes. At Boston in late April, Armaindo defeated Ida Blackwell in a five-mile race and then Von Blumen at Philadelphia. The two women soon lost to a male – W.J. Morgan – at Coney Island even though Armaindo completed 226.5 miles in 13hours. After losing to champion cyclist John S. Prince in a 25-mile race at New York’s Polo Grounds, she competed against Morgan and W.M. Woodside in Chicago, beating both men with a score of 843 miles. For this, Armaindo was described (erroneously) as ‘the only woman who ever won a championship race against men in any athletic sport’. In 1884, she appeared at the first annual tournament of the Kansas City Wheelmen, where she tried to better her own record for the half-mile. She also raced against and beat a galloping horse. That same year she and Prince competed against Charles Anderson and his stable of horses in six-day races at San Francisco’s Mechanics Pavilion and at Chicago’s Base Ball Park.51

Bicycling against horses was not unusual and like contests that involved pushing wheelbarrows, sawing logs, husking corn, drilling rock, and waltzing that were also popular, it could be lucrative. One could purchase photographs of oarsmen, baseball players, wrestlers, jockeys, fighting dogs, fighting cocks, lady bicyclists and female as well as male pedestrians. (Advertisements for photographs listed the names of lady cyclists below those of all male athletes but above fighting dogs and fighting cocks.) With the advent of the Rover ‘safety bicycle’ in 1884 both recreational and competitive cycling took on new dimensions. At the same time that physicians were beginning to debate the dangers of cycling for ‘the New Women’, a few females continued to engage in endurance events. Eighteen-year-old Lottie Stanley (who already had covered 624 miles in a six-day race) prepared to enter the ladies international at Madison Square Garden in May 1889. On 4 November 1895, a Mrs Grace rode 92 miles from London to Coventry in 6 hours and 30 minutes. Two weeks later, Ms Harwood won the Ladies Bicycle Tournament at the Royal Aquarium by riding 371 miles in 23 hours.52

The ‘Squared Circle’ and Other Sporting Forms

All competitive contests are, in a sense, staged but perhaps no sport in which women engaged during the late 1800s was more staged than was boxing. (Friendly little bouts apparently also took place at some of the private ladies’ gymnasia that were popular at the turn of the century.)53 Many men’s fights surely were ‘fixed’ but here at least some pretence that they were actual combats was required. However, from the times of ‘Bruising Peg’ in the mid-1700s, pugilistic contests between females had been as much, if not more, entertainment than sport. On 12 October 1878, two lady pugilists (Ms Burke and Ms Wells) attired in ‘unmentionables made of silk’ engaged in a glove match for money at entertainment and sports promoter Harry Hill’s Exchange in New York City. For six rounds they landed blows on face and body to

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the delight of ‘a great crowd of sporting men and sight-seers’. The match finally was declared a draw. In 1879, Mollie Berdan (from England) and Jessie Lewis (a Californian) arranged to meet in a glove fight for $250 at San Francisco. Libby Kelly, who was said to have attained considerable skill as a boxer, also appeared at Hill’s Exchange during the 1870s and 1880s. In her footsteps there followed Nettie Burke, Jennie Meade, Hattie Edwards and Alice Jennings. Otherwise known as ‘Yankee Girl’, Jennings weighed 120 lb and was 5 ft 3 in. in height. Her backer, the noted pugilist Jimmy Kelly, arranged a number of matches against other female boxers according to London Prize Ring Rules. In 1883, Daisey Daly, referred to as the ‘champion female boxer from California’, defeated Jennings at Hills Exchange and then issued her own challenge to fight any female boxer in America according to the Marquis of Queensberry Rules.54

The publication that gave the greatest amount of attention to women boxers was the National Police Gazette whose editor Richard Kyle Fox was devoted to the sport. He offered ‘championship belts’ and large cash prizes tomen such as JakeKilrain (bare knuckle champion) and JohnL. Sullivan (heavyweight champion from1881 to 1892) in an effort to stimulate interest in boxing and especially to increase his circulation. Fox used similar tactics with – but offered far less money – to the women boxers he sponsored. In fact, Fox loved to depict females in all sorts of combative postures. They donned gloves to fight over men whose favours they desired. Strong-willed and deceivedwomenwere shown pummellingmates and lovers within an inch of their lives. Moreover, he had no compunction about labelling an altercation between chorus girls ‘an athletic or a boxing contest’.55 These motifs were among his favourites.

Fox also could also be complimentary about female boxers. During the 1880s Hattie Stewart of Norfolk, Virginia, appeared in all the leading East Coast theatres. Standing 5 ft 7 in., she was said to be an excellent ‘specimen of physical development, and stripped looked a perfect amazon’. Her right cross, it was claimed, was similar to that of John L. Sullivan. Ostensibly Stewart could hold her own with at least some male boxers. Hattie Leslie, who boxed for several years, was said to be Stewart’s equal. She was described as tall, powerful and possessed of great quickness. The National Police Gazette featured Stewart several times, and in 1890 depicted her in a typical raised-fist pugilistic pose alongside two other female boxers who were touring under the tutelage of ‘Professor’ Alf Ball. Anna Lewis, born in 1856, was said to be 5 ft 8 in. and 155 lb with arm and chest muscles ‘as hard as iron’. In the early 1890s, Zella Fillmore issued challenges to meet any woman her weight (142 lb).56 Although interest in such contests decreased, some women continued to appear in special matches or on the vaudeville circuit. Seven young women participated in a Female Sparring Tournament at Philadelphia’s Brandenburgh Museum in 1901. In 1906, Philadelphia’s ‘Texas Mamie’ (a bag puncher as well as a boxer) announced her willingness to meet any woman her weight for prize money.57 Female wrestlers also gained attention. In 1891 Alice Williams issued a challenge to the English female champion or any other woman in Britain or America to engage in a Greco-Roman or catch-as-catch-can best two of three falls match for stake money between $250 and $1,000. In the fall of 1905, a sextet billed as the International Woman Wrestling Troupe toured the East Coast. Strongwomen like Josie Wohlford, Mlle. Victorine, and Fannie Onri and ‘well-muscled’ trapeze performers like Josie Jordan seemed almost too numerous to count. The press, never entirely sure whether to cast them as entertainers or athletes, generally included at least some favourable remarks about their strength.58

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Sporting events and exhibitions such as these do not exhaust performances in which females engaged during the last decades of the nineteenth century that have been largely ignored by historians. In 1868, 17–year-old Annie Clara Jagerisky had ice skated for thirty hours. Women in Chicago arranged for a billiard room, gymnasium and bowling alley to be installed in their club rooms in the 1870s; they were by no means the only ones to engage in these activities. According to one report, women bowlers in the late 1890s were proving to be as accomplished at the game as were men; a Milwaukee woman’s team was said to frequently outscore local men’s teams. In winter, women ice skated at Central Park, on artificially frozen water at Gilmore’s Gardens, and at many other places. When roller skating became a fad in the 1870s and again in the 1880s, many took it up as recreation. For a few it was a competitive sport. Twelve-year-old Tillie Johnson of Seattle, Washington beat the Pacific Coast skating champion in 1885.59

Bag punchers such as Ada Sandry and Belle Gordon were feted during the 1890s and early 1900s. Gordon was said to be ‘the first woman to master the art’ and able to defeat manymen.60 It was not only on the frontier that females engaged in horse racing for money. Reports such as that of a ladies equestrian race at the ‘grand military festival’ at West Flushing, New York in 1871 were dotted throughout the literature. In 1883, Nellie Burke of Omaha, Nebraska, challenged the female ‘champions’ of England, California, Minnesota, Colorado, and other states to engage her in 10- or 20- mile horse races for $1,000 a side. Annie Oakley, billed as the ‘female champion rifle, wing and trick shot’, was by no means the only markswoman. Some thought rider and shooterMay Lillie to be even better. In 1891,WildWest Show proprietor ‘Pawnee Bill’ promised to wager $1,000 on her ability to outshoot anyone from a moving horse using aWinchester repeating rifle. Other noted shooters were Colorado’s Nettie Littell (‘Little Rifle’) and Texas’s Rosy Gordon (‘The Prairie Flower’). Ten-year-old Lillian Smith of Merced, California, who apparently went on to a career in vaudeville, broke 495 of 500 glass balls thrown into the air. Millie Drunkler performed acrobatic feats while accurately firing a gun.61 Most of these women, whether pedestriennes, cyclists, boxers, shooters, or more, were well-treated in comparison to the intense criticisms that the press levelled against those who dared take up baseball – the ‘national game’ – the sport with which all red-blooded American men and boys identified.

Dare Females Essay ‘The National Game’?

It requires agility and coordination but not great endurance or muscular strength to play a passable game of baseball. The better pedestriennes had demonstrated that some women possessed remarkable endurance. Female boxers, wrestlers, weightlif- ters, and ring swingers were living proof that members of their sex could have considerable muscular strength. Why, then, did the press express so much antipathy to female baseballists?

Not too long after the game of baseball had evolved from rounders, occasional short-lived teams were being organised at small women’s colleges. Writing in the late 1890s, Sophia Foster Richardson referred to ‘seven or eight baseball clubs’ that had sprung upwhen shewas a student at Vassar College during the 1870s. The public would have been ‘shocked’ but on their sheltered campuses away from public vision the young women had found their games to be pleasant diversions.62 The first women to play baseball for pay, according to Barbara Gregorich, were the ‘Blonds and Brunettes’, who took to the field at Springfield, Illinois, in 1875.63 In August 1883, 16 young

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women, aided by two young lads, played nine innings before several hundred people at Pastime Park in Philadelphia. Reporting on this event, theNewYorkHerald noted that the ball regularly slipped through the players’ hands and that theywere otherwise inept. They had, however, comported themselves with ‘dignity and perfect modesty’. For its part, theNewYork Times announced that it was ‘very doubtful’ that girls could ever be made ‘efficient base-ball players’.64 A month later the New York Times described a game at the Manhattan Athletic Club’s Grounds as ‘A Base-Ball Burlesque’ played by totally inept ‘blondes and brunettes toying with the bat’. The snide comments made about the ‘assorted shapes and sizes’ of the players were interlaced with the allegation that most were ‘graduates of Sunday-schools and normal colleges, who had seen the vanity of Greek and Latin and yearned for the examples of the great and good students of Yale, Harvard, and Princeton by traveling wholly on their muscles’.65

Occasionally some enterprising individual would attempt to launch a profes- sional women’s team. One such instance occurred in 1883 when Mr Freeman organized the Female Base Ball Club in Philadelphia. The team, it was claimed, soon had exhausted local interest and departed for Cincinnati and St Louis. Confronted by increasing debts, the manager disappeared and it became necessary to call on the goodwill of local citizens to raise the rail fare needed to send the young women home. The following year the team embarked for the Southeast to take advantage of the 1884 New Orleans Exposition. In a biting article entitled ‘The Female Tramps’, Sporting Life decried the ‘brazen manner’ of the players and implied that Freeman had envisioned for them activities other than baseball. ‘The female’, the writer intoned, ‘has no place in base ball except to the degradation of the game’.66

Given its intense devotion to the ‘national pastime’ and incessant adulation of male players, it is not surprising that Sporting Lifewas vehemently against females engaging in baseball. More than once it denounced female baseball clubs and their managers, who, it claimed, repeatedly ‘nauseated’ the country with their spectacles. In 1890 the National Police Gazette reported that W.S. Franklin was advertising for players and intended to start six or eight clubs, the Chicago Black Stockings being one of the first. Fox had little affection for the game of baseball; and he was less antagonistic towards women who played it than were writers for Sporting Life. As was typical he sensationalised the bloomer costume and black and red striped short skirts that the Chicago Black Stockings players wore, but Fox also noted that the women seemed to enjoy the game and were not especially bothered by the importuning of spectators.67

In late August 1890, when the Chicago Black Stockings played the men’s semi- professional Allerton Baseball Club of Weehawken, New Jersey, some 7,000 spectators paid to watch what the New York Herald described as a ‘ludicrous’ excuse of baseball. The women, the writer claimed, were both inept and vulgar. In the seventh inning hoodlums closed around the diamond. Thereupon Nellie Williams, depicted as ‘a short haired, square jawed Amazon’, cleared a space with her bat. Fights broke out and the players were finally taken away in carriages. At the same time that these altercations were occurring, two teams of women from the Harvard Social Association were playing each other at Huguenot, Staten Island. In the third inning a police inspector arrived and stopped the game in spite of objections from the crowd. Apparently this was not the only time the police intervened. In 1913 two teams calling themselves the New York Female Giants appeared at Lenox Oval. In the seventh inning, with the score 6–4 in favour of the ‘Blues’, Sargent Mahoney presented a summons to the ‘Reds’ third baseman Helen Genker, much to the disappointment of some 1,500 spectators who thought the Blues’ shortstop to be a

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veritable female Honus Wagner, the famous National League shortstop.68 In his lengthy 1911 book, America’s National Game Albert Spalding, co-founder of the influential and lucrative A.G. Spalding Sporting Goods Company, had stated that although women might play cricket, lawn tennis, or even basketball ‘neither our wives, our sisters, our daughters, nor our sweethearts, may play Base Ball on the field’. The reason, he maintained, was that baseball was ‘too strenuous for womankind’.69 Spalding, like many other American males, was devoted to baseball as ‘the national game’ and did not want it to be tainted by females – especially if some of them possessed considerable skill when playing it.

A much more positive view of the numerous ‘bloomer’ baseball teams that played between 1890 and 1920 – as well as the skill of players like Lizzie Arlington, the first woman to sign a minor league contract – is offered in Gregorich’sWomen at Play: The Story of Women in Baseball. Possibly the National Police Gazette was beginning to agree for it captioned a picture of the 1901 Boston Bloomer Ladies Baseball Club ‘They Can Play Ball’. The team, which had been organised in 1893 byW.P. Needham, had played regularly in cities and towns throughout Canada and the United States. It was currently making a Ninth Annual Tour in an elegant Pullman car.70

A Few Concluding Observations

The accomplishments of those late nineteenth-century female pedestrians, cyclists, boxers, wrestlers, swimmers, and other women who engaged in ‘professional’ and various now rarely thought of sporting events offer a considerably different view of the abilities of females than do accounts of the ‘new athletic woman’ (those who by the 1890s were engaging in a refined game of tennis or golf or taking a leisurely turn on the bicycle) that were portrayed in Scribner’s Magazine and other publications intended for a discriminating audience. The longest Olympic competitive running event for females today, the 10,000-metre run, is far shorter than the distance pedestrienne Ada Anderson walked in 1879. Granted the Olympic Games provide quite a different context, it would be wrong to think that women’s wrestling at Athens in 2004 was a unique event or that women’s boxing at the 2012 London Games will be. More than a century ago there were hundreds of females who by engaging in a variety of sports – several of whom are now largely forgotten – ‘contested the norm’ regarding what is appropriate for females and what they are capable of achieving.

Notes on Contributor

Roberta J. Park is Professor Emeritus, Department of Integrative Biology, University of California, Berkeley. She has been President of the American Academy of Kinesiology and Physical Education, a Vice President of the International Society for the History of Physical Education and Sport, and has been on editorial boards of a number of journals dealing with the history of sport.

Notes

1. These numbers are set forth on the International Olympic Committee’s ‘Factsheet: Women in the Olympic Movement’. Seehttp://www.olympic.org/Documents/Reference_ documents_Factsheets/Women_in_Olympic_Movement.pdf. Other sites specify slightly higher numbers. See for example http://www.olympic.org/Documents/women_ participation_figures_en.pdf; and http://www.olympic.org/women-and-sport/beijing-scores- record-womens-participation (accessed 14 November 2011).

744 R.J. Park

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http://www.olympic.org/Documents/Reference_documents_Factsheets/Women_in_Olympic_Movement.pdf
http://www.olympic.org/Documents/Reference_documents_Factsheets/Women_in_Olympic_Movement.pdf
http://www.olympic.org/Documents/women_participation_figures_en.pdf
http://www.olympic.org/Documents/women_participation_figures_en.pdf
http://www.olympic.org/women-and-sport/beijing-scores-record-womens-participation
http://www.olympic.org/women-and-sport/beijing-scores-record-womens-participation

2. For a useful overview of these two sports, especially since the enactment of Title IX of the 1972 Education Act, see Fields, Female Gladiators, chapter 6 and 7.

3. In the United States most institutions of higher learning receive some form of federal financial funding. Title IX of the Act stated: ‘No person in the United States shall, on the basis of sex, be excluded from participation in, be denied the benefits of, or be subjected to discrimination under any education program or activity receiving Federal financial assistance’. The developments had a positive influence upon high school as well as college programmes. According to a recent posting, before the law was enacted ‘fewer than 300,000 girls participated in high school [interscholastic] sports, compared with 3.5 million boys. By 2007–08, the number of girls participating had grown to 3 million’. See http://espn.go.com/espn/story/_/id/6790943/group-sues-title-ix-high-school-enforcement (accessed 25 August 2011).

4. Smith-Rosenberg, Disorderly Conduct, especially 11–13. 5. Cahn, Coming on Strong, chapter 1. Although brief, the chapter ably sets the stage for

Cahn’s study of developments in women’s sports from the 1890s to the 1990s. The quote is on page 15.

6. See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/US_Open_%28tennis%29; and http://www.usga.org/ press_room/USGA-Story/ (accessed 20 August 2011).

7. Pedestrienne was the term frequently used in the late 1800s to refer to a female pedestrian.

8. Clarke, Sex in Education, Or a Fair Chance for Girls. 9. These and related matters are nicely analysed in Vertinsky, The Eternally Wounded

Woman, especially chapter 1. 10. Howe, Sex and Education, 32–44; 52–69; and passim. 11. Parkman’s (pp. 510–517) and Stanton’s (pp. 517–524) comments are appended to Lewis,

‘The Health of American Women’. 12. Parkman, ‘The Woman Question’. Although the title might suggest that Parkman was

writing only about women, he repeatedly compared what he deemed to be the innate qualities of men with those of women. The specific quote appears on page 304.

13. Henry W. Slocum, Jr., ‘Lawn Tennis As a Game for Women’, Outing, 1(1889), 294. 14. Banta, Imaging American Women, 83–91. The appearance of the two-wheel ‘safety

bicycle’ had made it possible for growing numbers of ‘genteel ladies’ to engage in excursions outdoors.

15. Ibid., xxvii–xxxi; and 50–52. 16. Beard and Beard, The American Girls Handy Book, 1. 17. See, for example, Brailsford, Sport, Time, and Society, 133–134; Park, ‘From ‘‘Genteel

Diversions’’ to ‘‘Bruising Peg’’’, 31–33; Boulton, The Amusements of Old London, 30–31. 18. Radford, The Celebrated Captain Barclay; Radford, ‘Women’s Foot-Races in the 18th

and 19th Centuries’. 19. Guttmann, Women’s Sports, chapter. 7; Shaulis, ‘Pedestriennes; Sears, Running Through

the Ages; Hargreaves, Heroines of Sport; and Hargreaves, Sporting Females. 20. ‘Swimming’, The Times, 5 September 1875 and 20 September 1875; and New York

Clipper Almanac for 1876 (New York: Frank Queen, 1876), 46. Webb had swum from Dover, England to Calais, France in 21 hours and 45 minutes on 24 and 25 August 1875. Beckwith completed her swim on 1 September; and Parker hers on 18 September. See also, ‘The Mermaid of the Thames’, Spirit of the Times, 9 October 1875.

21. ‘A Plucky English Girl’, Spirit of the Times, 22 July 1876; and ‘Feminine Aquatics’, Spirit of the Times, 12 August 1876.

22. ‘Ladies Swimming for a Prize’, Sporting Life, 13 August 1883; ‘Swimming: Captain Webb’s Fate’, New York Times, 6 August 1883; ‘Swimming on the East River’, Sporting Life, 10 September 1884; ‘A Naid Queen’, National Police Gazette, 28 December 1889; ‘A Pretty Swimmer’, National Police Gazette, 3 May 1890; and ‘Girl to Swim Niagara’s Rapids’, National Police Gazette, 17 August 1901.

23. The Tenth Annual Regatta of the Empire City Rowing Club was announced in the New York Times (26 September 1871). Available at: http://www.northnet.org/stlawrencea auw/nystime.htm.

24. The 1867 race was noted in an article entitled ‘Women in the Prize Ring’, National Police Gazette, 14 September 1892; ‘Womans Rights’, The Times, 9 August 1870; ‘Summer

The International Journal of the History of Sport 745

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http://espn.go.com/espn/story/_/id/6790943/group-sues-title-ix-high-school-enforcement
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/US_Open_%28tennis%29
http://www.usga.org/press_room/USGA-Story/
http://www.usga.org/press_room/USGA-Story/

Recreations: The Girl of the Period as an Oars-man’, New York Clipper, 20 August 1870; ‘Tenth Annual Regatta of the Empire City Rowing Club’, New York Times, 26 September 1871; ‘Tenth Annual Regatta of the Empire City Rowing Club’, Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper, 14 October 1871; and ‘The Girls’ Regatta’, National Police Gazette, 5 October 1878.

25. ‘Women at the Oar’, Sporting Life, 20 August 1884; and ‘The Austin Regatta’, Frank Leslie’s Weekly, 5 December 1895. For sports in early women’s colleges, see Spears and Swanson, History of Sport and Physical Activity in the United States, 124–128.

26. ‘The Champion Bicyclists’, National Police Gazette, 10 May 1884. See also, ‘Beauty on Wheels’, National Police Gazette, 1 September 1883.

27. ‘Hattie Stewart’, National Police Gazette, 17 May 1884; ‘Female Boxers’, National Police Gazette, 11 March 1886; and ‘Women in the Prize Ring’, National Police Gazette, 14 September 1892.

28. ‘Gordon and Lozay’, National Police Gazette, 20 January 1900; ‘Four Hot Rounds’, National Police Gazette, 8 December 1900; ‘They Are All Boxers’, National Police Gazette, 26 January 1901; and ‘Texas Mamie’, National Police Gazette, 28 July 1906.

29. See, for example, Sears, Running Through the Ages, chapter 5 (especially pages 129–149); Lucas and Smith, Saga of American Sport, 97–98; and 165–66; Lucas, ‘Pedestrianism and the Struggle for the Sir John Astley Belt’; and ‘Sir John Astley’, Sporting Mirror 1 (1881): 3–7.

30. A book canvasser was a door-to-door salesperson. 31. ‘Athletics’, Spirit of the Times, 19 February 1876; ‘Female Pedestrianism’, Spirit of the

Times, 11 November 1876; ‘Female Endurance’, Spirit of the Times, 25 November 1876; ‘Pedestrianism: The Female Walkers’, Chicago Tribune, 30 January 1876; ‘Pedestrianism: The Walking Women’, Chicago Tribune, 3 February 1876; ‘Pedestrianism: Von Hillern- Marshall’, Chicago Tribune, 4 February 1876; ‘An Interesting Walk’, Spirit of the Times, 28 October 1876; ‘Female Pedestrianism’, Spirit of the Times, 18 November 1876; ‘Female Endurance’, Spirit of the Times, 25 November 1876; and ‘Athletics’, Spirit of the Times, 19 February 1876.

32. ‘Pedestrianism’, The Times, 1 September 1876. 33. James, Practical Training; ‘Lenardsen, The Trainer: Deserting His Wife and Children for

a Female Pedestrian’, New York Times, 28 April 1879. See also ‘Wins Prize With 500 Miles’, San Francisco Chronicle, 8 October 1879.

34. ‘Novel Pedestrian Contest’, National Police Gazette, 14 December 1878; ‘The Female Pedestrian’, New York Times, 9 January 1879; and ‘Pedestrianism: Madame Anderson’s Walk of a Quarter Miles Every Five Minutes for Six Days’, The Times, 26 August 1878.

35. ‘Walking and Running’, New York Herald, 2 January 1879; ‘Mme. Anderson’, New York Herald, 11 January 1879; ‘The Female Pedestrian’, New York Times, 12 January 1879; ‘Walking Day and Night’, New York Times 13 January 1879; ‘A Great Pedestrian Feat’, New York Times, 14 January 1879; and ‘Madame Anderson Wins’, New York Herald, 14 January 1879. (Anderson had walked a quarter of a mile every 15 minutes over 28 consecutive days.)

36. ‘Madame Anderson Wins’, The World, 14 January 1879; and ‘A Walking Wonder’, Boston Globe, 14 January 1879.

37. ‘Madame Anderson’s Plucky Walk’, Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper, 1 February 1879. Anderson was accompanied by her husband, a stout German named Foley, and her attendant Miss Sparrow, who had also accompanied her from England.

38. ‘Another Female Pedestrian’, New York Times, 26 January 1879; ‘The Mania for Walking’, New York Times, 2 February 1879; and‘Miss Bartell’s Walk Ended’, New York Times, 3 February 1879. It was said that the event had been arranged by the wife of Bartell’s trainer John Hughes (a rival pedestrian to Daniel O’Leary, an Irish-American who had competed against Weston).

39. ‘Four Rivals of Mme. Anderson Walking’, New York Times, 13 February 1879; ‘Walking in Six Cities’, New York Times, 14 February 1879; and ‘The Female Pedestrian’, New York Times, 4 April, 1879.

40. ‘Muscular Movements: Miss Reynolds’ Ramble Around Revere Hall’, Boston Globe, 18 February 1879; ‘The Muscular Mania’, Boston Globe, 19 February 1879; ‘Miss Reynolds

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Pluckily Plodding Along’, Boston Globe, 21 February 1879; ‘The Mania’, Boston Globe, 23 February 1879; ‘Miss Reynolds and Her Walk at Revere Hall’, Boston Globe, 23 February 1879; and ‘Lady Pedestrians’, Boston Globe, 28 February 1879. A match between Miss Bessie Krohn (recently arrived from Copenhagen) and a local Bostonian named Miss Sherman also was contemplated.

41. ‘Pedestrianism’, Chicago Tribune, 10 February 1879; ‘Pedestrianism’, Chicago Tribune 12 February 1879; and ‘Pedestrianism’, Chicago Tribune 14 February 1879. (La Chapelle’s diet consisted largely of beef tea and eggs. When the pedestrienne seemed to be flagging, her physician recommended ‘sherry and egg’ as a stimulant.).

42. ‘Female Walkers at Philadelphia’, Baltimore American, 24 March 1879; ‘The Walking Women’, Spirit of the Times, 19 April 1879; and ‘The Women’s Walking Match’, New York Times, 1 April 1879; and ‘The Cruel Tramp Ended’, New York Times, 3 April 1879.

43. ‘Miss Bela Killbury, Female Pedestrian’, National Police Gazette, 15 March 1879. 44. ‘Pedestrianism Gone Mad’, New York Times, 14 February 1879; and ‘The Walkers

Falling Off’, New York Times, 18 April 1879. 45. ‘The Lady Contestants’, San Francisco Chronicle, 8 October 1879; ‘Striding to Success’,

San Francisco Chronicle, 14 October 1879; ‘Sport in California’, Spirit of the Times, 1 November 1879; ‘Pedestrian Notes’ Spirit of the Times, 4 October 1879; ‘Pedestrian Notes’, Spirit of the Times, 8 November 1879; ‘Pedestrian Notes’, Spirit of the Times, 6 December, 1879; ‘Alleged Sport in California’, Spirit of the Times, 31 January 1880; and ‘Pedestrian Notes’, Spirit of the Times, 15 May 1880. For an example of such cartoons, see the last page of Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper, 15 February 1879.

46. ‘Madame du Pree’, National Police Gazette, 12 November 1881; ‘Amy Howard’s Great Walk’, National Police Gazette, 15 July 1882; and ‘Pedestrianism Abroad’, Sporting Life, 9 April 1884. According to the 17 October 1884 Sporting Life, Bella Killbury had just received money for winning a six-day race at Louisville.

47. ‘The Walking Women’, Spirit of the Times, 5 April 1879. 48. ‘The Pretty Pedestrians’, National Police Gazette, 12 April 1879. 49. ‘A Stupid Sport’, Saturday Review, 25 January 1879, 114–115. 50. ‘Miss Elsa Von Blumen’, National Police Gazette, 2 September 1882; and ‘The Champion

Bicyclists’, National Police Gazette, 10 May 1884. See also, ‘Beauty on Wheels’, National Police Gazette, 1 September 1 1883; and Richie, King of the Road.

51. ‘Bicycle vs. Horses’, Sporting Life, 13 August 1884; ‘The Lady Beaten’, Sporting Life, 26 November 1884; and ‘The Wheel’, Sporting Life, 31 December 1884.

52. ‘Fair Laundress in a Race’, National Police Gazette, 4 November 1899; ‘Hot Scorcher’, National Police Gazette, 27 May 1889; and ‘Bicyclist Lottie Stanley’, National Police Gazette, 27 April 1889. The New York Clipper Almanac included information about contests like sawing logs in its Miscellaneous Records column. For British entries, see the New York Clipper Almanac for 1900.

53. ‘It Wasn’t In Earnest’, National Police Gazette, 1 February 1902. 54. ‘Battle Between Fair Pugilists’, National Police Gazette, 12 October 1878; ‘Sundry

Sports’, Chicago Tribune, 9 February 1879; ‘Miss Alice Jennings, Champion Female Boxer’, National Police Gazette, 15 April 1882; and ‘Daisy Daly, Female Boxer’, National Police Gazette, 10 February 1883.

55. ‘Miss Lena Aberle’s Alleged Pugilistic Exploit’, National Police Gazette, 15 March 1879; ‘Two Beautiful ‘‘Sluggers’’’, National Police Gazette, 4 March 1882; ‘Female Boxers’, National Police Gazette, 11 March 1885; ‘Pugilistic Females’, National Police Gazette, 5 October 1889; and ‘She Landed Hard’, National Police Gazette, 6 April 1901.

56. ‘Hattie Stewart’, National Police Gazette, 17 May 1884; ‘Women in the Prize Ring’, National Police Gazette, 14 September 1892; ‘Anna Lewis’, National Police Gazette, 25 October 1884; ‘A Female Boxer’, National Police Gazette, 16 November 1889; ‘Colored Female Boxers’, National Police Gazette, 6 September 1890; and ‘Miss Hatti Leslie, The Late Champion Female Boxer’, National Police Gazette, 8 October 1892. See also, ‘Female Boxers’, National Police Gazette, 11 March 1886.

57. ‘Gordon and Lozay’, National Police Gazette, 20 January 1900; ‘Four Hot Rounds’, National Police Gazette, 8 December 1900; ‘They Are All Boxers’, National Police Gazette, 26 January 1901; and ‘Texas Mamie’, National Police Gazette, 28 July 1906.

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58. ‘Letter’, National Police Gazette, 28 March 1891, cited in Smith and Barry Smith, The National Police Gazette, 134–135; ‘Miss Josie Wohlford’, National Police Gazette, 28 February 1891; ‘Miss Josie Jordan’s Remarkable Physical Development’, National Police Gazette, 7 November 1896; ‘Observe the Lady’s Muscles’, National Police Gazette, 9 November 1901; ‘International Women’s Wrestling Troupe’, National Police Gazette, 21 October 1905; and ‘Only a Question of Time’, National Police Gazette, 18 November 1905.

59. ‘Skating’, New York Clipper Almanac for 1875, 53; ‘Belles of the Bowling Alley’, National Police Gazette, 26 October 1878; ‘The Latest Female Athletic Sport’, National Police Gazette, 13 December 1884; ‘In the Bowlers’ Corner’, National Police Gazette, 13 February 1897; ‘Dainty Bowlers Make Big Scores’, National Police Gazette, 2 March 1901; and ‘Roller Rinkler’, National Police Gazette, 4 April 1885.

60. ‘Bag-Punching As an Art’, National Police Gazette, 13 July 1901. 61. ‘The Festival For the Union Home School’, Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper, 21

October 1871; ‘Miss Nellie Burke’, National Police Gazette, 3 November 1883; ‘Miss Lillian Smith’, National Police Gazette, 6 December 1881; ‘The Trigger’, Sporting Life, 10 January 1891; ‘Shoots Like a Man’, National Police Gazette, 30 April 1892; and ‘Acrobatic Rifle Shooting’, National Police Gazette, 3 December 1892.

62. Richardson, ‘Tendencies in Athletics for Women in Colleges and Universities’. 63. Gregorich, Women at Play, 4–5. 64. ‘Ladies on the Ball Field’, New York Herald, 20 August 1883; and ‘Female Base-Ball’,

New York Times, 21 August 1883. 65. ‘A Base-Ball Burlesque’, New York Times, 20 September 1883. 66. ‘The Female Players’, Sporting Life, 5 December 1883; and ‘The Female Tramps’,

Sporting Life, 24 December 1884. 67. ‘A Disgraceful Move’, Sporting Life, 30 August 1890; ‘The Daises of the Diamond Field’,

National Police Gazette, 29 September 1883; ‘Young Lady Baseballists’, National Police Gazette, 29 September 1890; and ‘Athletic Girls Play Ball’, National Police Gazette, 1 July 1899.

68. ‘Lady Champions at Ball’, New York Herald, 1 September 1890; and ‘Girls’ Ball Game Stops’, New York Times, 26 May 1913.

69. Spalding, America’s National Game, chapter 1. 70. Gregorich, Women at Play, 5; and ‘They Can Play Ball’, National Police Gazette, 24

August 1901.

References

Banta, Martha. Imaging American Women: Idea and Ideals in Cultural History. New York: Columbia University Press, 1987.

Beard, Lina and Adelia Beard. Preface: The American Girls Handy Book: How to Amuse Yourself and Others. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1926.

Boulton, William B. The Amusements of Old London. London: John C. Nimmo, 1901. Brailsford, Dennis. Sport, Time, and Society: The British at Play. London and New York:

Routledge, 1991. Cahn, Susan. Coming on Strong: Gender and Sexuality in Twentieth Century Women’s Sport.

Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1995. Clarke, Edward. Sex in Education, Or a Fair Chance for Girls. Boston: James R. Osgood, 1873. Fields, Sarah A. Female Gladiators: Gender, Law and Contact Sport in America. Urbana and

Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2005. Gregorich, Barbara. Women at Play: The Story of Women in Baseball. San Diego: Harcourt

Brace, 1993. Guttmann, Allen. Women’s Sports: A History. New York: Columbia University Press, 1991. Hargreaves, Jennifer. Heroines of Sport: The Politics of Difference and Identity. London:

Routledge, 2000. Hargreaves, Jennifer. Sporting Females: Critical Issues in the History and Sociology of

Women’s Sports. London: Routledge, 1994.

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Howe, Julia Ward. Sex and Education: A Reply to Dr. E. H. Clarke’s ‘Sex in Education’. Boston: Roberts Brothers, 1874.

James, Ed. Practical Training for Running, Walking, Rowing, Wrestling, Boxing, Jumping, and All Kinds of Athletic Feats. New York: Ed James, 1877.

Lewis, Dio. ‘The Health of American Women’. North American Review. (December 1882): 503–524.

Lucas John A. and Ronald A. Smith. Saga of American Sport. Philadelphia: Lea and Febiger, 1971.

Lucas, John. ‘Pedestrianism and the Struggle for the Sir John Astley Belt, 1878–79’. Research Quarterly 39, no. 3 (1968): 587–594.

Park, Roberta J. ‘From ‘‘Genteel Diversions’’ to ‘‘Bruising Peg’’: Active Pastimes, Exercise, and Sports for Females in Late 17th and 18th Century Europe’. In Women and Sport: Interdisciplinary Perspectives, ed. D. Margaret Costa and Sharon R. Guthrie. Champaign, IL: 1994.

Parkman, Francis. ‘The Woman Question’. North American Review 129 (October 1897): 303– 321.

Radford, Peter. ‘Women’s Foot-Races in the 18th and 19th Centuries: A Popular and Widespread Practice’. Canadian Journal of History of Sport 25, no. 1 (1994): 50–61.

Radford, Peter. The Celebrated Captain Barclay. London: Headline, 2001. Richardson, Sophia Foster. ‘Tendencies in Athletics for Women in Colleges and Universities’.

Popular Science Monthly 50 (1897): 517–526. Sears, Edward S. Running Through the Ages. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2001. Shaulis, Daun. ‘Pedestriennes: Noteworthy But Controversial Women in Sporting Entertain-

ment’. Journal of Sport History 26, no. 1 (1999): 29–50. Slocum, Jr., Henry W. ‘Lawn Tennis As a Game for Women’, Outing 1 (1889): 289–300. Smith, Gene and Jayne Barry Smith, ed. The National Police Gazette. New York: Simon and

Schuster, 1972. Smith-Rosenberg, Carroll. Disorderly Conduct: Visions of Gender in Victorian America.

Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985. Spalding, Albert G. America’s National Game: Historical Facts Concerning the Beginning,

Evolution, Development and Popularity of Baseball. New York: American Sports Publishing, 1911.

Spears, Betty and Richard A. Swanson. History of Sport and Physical Activity in the United States. Dubuque, IA: William C. Brown, 1978.

Vertinsky, Patricia A. The Eternally Wounded Woman: Women, Exercise and Doctors in the Late Nineteenth Century. Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, 1990.

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The post This article was downloaded by: [St. John’s University Libraries] On: 23 May 2012, At: 13:40 Publisher: Routledge Informa Ltd Registered in England and Wales Registered Number appeared first on homeworkhandlers.com.

Journal of Sport History, Vol. 7, No. 3 (Winter, 1980) “Parks for the People”: Reforming the Boston Park System,

Journal of Sport History, Vol. 7, No. 3 (Winter, 1980)

“Parks for the People”: Reforming the Boston Park System,

1870-19151

Stephen Hardy*

In his 1847 inaugural address to the Boston City Council, Mayor Josiah Quincy, Jr. raised an issue that many American cities grappled with for the next half century. This was the need to provide urban inhabitants with a New- World blessing that was fading beyond their reach—namely, open space:

We have also an inestimable treasure in the Common, and the lands adjacent. In monarchies, such pieces of ground are procured and ornamented at a great expense, for the benefit of the people; and why should we be behind them in a republic.

Quincy argued that Boston had a compelling obligation to provide her less fortunate citizens with “the means of obtaining some share in the glorious and beautiful aspects of nature, with which a beneficent Creator designs to minis- ter to the physical and mental well-being of his children.”2 The mayor envi- sioned the establishment of public parks, but his dream was slow in coming. Twenty years later, Boston’s park land was still confined to the Common and Public Gardens. By World War I, however, the city was surrounded by an “emerald necklace” of public parks. By 1920, her citizens had expended over twenty million dollars on the protection and operation of open spaces.3

The parks issue in Boston and other cities embodied many of the philosophies and arguments aired in communities rudely awakened to the fact that urban growth was not all positive. Commercial and industrial success rested on top of a much denser population which included hordes of immigrants; the bypro- ducts of “progress” included an inexorable sprawl of housing, a choking pol- lution of the air, and the erosion of cultural homogeneity. In large part, public parks were first presented as a “reform” to many of these problems. But the record of park development reveals that simple solutions were not easily im- plemented. Urban growth had spawned widening divisions between social classes and interest groups within the city’s boundaries; new political ma-

*Mr. Hardy is an Assistant Professor in Sport Studies, Department of Kinesiology, University of Washington, Seattle, Washington.

5

chinery had developed to represent the divergent interests. The following analysis focuses on the ways in which this changing social and political order complicated, challenged, and transformed the park system in Boston. At the same time it raises questions about the nature and process of nineteenth-cen- tury urban reform.

Most historians have viewed parks and their close relation, playgrounds, as the creation of middle and upper-class reformers who desired to provide order for both the urban landscape and its inhabitants. As a recent article on Freder- ick Law Olmsted, consultant and chief architect for the Boston park system from 1875-1895, maintains, “. . . Olmsted’s parks seemed to offer an at- tractive remedy for the dangerous problem of discontent among the urban masses. . . .By providing pleasant and uplifting outlets in the narrow lives of city dwellers, they promised a measure of social tranquility.”4 Historians have differed, however, in their interpretations of the motives behind this “re- form” impulse. An older, “progressive” interpretation has held that parks and playgrounds grew as the handiwork of philanthropic reformers who worked to create a more beautiful and livable city for all inhabitants. A more recent and more cynical interpretation holds that these same reformers had motives that smacked more of “social control” than social uplift.5

Unfortunately, both interpretations have been anchored in the rhetoric of park advocates and planners. They have not examined the actual process by which plans were implemented. As a more careful analysis of parks and playgrounds in Worcester, Massachusetts has recently argued, such an omission ignores the likelihood that other interest groups “might have taken an active part in conceiving or advocating parks.” It assumes, instead, that they “. . . uncritically accepted the park programs handed down by an omnipo- tent ruling class.”6 While the rhetoric behind Boston’s early park proposals anticipated and received general acceptance, Olmsted and other early park advocates quickly and continually discovered that factional strife and class resentment could erupt and envenom the debates on the placement, benefits, and beneficiaries of nature’s blessings. In Boston, as in Worcester, the larger urban constituency—laborers and clerks, artisans and bookkeepers, natives and immigrants, men and women—expressed their interests, either directly or through their political representatives. Their pressure forced adjustments in the initial visions of genteel reformers like Olmsted and his supporters.

The implementation of park “reform” was complicated by the same social and environmental problems which parks were supposed to address. For one thing, from 1860 to 1900 Boston’s population experienced both a surge in size and a radical alteration in character. The population increased from 177,840 to 560,892. By 1880 the foreign element comprised of the city’s population; by 1900 nearly ¾. By the turn of the century, clusters of recent immigrant groups drew the attention and concern of social scientists and reformers.7

6

Worse than the change in number and birthplace of the population was the disruption of social and political order. Labor unrest was particularly alarming during the ’70’s and ’80’s in a city that had long felt its paternalistic attitudes toward labor to be insurance against radical ideas.8 Further, the political power of the city gravitated into the hands of the Irish, who would never relin- quish it. Horace Cleveland wrote to Olmsted himself that “it is enough to make old Bostonians of past generations turn in their graves to think of the city being given over to Irish domination.”9

The city was changing physically in many ways, the result of spacial reorgani- zation. In seven years (1867-1873), Boston annexed five outlying suburbs, thereby increasing its territory by 441% and its population by 116%. The rec- lamation of land in the Back Bay area created a new haven for the wealthy and a source for brilliant displays of opulent architecture.10 But while some neigh- borhoods prospered, others languished. Those who could not or would not remember earlier slum studies were shocked to see accounts of the housing and living conditions in the North and West Ends. The physical shape of Bos- ton had changed further toward a collection of areas more distinct in function, wealth, and health.11

As the following description suggests, the park movement in Boston was part of an active, conscious search for order amidst these environmental, political, social, and cultural changes. Much of the initiative clearly lay with estab- lished middle and upper class groups who designed their programs for all Bos- tonians. But it would be wrong to think that the remainder of Boston’s popula- tion sat passively as major public policy filtered down from above. On the contrary, both the form and essence of public parks developed in ways deter- mined by interest groups representing a wide range of citizens. One senses this by comparing the early rhetoric with the later reality.

The main story begins in 1869, when the pressures of increased growth and a heightened awareness of the Common’s inadequacies resulted in a series of proposals for public park systems.12 But the fear of higher taxes, coupled with the belief that the nearby suburbs provided ample scenery, prevented the ap- proval of early legislation such as the Park Act of 1870.13 The debate over parks continued unchecked,14 however, and within five years Boston’s citi- zens had swayed enough to approve the Park Act of 1875.15 Accordingly, the mayor appointed three Commissioners (approved by the City Council) who were charged to entertain citizens’ proposals and examine possible acquisi- tions “with regard to many different points such as convenience of access, original cost and betterments, probable cost of improvements, sanitary condi- tions and natural beauty.” Frederick Law Olmsted served the Commissioners as a consultant until 1878, when he was officially appointed Chief Landscape Architect of the park system.16

7

The arguments of early park advocates claimed (convincingly enough) that the entire city benefitted from and supported the movement. As one newspa- per urged:

A public park is now a great necessity and not an expensive luxury. It is the property of the people, rich and poor together, and the only place where all classes can daily meet one another face to face in a spirit of fraternal recreation.17

Another claimed on the eve of the park referendum:

. . . the moment anything is done under the act it will open a new field for laborers, and at the same time enlarge the possessions in which their wives and children will have an equal inheri- tance with the most favored. Indeed, the great benefit of public parks is gathered by those who are not rich. 18

Park boosters, often from Boston’s most prominent and established families, felt their arguments represented those of all citizens, rich or poor. Their for- mula for reform was simple. Parks would offer both escape from and control of the traumas wrought by urbanization and industrialization. Parks would provide something the much-revered small town always had offered; open space and rural scenery. Thus, while park proponents tended to revel in the prospect of a booming Boston, they also desired to brake its unchecked growth by the imposition of at least three qualities that the small-town com- munity seemed to offer: fresh air and open space, healthy citizens, and perva- sive morality. Parks were to offer all three at once.

It was not so much that park proponents wanted to make Boston a small town. They desired, rather, to balance urbanization with a form of ruralization. By means of parks the city would always retain part of what it had had in the past. Many realized the inexorable nature of the population’s advance. A special committee of the City Council agreed that all experience indicated the na- tion’s population to be concentrating in the cities; in their words, “centraliza- tion is the type of the age.” Unfortunately, the congestion of humanity threat- ened the existence of open space and pure air, and so endangered the lives of individual inhabitants as to threaten the life of the city itself.19

During the heated debates of 1881, the critical year of parkland acquisition, one Alderman warned:

It is 37 years since I became a resident of Boston. There were then about 80,000 inhabitants, no annexation had taken place, and the extreme South End was Dover Street; the boys could go anywhere, the lands of all seemed to be public . . . now you will find a sign up, “No trespass- ing”; “Keep off the Grass.” We are growing fast. The time is coming when, I fear, if we do not take hold of this question that we shall be sorry. We are not now called upon to vote for the benefit of this generation, but it is to keep open and public grounds for the use of those that follow us, fifty or a hundred or perhaps a thousand years hence.20

To opponents who argued that Boston’s sleepy suburbs provided ample rustic

8

scenery for city-dwellers, the Parks Commissioners retorted that “beautiful as these roads now are, they are, year by year, losing their rural character; their roadside hedges are giving place to sidewalks with granite curbs, and adjacent grounds are being cut up into house lots.”21 Parks would insure that a part of the country remained within the growing city.

Shaping the city environment by means of well-planned open-space was equalled in urgency by the concern for health. It was a well-circulated belief that parks were the “lungs of the city.” At a public rally, held in 1876 to promote parks, Dr. Edward H. Clarke warned:

We are in danger of forgetting that the importance of ventilating a city is as great as that of ventilating all the houses in it . . .parks are the lungs of the city. They are more than this: they are reservoirs of oxygen and fresh air. They produce atmospheric currents which sweep through and purify the streets.22

Parks would be part of a triad of services which, along with pure water and efficient sewerage systems, would “make the cities in all ways healthful and beautiful.”23 The weight of the medical profession aided the momentum for parks. Physicians cited numerous statistics and studies to show that urban areas suffered higher death and disease rates which could in large part be traced to foul air and insufficient sunlight. Particularly alarming were the facts disclosing high rates of cholera infantum and stillbirths in cities like Boston. The haunting conclusion remained that “unless open spaces of sufficient ex- tent are provided and properly located, we shall create and shut up in this city the conditions, of which disease, pestilence and death will be the natural offspring.”24

Others saw a different therapeutic value in parks. One Alderman brilliantly wove the logical pattern of relationships that comprised an organic commu- nity like Boston:

All wealth is the result of labor; individual wealth is, on the whole, increased by the labor of the community; labor is an expenditure of force, and it follows that without recuperation and recre- ation of force, the ability of each individual to labor is diminished and his power to add to the wealth of the community is lost. This recuperation and recreation can only be obtained by pre- senting to the senses and imagination scenes entirely different to those with which they are daily associated.25

More than a sometime antidote to urban living, parks were thus a critical in- strument without which the entire community system might fail.

Physical health, or the lack of it, was delicately entwined with the issue of public morality. To those concerned with a degenerating social order, the ben- efit of public parks in this area was unrivalled. The classical maxim of mens sana in corpore sano took a new twist in the modern city. In romantic prose,

9

Dr. Edward Crane outlined the link between public health and morality in a letter to a special joint committee of the City Council:

The evil of all evil agencies is intensified, and the good of the good ones diminished, by unclean- liness and impure air. Clean hands and a pure heart go together. Foul air prompts to vice and oxygen to virtue, as surely as sunlight paints the flowers and ripens the fruits of our gardens. The tired workman, who, after a day’s labor, needs the repose and relaxation of home, is apt to be driven from it by the close atmosphere of the street and house in which he lives. He would if he could, get into the fresh air of the country; but, as he cannot do this he seeks the relief which drink or other excitement yields. If there were a park accessible to him, he, with his family, would seek it as instinctively as a plant stretches toward the light. The varied opportunities of a park would educate him and his family into the enjoyment of innocent amusements and open-air pleasures. Deprived of these, he and his are educated into the ways of disease and vice by the character of their surroundings.26

Somehow, by an association with nature, the workingman and his family would experience a florescence of morality previously stifled by the choking air of city streets.

This promise of the parks answered, at least in part, a need that urban reform- ers had noted even before the Civil War. That was the necessity of providing uplifting amusements which would both entertain and improve the city masses. This was a delicate problem, for the amusements considered “whole- some” by the church and state, particularly dramas and lectures, were seldom attended by the masses. At the same time, the favorite amusements of the masses, such as gambling, animal blood sports, and trips to the local saloon, were thoroughly denounced and frequently outlawed by sacred and secular powers. As Edward Everett Hale concluded in 1857:

So a sad public returns next morning to its filing of iron, its balancing of accounts, its sewing of seams or its digging of mud, without one wrinkle smoothed, without one care lighted. The killing of rats has not soothed it; the death-rattle of Camille has not soothed it; and the lecture certainly has not rested it. The evening has been killed, and that is all.27

The need to find public amusements, at once interesting and uplifting for all classes of citizens, remained a problem for urban reformers and city govern- ments alike.

When the problem had first caught the notice of concerned citizens, however, there quickly arose as possible solutions such outdoor activities as flower gathering, horticulture, walking in the open air, and excursions for the study of natural history.28 By 1876, as the speakers at a public park rally made clear, it was necessary for the city to provide asylums for these wholesome activities. The cost of parks would be far less than the cost of the jails, pris- ons, and police used in repressing wasteful indulgences like liquor and gam- bling. Parks would provide the blue sky, the gurgling brook, and the green trees that acted as immeasurable moral agents in the village. The country would elevate the minds and manners of the urban poor. If the masses could

10

not get to the country, let the city “bring the country to them, and give them a chance, at least, to experience its humanizing and blessed influence.” Since parks belonged to all the people, rich or poor, all could mingle freely in a neutral cultural asylum. Fresh air would naturally improve the temperament of the working class, for they would be induced “by public orders and public favor to elevate themselves and their condition in society” by associating with their betters through the medium of nature.29

Boston needed parks to preserve her environment, her health, and her moral- ity. But she also needed parks to prove her legitimacy as a first-class Ameri- can city. Other great American cities could boast of established park systems, yet in 1875 Boston still had not begun to implement one. The best common schools, art museums, conservatories of music and schools of design could not insure Boston’s reputation as the “Athens of America” if she lacked the spirit by which public parks were developed. A City Council committee con- cluded that “if Boston cannot afford such an expenditure to secure the price- less benefit of parks, it must be because she has entered the ranks of cities like Newburyport and Salem, which have ceased to grow.”30 Civic boosterism clearly accelerated the growing demand for public parks. Boston’s top busi- ness firms favored parks as a grand advertisement of the city’s commercial health, and claimed that their beauty would attract wealthy merchants from around the globe. Moreoever, these plush pleasure-grounds would convince the prosperous classes to retain their domiciles within the city’s limits and eschew the flight to rural suburbs. As Oliver Wendell Holmes argued, parks would help provide the city “with the complete equipment, not of a village community, not of a thriving town, but of a true metropolis.”31

The argument supporting public parks was clear. They would improve the physical environment of the city and, more important, elevate the living con- ditions of her inhabitants. Rich and poor alike would enjoy the benefits of nature, placed “in perpetuum,” within the city limits. Families in either the impoverished North End or elegant Back Bay could rest assured that fresh air would be forever available to their children and to their children’s children. Finally, Boston, by displaying the spirit necessary for such a project, would reestablish her reputation as America’s premier city. There can be no doubt that a broad consensus of opinion supported the position of park advocates. By 1900, the park system surrounding Boston was, in large part, complete. The Park Department could, and still does, proudly point to the evidence of popular participation by all classes of the city. By means of parkways, ex- panses of greenery were effectively linked throughout the city. As a recent Bicentennial pamphlet could boast, “together, they form a five-mile corridor of continuous park land that has long been recognized as a landmark of urban planning.”32

But while Bostonians agreed upon the general benefits which parks could pro-

11

duce, they differed over answers to several specific questions which arose during the implementation of the plan proposed by Olmsted and the Commis- sioners. These questions and their resultant friction revolved around three in- terrelated concerns. First, in what areas of the city should parks be properly located? Second, for whose benefit were the parks ultimately intended? Fi- nally, how exactly were parks to improve the leisure, and through it the life, of all citizens? Bostonians did not passively accept the answers suggested by genteel reformers like Olmsted. Rather, they fought for their own solutions. The debates and lobbying over these issues continued into the twentieth cen- tury, and their ultimate resolution demonstrates the manner in which the di- vergent elements of an urban community could partially reshape the initiatives of one group to meet their own interests.

The task of locating a park or parks was not an easy one. While the rhetoric of parks stressed the benefits to be enjoyed by the entire city, politicians and citizens lobbies were more concerned about the advantages or disadvantages of placing parks within their particular neighborhood. One finds this parochial attitude early and often in the public record. For instance, in July of 1877, the Common Council rejected an order for a $450,000 loan to be used in buying land in the reclaimed Back Bay. This was to be the first park area, as deter- mined by Olmsted and the Commissioners.33 Councilor Coe noted the reason for much opposition:

[It is] not the question of the amount of betterments the city is to receive, not the question of nuisances to be abated, nor any other questions should be placed before the one, —where can you locate so as to benefit, for all time, the class of people (such as) clerks, bookkeepers, artisans of various kinds and laborers.34

Each section of the city concluded that all would be best served by placing a park in their section.

By 1881, the year in which the City Council considered the bulk of park bonds, the parochialism was so acute as to threaten the purpose of a park system. Olmsted complained to the Parks Commissioners:

There is a habit now of looking upon the proposed parks of the city, each apart and independently of its relations to others of the system, as if it were to be of little value except to the people of the districts adjoining it . . . It presents a difficulty which should be contended with; for unques- tionably, if it is maintained and allowed influence in legislation, it will be likely to nullify half the value to the city of the properties now promised to be acquired for parks . . . It is not uncom- mon to hear [the West Roxbury Park] referred to as if it were to be a special property of the West Roxbury Community and its chief value lie in what that community would gain from it.35

A City Council committee pleaded that“an end be put to sectional conten- tions respecting park lands.”36 Yet as the votes in the Common Council indi- cate, local interests rivaled general concerns. Each area of the city, from East Boston to West Roxbury, was represented by a politician who steadfastly

12

maintained both the urgent need for a park in his district and the general bene- fits to be derived from such placement.37

The voting patterns on three key issues are illustrated in the following maps and table. Each displays the type of parochialism that worried Olmsted. The city-wide vote of 1875, approving the Public Parks Bill, reveals that the great- est support came from the wards near the Charles River, where most of the proposed park systems were centered.

MAP 1 WARD DIVISIONS IN BOSTON, 1875–1888

SOURCE: Sampson, Murdoch and Co. Map, Rare Book Room, Boston Pub- lic Library

MAJOR COMPONENTS OF OLMSTED’S “EMERALD NECK- LACE”: a. Boston Common g. Franklin Park b. Commonwealth Avenue h. Columbia Rd. c. Fenway i. Columbus Park d. Riverway j. Strandway e. Jamaica Pond k. Marine Park f. Arnold Arboretum l. Castle Island

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TABLE 1 CITY-WIDE VOTE OF JUNE 9, 1875, ON THE APPROVAL

OF THE PUBLIC PARK BILL

Ward Yes No Ward Yes No

1 110 224 2 151 210 3 141 127 4 179 71 5 130 34 6 295 115 7 226 133 8 118 49 9 288 83

10 299 90 11 312 111

12 173 268 13 114 87 15 256 75 16 146 97 17 312 76 18 189 159 19 265 11 20 106 88 21 96 234 22 89 55

SOURCE: Boston Daily Advertiser, June 10, 1875 NOTE: Wards 23–25 on Map 1 were part of new acquisitions.

In 1877, the first proposal to purchase land for a Back Bay park failed because of negative votes from Common Councilors representing the congested inner wards and the outlying suburban wards. The proposal succeeded only when it was reevaluated as a necessary instrument for the improvement of the city’s sewerage system.

Finally, and more clearly, one can view the local-interest pattern in the De- cember, 1881 vote on the purchase of land for the West Roxbury (Franklin) Park, the linchpin of Olmsted’s system. Map 3 shows graphically that opposi- tion to the suburban park came from congested wards in the inner-city. At the same time, councilors from wards adjacent to the park were almost unani- mous in their approval of the costly ($600,000) acquisition.38 The message was clear. Many citizens viewed park benefits in local, not general terms. Debates and votes on the placement of public parks thus exhibited the polarity in urban politics so well-described in historical literature: centralized reform groups at odds with localized political machinery. In this case one sees Olmsted’s grand vision matched against legitimate neighborhood and ward interests. The Parks Commissioners were forced to deal with an ever increas- ing parochialism that raised its head early and often, as when ward 3 voters qualified their rejection of the 1875 Park Act by voting “No, unless Copps Hill is taken.”39

But despite Olmsted’s fears, parochial interests never seriously threatened the success of the park system. On the contrary, they may have insured success,

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MAP 2 NEGATIVE COMMON COUNCIL VOTES ON BACK BAY PARK,

1877

SOURCE: City Council Minutes, July 12, 1877. NOTE: The bond issue failed, 43–23–5, to get the necessary 2/3 vote. Each dot represents a negative vote.

Proposed Park Area

by forcing central planners to accommodate local interests. Olmsted and the Parks Commissioners might have had more in mind than topographical con- siderations when they designed a series of parks spread about Boston’s vari- ous districts. Perhaps they realized the growing importance of neighborhood communities within the larger city boundaries. The overall park plan suc- ceeded politically in 1881 because it offered a chain or package, with a little something for everyone. Further, as the minutes of the Parks Department con- stantly display, ad-hoc neighborhood lobbies were later the driving force be- hind the expansion of the system. Petitions from groups in areas like Brigh- ton, Dorchester Lower Mills, and South Dorchester planted the seed for an extension of greenery by means of small parks and playgrounds.40

More volatile issues remained, for much of the park system, as originally con-

15

MAP 3 NEGATIVE COMMON COUNCIL VOTES ON PROPOSED

WEST ROXBURY (FRANKLIN) PARK, DECEMBER 8, 1881

SOURCE: City Council Minutes, December 8, 1881.

NOTE: The proposed $600,000 bond issue failed, 43–20–8, to gain 2/3 ma- jority. While opposition came from inner city wards, the Councilors from wards 19–24 were near unanimous in support. (Each dot represents a negative vote).

Proposed Park Area

ceived and as expanded by local pressure, was situated in less-congested wards. While land was more available and cheaper here, the anomaly raised serious questions. For whom were parks really intended? The rich or the poor? Some of the early citizen-planners had no doubts. As Charles Daven- port, self-styled “first projector” of the Charles River Embankment and Bay

16

concluded, parks would improve the city by housing the residences of the rich:

The territory that surrounds this bay is to be the great centre of attraction. Here will be the widest avenues and streets of the metropolis. Here the finest residences in our modern Athens will be found. Here will dwell the men of large capital and scholarly attainments and of public reknown, who give to the metropolis the character and enterprise for which she is famed throughout the world.41

Uriel Crocker, whose proposal for a park system contained many elements of the Parks Commissioners’ basic plan, believed that “it increases the enjoy- ment of those who walk, to watch the elegant equipages of those who ride.”42

With such elitist sentiment lurking under the surface of public proclamations, it was no wonder that the Boston Daily Advertiser worried about approval of the Park Act of 1875, noting that “in some of the northerly wards there will be formidable opposition, the laborers and others having been made to believe that in some way the act will be against their interests.”43 Many continued to have doubts. The Common Councilors from inner-city wards realized that “the people” could not enjoy distant parks as easily as some believed:

Just fancy a poor man upon the South Cove, after his work is done, taking his children forth on a summer evening, marching to Corey’s Hill, when the thermometer is up to 90°; just imagine these people of South Boston and the North End going forth on a summer’s evening to enjoy the bene- fits of the park which Boston, in its wisdom and philanthropy, has furnished for the laboring classes. It is all well, sir, to put it down upon paper; but you will find that the public parks established upon that grand plan will not be so much benefit to those whom you propose to bene- fit, as it will those who can ride in carriages.44

What good would “elegant equipages” provide, if working people could never reach the parks?

One clearly deduces from the public record a sense of working-class frustra- tion with the outlying parks. As one Alderman sarcastically noted, in voting against a large appropriation for the Back Bay Fens:

The advocates of a park go down to the sickly district of the Back Bay and select a place for the poor man to eat his lunch and look over the $75,000 houses and envy the people who live inside of them.45

Many continued to regard much of the system as essentially “rich man’s parks,” for which one needed either a carriage or, later, an automobile.46

But the changing political structure provided workingmen with more clout than they had previously enjoyed. Working through their local representatives in the City Council, the people of Charlestown and the North End effectively lobbied for parks in their districts. The poorest section of Boston, the West

17

End, could count on strong political support in its efforts to increase the ca- pacity and facilities of its Charlesbank gymnasium. The inhabitants of the in- nercity did not reap the promised fruits of the outlying “emerald necklace,” but they traded’ off support for rural parks in return for open space in their local neighborhood. Much of this open space would take the form of small parks and playgrounds. These breathing spaces did not fit the classic model of an Olmsted park. They held only limited foliage or serenity. But they did offer working people something tangible, and their development represented an important accommodation in the original vision of the park system.47

tation.

The final area of contention was closely related and involved the question of appropriate activities for park patrons. Park advocates claimed that properly placed enclaves of “rus in urbe” would elevate the life of all citizens. Parks would provide true “recreation” for Boston’s collective body and soul. But the practical question became whether or not the masses could be educated into the “proper” use of parks. Or, would parks become simply an open-air emporium of commercialized amusements? To find the answer, one must again compare the rhetoric of a reform vision with the reality of its implemen-

The central figure in this issue was, of course, Frederick Law Olmsted, who guided the Boston Park System until 1895, when his failing health forced him into retirement.48 Throughout his career, Olmsted amply articulated his thoughts on the role of parks in city life. Because of his national influence and, of course, his position as chief architect, his views were indelibly stamped on the policies of the Boston Parks Commissioners. Yet, in the end, ideal philosophies had to make concessions to the realities of Boston’s chang- ing social life.

Olmsted believed that the city was the source of civilization’s great advances, but he also saw that its population density could induce a reactive alienation, a “quickness of apprehension, a peculiarly hard sort of selfishness.” As an an- tidote to this pejorative side of urban life, Olmsted, along with other urban reformers, looked to recreative amusements. Expanding the concept of recre- ation, he noted:

. . . all forms of recreation may, in the first place, be conveniently arranged under two general heads. One will include all of which the predominating influence is to stimulate exertion of any part or parts needing it; the other, all which cause us to receive pleasure without conscious exer- tion. Games chiefly of mental skill as chess, or athletic sports, as baseball, are examples of means of recreation of the first class, which may be termed that of exertive recreation; music and the fine arts generally of the second or receptive division.49

Olmsted clearly fashioned his views of parks around the notion of receptive recreation.

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In outlining his plans for Franklin Park, the heart of his proposed system, Olmsted prescribed the form of recreation he envisioned within its bounda- ries:

A man’s eyes cannot be as much occupied as they are in large cities by artificial things, or by natural things seen under artificial conditions without a harmful effect, first on his mental and nervous system and ultimately on his entire constitutional organization. That relief from this evil is to be obtained through recreation is often said, without sufficient discrimination as to the nature of the recreation required. The several varieties of recreation to be obtained in churches, newspa- pers, theaters, picture galleries, billiard rooms, baseball grounds, trotting courses and flower gar- dens, may each serve to supply a mitigating influence. An influence is desirable, however, that, acting through the eye, shall be more than mitigative, that shall be antithetical, reversive, and antidotal. Such an influence is found in what, in notes to follow, will be called the enjoyment of rural scenery.50

To Olmsted, then, action had little or no place in a public park. Boston’s Parks Commissioners took Olmsted’s views to heart and banned all active pursuits in the park system. The rules allowed little legitimate activity beyond quiet picnics, meditations and tours.51

This tranquility would not last. The patrons had their own ideas about the activities which ought to occur in a park. They continually pressured for ac- commodation in the regulations and, to Olmsted, constantly threatened the integrity of his receptive-recreation grounds. Perhaps some workingmen were “educated” to the joys of nature-communion. But they, in turn, educated genteel Bostonians to the realities of urban leisure. And, in the end, this com- promise transformed, but did not destroy, the essence and value of public parks.

The growth of interest in athletic sports proved to be a major problem for the Parks Commissioners. While the wealthy could join suburban country clubs for playing space, the majority of the population looked to the new parklands for sportgrounds. The Commissioners tried to suppress this appetite, particu- larly that of baseballers, until they declared in 1884: “no entertainment, exer- cises, or athletic game or sport shall be held or performed within public parks except with the prior consent of the Park Commission.” Olmsted was in full agreement and cited similar rules in Hartford, Baltimore, Chicago, Buffalo, New York and Philadelphia. Only a comer of Franklin Park was allotted to active sports, and that for children only.52

Yet by the turn of the century, the Commissioners had been forced by the City Council and public pressure to allow virtually every popular sport within the confines of the parks. Cricket clubs battled baseball interests for exclusive privileges. By the mid- 1890’s several parks were the scene of scheduled foot- ball matches. As early as 1902, the Commissioners succumbed to pressure and allowed automobiles on the parkways. Further, Franklin Field and the

19

Charlesbank were designed specifically for active pursuits. Although certain sports were restricted to particular places and times and while much of the sporting activity was funnelled to the related playground system, the evidence in the Park Department minutes clearly indicates that the concept of public parks in Boston was altered, by special interest groups, to include provisions for active sport. To the end, the Olmsted firm warned that parkground was being “put to a use quite inconsistent with its purpose.”53

If athletic sports were eventually accepted as legitimate park recreations, it was probably because they represented a less severe encroachment than com- mercial amusements. As soon as the parks neared completion, the Commis- sioners were inundated with license petitions from operators of hurdy-gurdy machines, merry-go-rounds, photo tents, refreshment stands and amusement theaters, to name but a few. In stating his case, the operator of one theater argued that “the purpose of amusing the public is a public benefit entirely consistent with the use of the public parks.” Further, the operators claimed that they desired only to satisfy an overwhelming demand for their services.54

Alderman Martin Lomasney, Boston’s most powerful ward boss, accurately voiced the attitude of the inner-city when he opposed a rule outlawing flying horses or similar commercial amusements on the Sabbath:

I don’t believe we should be activated by the same spirit that prevailed in the days of the old Blue Laws, when on Sunday you would have to walk down Washington Street carrying a Bible in your hand and not speak to anybody on the street . . . Certain people in the North End and in South Boston can reach these parks Sundays who cannot reach them any other day, and I don’t believe they should be deprived of going on the flying horses if they wish to do so . . . the time will probably come when Boston will have other amusements on Sunday.55

Olmsted’s vision had to accommodate Lomasney’s. Working through their connections on the City Council and even on the Parks Commission, commer- cial amusements operators succeeded in placing merry-go-rounds, photo tents, refreshment stands and vending machines among the elm trees and brooks.56

By World War I, “receptive” recreation was no longer the rule on public parks. Active sports and commercialized amusements had secured guaran- teed, if restricted, privileges. Conservative reformers like Olmsted and Bos- ton 1915, a private reform group of prominent citizens, did not fully agree in principle with serious compromise in park use. But they wisely realized that they had to yield to popular attitudes toward leisure if the parks were to have any reforming value.57

If the Boston case is at all representative, it cautions the historian to take spe- cial care in categorizing urban park systems as a vehicle of genteel reform or

20

social control whereby, in the words of one historian, “social and political intercourse could be defined for the popular mass by the cultured elite hover- ing above.”58 Considerable evidence suggests this as the intent of many park advocates, but its basis lies largely in the arguments of early proposals. Herein parks were envisioned as large expanses of water, woods, and dales where all social classes might mix and be elevated in a fraternal communion with nature. An equally compelling body of evidence, the public record, dis- plays the active role which the “popular mass” took in altering this vision. Special interest groups—neighborhood citizens lobbies, athletic clubs, amusement operators, all representing a wide range of social classes—contin- ually worked directly and through their political representatives to influence major decisions in park placement and policy. These groups succeeded in get- ting parks where they wished them; they pursued their own choice of recre- ation on the playgrounds. Thus, the park movement in Boston was a reform which issued from the “bottom up” as well as from the top down. Because of this, the ultimate product of reform differed from the intended product. Only by an examination of the entire implementation process can the historian hope to discern the difference.

Notes 1. The author would like to thank the editor and referees of the JSH for the helpful comments they made on an earlier draft of this paper.

2. City Document No. 1, (Boston, 1847).

3. See Mayor Nathan Matthews, The City Government of Boston, Valedictory Address (Boston, 1895), p. 112: John Koren, Boston, 1822 to 1922: The Story of Its Government and Principal Activities during One Hundred Years, City Document No. 39, (Boston, 1922), p. 127. Urban park systems are an important area of American sport history. Parks were the first major civic response to the recreation “problems” discussed in antebellum literature. Indeed, park advocates echoed the arguments presented by earlier proponents of sport and exercise. See, for example, John R. Betts, “Public Recreation, Public Parks, and Public Health Before the Civil War,” in The History of Physical Education and Sport, ed. Bruce Bennett (Chicago, 1972), pp. 35-52. Further, as the 19th century progressed, parks provided much of the open space upon which the urban populace could actively pursue their favorite sports.

4. Geoffrey Blodgett, “Frederick Law Olmsted: Landscape Architecture as Conservative Reform,” Journal of American History, 62 (March, 1976): 869-889. For the Boston park system’s lasting impact on local environ- ment, see Department of Landscape Architecture, Harvard Graduate School of Design, Olmsted’s Park System as a Vehicle in Boston (Cambridge, 1973); William Weismantel, “How the Landscape Affects Neighborhood Status: The Conserving and Renewing Influence of Boston’s Charles River Basin and Park System,” Land- scape Architecture, 56 (April, 1966): 190- 194.

5. For the “progressive” interpretation see: Blake McKelvey, “An Historical View of Rochester’s Parks and Playgrounds,” Rochester History, (January, 1949): l-24; Charles Doell and Gerald Fitzgerald, A Brief History of Parks and Recreation in the United States (Chicago, 1954); John R. Betts, America’s Sporting Heritage, 1850-1950 (Reading, Mass., 1974), pp. 174-176; K. Gerald Marsden, “Philanthropy and the Boston Play- ground Movement, 1885-1907,” Social Service Review, 35 (1961): 48-58. The “social control” interpretation may be seen in Michael P. McCarthy,“Politics and the Parks: Chicago Businessmen and the Recreation Move- ment,” Journal of the Illinois State Historical Society, 65 (1972): 158-172; Lawrence Finfer, “Leisure as Social Work in the Urban Community: The Progressive Recreation Movement, 1890-1920,” Ph.D. disserta- tion, Michigan State University, 1974; Dom Cavallo, “Social Reform and the Movement to Organize Chil- dren’s Play During the Progressive Era,”History of Childhood Quarterly, 3 (1976): 509-522; Cary Goodman, Choosing Sides: Playgrounds and Street Life on the Lower East Side (New York, 1979). A more balanced analysis may be found in Paul S. Boyer, Urban Masses and Moral Order in America, 1820-1920 (Cambridge, 1978), pp. 233-251.

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6. Roy Rosenzweig, “Middle-Class Parks and Working Class Play: The Struggle over Recreational Space in Worcester, Massachusetts, 1870-1910,” Radical History Review, 21 (Fall, 1979), 32. I have profited greatly from Rosenzweig’s analysis which concentrates on the activism of working-class interest groups.

7. Boston’s Growth: A Birds Eye View of Boston’s Increase in Territory and Population From Its Beginning to the Present (Boston, 1910). “Foreign element” includes children of the foreign-born. See Stephan Thern- strom, The Other Bostonians (Cambridge, 1973), table 6.1. On ethnic composition, see Frederick Bushee, Ethnic Factors in the Population of Boston (1903).

8. See Arthur Mann, Yankee Reformers in the Urban Age (Cambridge, 1954), pp. 2ff.

9. Quoted in Blodgett, “Olmsted . . . ,” 855; see also Martin Green, The Problem of Boston: Some Read- ings in Cultural History (New York, 1966), p. 103.

10. Allen Wakstein, “Boston’s Search for a Metropolitan Solution,”Journal of American Institute of Plan- ners, 38 (September, 1972): 285-296; Walter M. Whitehill, Boston: A Topographical History (Cambridge, 1968).

11. See B. O. Flower, Civilization’s Inferno, or, Studies in the Social Cellar (Boston, 1893).

12. Boston, Proceedings of the City Council, October 12, 1869 (hereafter cited as “City Council Minutes”).

13. Boston Daily Advertiser, November 9, 1870.

14. See, for instance, Ernest Bowditch, “Rural Parks for Boston,” Boston Daily Advertiser, June 24, 1875; or the debate, resulting in postponement of the issue, in Boston City Council Minutes, December 22, 1873.

15. For the important arguments see Boston, City Document No. 105 (1874), Council Report on the Establish- ment of a Public Park; Boston, City Council Minutes, February 18, March 1, April 1, April 5, 1875. The 1875 Act fared better than its predecessor in part because its approval required only a simple majority of votes. The 1870 Act had required a 2/3 majority.

16. Minutes of the Board of Commissioners of the Boston Parks Department, January 1, 1876, residing with the Executive Secretary of the Parks Department, City Hall, Boston, (hereafter referred to as “Parks Min- utes”). See also the Second Annual Report of the Board of Commissioners of the Department of Parks for the City of Boston (hereafter referred to as Parks Reports) (1876), in which the Board cited their criteria as 1) accessibility: “for all classes,” 2) economy: lands which “would least disturb the natural growth of the city in its business and domestic life, and those which would become relatively nearer the centre of population in future years,” 3) adaptability, 4) sanitary advantages. On Olmsted’s appointment, see Parks Minutes, Decem- ber 10, 1878.

17. Boston Post, June 17, 1874.

18. Boston Daily Advertiser, June 9, 1875.

19. Report on the Establishment of a Public Park, City Document No. 105 (1874), pp. 1lff.

20. City Council Minutes, November 7, 1881.

21. Second Annual Parks Report, City Document No. 42 (1876), p. 13; see also Report of the Council Com- mittee on Public Parks Recommending the Purchase of Land for West Roxbury and City Point Parks, City Document No. 61 (1880).

22. Parks for the People. Proceedings of a Public Meeting held at Faneuil Hall, June 7, 1876 (Boston, 1876), p. 39.

23. City Council Minutes, December 3, 1874.

24. City Document No. 105 (1874), p. 8; City Document No. 123, (1869), pp. 58-59. See also two interesting “scientific” works, not specifically on Boston: John Bauch, M.D., Public Parks: Their Effects Upon the Moral, Physical, and Sanitary Condition of the Inhabitants of Large Cities: with Special Reference to Chicago. (Chicago, 1869); John Toner, M.D.,“Free Parks and Camping Grounds or Sanitariums for the Sick and Debil- itated Children of the Poor in Crowded Cities during the Summer Months,” The Sanitarian (May, 1873).

25. City Council Minutes, May 28, 1877.

26. City Document No. 105 (1876), p. 6.

27. Public Amusement for Poor and Rich (Boston, 1857), pp. l0- 11.

28. The Boston Common, or Rural Walks in Cities, By a Friend of Improvement (Boston, 1838), pp. 55-56.

29. Parks for the People, pp. 12, 29, 42. See also comments in City Document No. 105 (1876); Report and Accompanying Statements and Communications Relating to a Public Park for the City of Boston, City Docu- ment No. 123 (1869), p. 18.

30. City Council Minutes, May 7, 1877.

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31. See the comments of Dr. Holmes in Parks for the People, p. 25. See also, City Council Minutes, May 28, 1877; Second Annual Parks Report (1876); City Document No. 72, (1876), p. 4; City Document No. 61, (1880), p. 3.

32. “Boston’s Uncommon Parks,” Boston 200 Broadside Series (Boston, 1976).

33. See the Second Annual Parks Report, City Document 42 (1876) which outlines the proposed system. The Common Council was the large, representative body which, along with the small Board of Alderman (elected at-large), comprised the bicameral City Council.

34. City Council Minutes, July 12, 1877. The Back Bay loan was passed only when it was cloaked in the garb of sewerage improvement. See City Council Minutes, July 19, 1877.

35. Seventh Annual Parks Report, (188 1) pp. 24-25.

36. Report of the Council Committee on Public Parks, City Document No. 93 (1881), p. 2.

37. See City Council Minutes, July 7, October 3, November 7, December 8, 1881.

38. Although distance from proposed parks appears to have influenced voting patterns, one might also pursue the effect of ethno-cultural tensions. While the Irish-Yankee division comes quickly to mind, however, the suggestion is complicated by the fact that at least one powerful Irish politician, who became a Parks Commis- sioner, had real estate interests that begged support of the suburban parks. See Blodgett, “Olmsted . . .”, 885. Also, by 1880, the Irish population had spread out into suburban areas as well. It was no longer clustered in the inner city. See Sam Bass Warner, Street Car Suburbs: The Process of Growth in Boston, 1870-1900 (New York, 1972), pp. 79-80; Thernstrom, Other Bostonians, pp. 163-165.

39. Boston Daily Advertiser, June 10, 1875. Many groups joined to oppose the development of parks in their neighborhood, largely for fear of increases in local property taxes. See Parks Minutes, December 15, 1879; June 14, December 11, 1880; September 15, 1885; April 21, 1892; May 8, 1894. For a recent critique of the central reform vs. local politics model see David Thelen, “Urban Politics: Beyond Bosses and Reformers,” Reviews in American History, (September 1979): 406-412.

40. Parks Minutes, April 29, May 13, 1887; June 19, 26, 1891; December 7, 1893; December 8, 1902; Annual Parks Report (1891), p. 35. For the close relationship between the park and playground movements, see Ste- phen Hardy, “Organized Sport and the Search for Community: Boston, 1865-1915,” Ph.D. dissertation, Uni- versity of Massachusetts, 1979.

41. Charles Davenport, The Embankment and Park on the Charles River Bay (n.d., (n.p.), pamphlet residing in the Boston Athenaeum.

42. Uriel Cracker, Plan for a Public Park (Boston, 1869), p. 6.

43. Boston Daily Advertiser, June 9, 1875. Indeed, wards 1 and 2 voted heavily against the Park Act.

44. City Council Minutes, April 1, 1875.

45. Ibid., May 28, 1877.

46. Ibid., May 25, 1908.

47. See Parks Minutes: February 14, 1889; January 27, 1891; March 6, 1891; April 10, 1891; May 22, 1891 for Charlestown pressure. See June 20, 1892; December 7, 1893; February 26, 1894; September 30, 1895; November 19, 1896 for North End pressure, orchestrated largely by John F. “Honey Fitz” Fitzgerald. See the amazing speed with which $5000 was appropriated to open the Charlesbank, in City Council Minutes, April 28, 1892.

48. Blodgett, “Olmsted . . . ,” 886ff., suggests that“Olmsted was able to respond to the growing public taste for active recreation. . . .”I would suggest that his response was a result of considerable pressure and was, in the end, unsatisfactory to the “new tastes.”On Olmsted, see also Laura Wood Roper, FLO: A Biogra- phy of Frederick Law Olmsted (Baltimore, 1973); F. L. Olmsted Jr. and Theodora Kimball, eds., Frederick Law Olmsted: Landscape Architect, 1822-1902 (2 vols., New York, 1922); Leonard J. Simutis, “Frederick Law Olmsted, Sr.: A Reassessment,”Journal of the American Institute of Planners, (September, 1972): 276- 284.

49. See F. L. Olmsted, Public Parks: Two Papers Read Before the American Social Science Association in 1870 and 1880, entitled “Public Parks and the Enlargement of Towns”and “A Consideration of the Justifying Value of a Public Park” (Brookline, Mass., 1902), p. 37.

50. “Notes on the Plan of Franklin Park and Related Matters,”in Eleventh Annual Parks Report (1885), p. 42.

51. See Thirteenth Annual Parks Report (1887), pp. 86-87.

52. See Parks Minutes, September 9, 1884;“Report of the Landscape Architects on Provisions for the Playing of Games,” Fifteenth Annual Parks Report (1889), pp. 14-19.

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53. Parks Minutes, November 17, 1890; December 19, 1892; November 20, 1893, December 23, 1895; De- cember 21, 1896; October 17, 1898; October 11, 1902. Letter from the Olmsted firm in City Council Minutes, June 25, 1896. Public pressure for small, local playgrounds begins to appear in the Parks and City Council Minutes during the 1800’s.

54. Parks Minutes, June 1, 1885; August 5, 1885; June 12, 1886; June 3, 1895. For an interesting interpreta- tion of the role played by commercialized amusements in the modern city see John Kasson’s analysis of Coney Island, Amusing the Millions (New York, 1979).

55. City Council Minutes, July 31, 1893.

56. Parks Minutes, April 24, May 22, 1893; May 21, 28, 1894; October 7, 14, 1895; April 6, 1896; May 22, 1914.

57. See the evaluation by the Olmsted firm in the 36th Annual Parks Report (1910- 11). See also the comments on parks in 1915: The Official Catalogue of the Boston Exposition (Boston, 1909), p. 31.

58. Blodgett, “Olmsted . . . ,”889. Blodgett is clearly describing intent here. But while his fine essay indicates an awareness of popular pressures, he does not adequately highlight their influence in major decisions. The Boston case was similar in many respects to that of Worcester, Mass. See Rosenzweig, “Middle Class Parks. . . .”

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  • LA84 Foundation Home Page
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  • Journal of Sport History, Volume 7, Number 3, Winter 1980
    • Contents.
    • Articles.
      • Parks for the People: Reforming the Boston Park System, 1870-1915.
      • The British Protestant Pioneers and the Establishment of Manly Sports in Manitoba, 1870-1886.
      • Conflicting Ideologies Concerning the University and Intercollegiate Athletics: Harper and Hutchins at Chicago, 1892-1940.
    • Commentary.
      • Freedom and Constraint: The Paradoxes of Play, Games, and Sport (Commentary)
    • Journal Surveys.
      • Sport. Canada. (Journal Survey)
      • Sport. Europe and Asia. (Journal Survey)
      • Sport. United States. (Journal Survey)
      • New Titles. (Journal Survey)
    • Book Reviews.
      • Mason, Tony. Association Football & English Society, 1863-1915. (Book Review)
      • Crepeau, Richard C. Baseball: America’s Diamond Mind, 1919-1941. (Book Review)
      • Lowenfish, Lee and Lupien, Tony. The Imperfect Diamond: The Story of Baseball’s Reserve System and the Men Who Fought to Change It. (Book Review)
      • Atyeo, Don. Blood and Guts: Violence in Sports. (Book Review)
      • de Luze, Albert. A History of The Royal Game of Tennis. (Book Review)
      • McCallum, John D. College Basketball, U.S.A. Since 1892; Big Ten Football Since 1895; and, Ivy League Football Since 1872. (Book Review)
      • Brown, Gene, ed. The New York Times Encyclopedia of Sports. (Book Review)
    • Notes, Documents, and Queries.
      • The First Baseball Game, the First Newspaper References to Baseball, and the New York Club: A Note on the Early History of Baseball. (Note, Documents, and Queries)
    • Recent Dissertations.
    • Announcements.

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