Dr. Shrout – Page 4 – American Disasters

January 28, 2014December 16, 2020

A Thank You Letter to the Frontier

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Well after getting a good laugh from Caldwell’s post, which makes some very valid points on the lack of evidence and rather outlandish claims of Turner’s work, I do not want to add insult to injury and further coat Turner’s work with criticism. Yes, his work is somewhat glorified and possibly absurd; however, I do think some good came out of this work that is quickly noted in the post. I do think Turner accomplishes his goal of shining bright light on the memory of the “American frontier” and the history of the masses of those who courageously decided to pack up and head for the Great West. Yet, these points have been mentioned throughout Caldwell’s hilariously harsh historical critique so I won’t spend time on them. What I will spend a little time on is some of the interesting phrases I pulled out from Turner’s western frontier historiography.

Granted I do think many of Turner’s statements are beyond reasonable and he may have some misguided history of the west, but because I do not have much background in frontier history or of the great expansions into our new territory at the time, I am apprehensive to shoot down all of his claims. I find myself reading some of them and being intrigued to have this “frontier history” Turner wants expanded to shine some more light on his claims of significance. For example, the bold claim that, “Administratively, the frontier called out some of the highest and most vitalizing activities of the general government. The purchase of Louisiana was perhaps the constitutional turning point in the history of the Republic…” (10) This statement carries much weight with it and I would be interested to hear what past historians have to say about that as well as some men who held positions of office in the government before the time of the purchase. Besides claims such as those, I did find myself following Turner’s notions that the frontier was purely American and its Americanization began to diminish some of England’s influence on America. He states, “That fact is, that here is a new product that is American” and “Thus the advance of the frontier has meant a steady movement away from the influence of Europe, a steady growth of independence on American lines.” (2) I find this argument of Turner’s a little more evidence based than others he makes and also truly just finding it more believable and significant than his other bold claims.

With that being said, I did found Turner’s work extremely enjoyable to read one, because I don’t know much about the west and its formational significance to the greater picture and two, because of the consistent bold claims by Turner that seemed to keep me flipping the pages. Also, someone teach me how to hyperlink on this thing.

January 27, 2014December 16, 2020

The Omnipotent Frontier

There is no God. You might think that there must be a God, who created the universe, and perhaps drives its course. You might even think that God made sure you got that parking space in Belk lot. But he doesn’t exist, because the Frontier did all of those things, or so Frederick Jackson Turner might like you to think.

Clearly, I am about to add insult to injury by further criticizing what Cronon calls the “‘blood -drenched field’ of the frontier thesis”(157). Yet, because I read “The Significance of the Frontier in American History,” I must add my own two cents, which will likely follow the critiques of past historians. Clearly, Turner embraces a vision of the frontier that is heavily stereotyped, and generalizes broadly from these stereotypes. For example, Jackson argues that “the wilderness masters the colonist” and turns him into a man who “has gone to planting Indian corn and plowing with a sharp stick, he shouts the war cry and takes the scalp in orthodox Indian fashion”(2). This vision is so prejudiced and stereotyped as to be laughable, and Jackson provides no evidence that anything of the sort ever actually occurred. The multitude of examples of Jackson’s hilarity and absurdity would take a great deal of space and time to mention, but to do so would be neither interesting nor original. I will say, however, that the most glaring pattern that threw his thesis into question was that he never examined any individual, region or town to substantiate his multitude of claims; much of his evidence comes from people making generalizations, as he did.

More interesting than the opportunity to criticize Turner is Cronon’s analysis of the frontier thesis and Turner’s work. In his work, rather than in Turner’s own, I was much more sympathetic to Turner. Knowing little of western history and even less about western historiography, I can still acknowledge the truth of Cronon’s argument that Turner succeeded in establishing the idea of the frontier in the American memory, perhaps more concretely than it ever existed in the minds of frontiersmen. I also empathized with Turner’s desire, which Cronon describes, to write a history for the mass of people. Turner fails to do so, of course, in his frontier thesis, in that he ignores the native Americans, women, and others who experienced the frontier; yet, his work seems like an attempt in that direction.

I also enjoyed reading about how Turner’s work “codified the central narrative structure which has helped organize American history ever since”(166). Certainly, such an impact seems both positive and significant (high praise, considering Turner’s love of ‘significance.’). In the end, I must apologize for my rude mocking of Turner’s argument which ascribes so much to the frontier: he was a storyteller, and his efforts to contribute to history were certainly successful, even if his ideas were sometimes outlandish or unsubstantiated.

As the first poster for last week’s post, I have been widely commented on and cited, appropriately for a historian of my eminence. First, I think that Catherine’s expansion of my point (which, oddly, I don’t believe to be the point that I actually made) that disasters have archeological benefit is interesting. I am loathe to claim that any loss of human life could be considered beneficial, even if it does result in great learning for later generations. Yet, we must acknowledge the transience of human life; perhaps it is acceptable that some of the myriad fleeting lives of the past ended disastrously to teach us something.

Furthermore, I question Sarah’s argument that capitalism is not as destructive as I claim it to be. We constantly see the ways in which capitalism destroys in order to create. Think about the way that corporations, once the mightiest in the nation, fall by the wayside as others replace them: Sears fell as Walmart consumed it, and Amazon forced Walmart to adapt, and others will soon take their place. Standard Oil and its progeny, ExxonMobil being the most prominent, will die as humans shift from fossil fuels to renewable energy. Or look past corporations, to the ways that capitalism consumes resources: the very measurement of a nation’s wealth is GDP, which is not measured by our happiness, or the sum of items we possess, or our savings, but by what we have consumed this year. Capitalism destroys resources, though it certainly drives progress; however, a critical examination of that progress and its direction–and the associated cost–is the duty of every citizen.

In conclusion, just remember to thank the frontier when you get that parking spot next time.

January 25, 2014December 16, 2020

The perverse and often baffling economics of disasters

As someone who has completed an economics minor, I can tell you little about the economy or economics or finance or international trade with much confidence. I can, however, say with complete confidence that economics is an odd discipline. It’s hyper-rationality embraces only empirical judgments of the economy while simultaneously validating people’s subjective values as determinant of welfare. In Kevin Rozario’s “What Comes Down Must Go Up: Why Disasters Have Been Good for American Capitalism,” we catch a glimpse of the strangeness of economics, and indeed of capitalism itself.

Rozario seeks to show how disasters, but especially the 1906 San Francisco earthquake, had positive economic impacts, among other effects. He makes the case that with a disaster, the destruction of existing capital draws in funds from elsewhere to rebuild an even more productive environment. Though this may be true, anyone can easily tell that a disaster is not good news in the broadest sense. Resources exist and can be destroyed; that loss does not disappear once the city is rebuilt. At the very least, readers can acknowledge that, economics aside, a disaster represents the loss of natural resources, and the person-hours that were put into the construction and development of that capital. Moreover, it often results in the loss of human life.

Most interestingly, Rozario draws parallels between disasters and capitalism. Both are destructive: disasters raze buildings and destroy the capital within, while capitalism encourages the constant renewal of technologies and spaces to better produce the newest and most effective widgets. He points out, as examples, the ability of Bostonians to widen their streets after one fire, or more prominently, the efforts of progressives to improve San Francisco’s urban space in the aftermath of the earthquake and related fire.

In examining the opportunity offered by a disaster to sculpt the urban landscape, we see that the desires of those sculptors was inherently opposed to the capitalist ethos: Haussmann and the progressives of San Francisco wanted to make permanent changes to the city, for a variety of purposes. They wanted to create cities which withstood the test of time and served to benefit the city (and the owning class). Yet, the vision of cityscape which endures the test of time stands in direct opposition to capitalism, which desires the continual renewal of technology, business, commerce, and therefore urban spaces.

It is also telling that the so-called progressives of San Francisco cared as little about the effect of their plans on the working class as did Haussmann, though at least they did not blast away their housing with cannon. Indeed, throughout his article, Rozario makes it clear that the poor suffered, even as the economy, the city, and the business class benefitted in the aftermath of the ravages of disasters.

I enjoyed CT’s analysis of the art on the spoons at the State of Emergency exhibit, and I think that he is apt in his analysis of the spoon and its role in the artwork: as a domestic item, it seems particularly at home depicting a tornado, perhaps because so much of the destruction of tornados, as CT points out, happens in the midwest, away from major bodies of water. Such areas tend to be less urban, and often symbolize the domestic of American society.

January 24, 2014December 16, 2020

Toto, I’ve got a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore!

The piece that most captivated me were the two spoons with tornadoes depicted in the spoon itself using silverpoint to create the metallic lines. This kind of art especially intrigues me because it’s like the spoon died and the image depicted was its last memory that’s been frozen in time, almost like a photograph. If that makes sense. The best comparison I can think of comes from the nuclear blasts at Nagasaki and Hiroshima. There were reports of shadows being printed on the walls from the power of the bomb. I’m not sure how this is physically possible (remember, I’m a history major), but that is what I thought of when I saw those spoons on display.

Tornadoes are incredibly devastating storms that occur mostly in the United States. These acts of nature are rotating, funnel shaped clouds that extend from a thunderstorm to the ground. Tornadoes do not occur with every powerful thunderstorm, however. When a warm front meets a cold front, the warm air tries to rise, but clashes with the cold air that acts as a blanket. As the warm air tries to push up in between the cold air, sometimes a funnel occurs causing a twister. When the twister reaches the ground, it becomes a tornado. Tornadoes most often occur in “tornado alley,” which is a flat stretch of land from western Texas to North Dakota. This area is particularly susceptible to tornadoes because “the dry polar air from Canada meets the warm, moist tropical air from the Gulf of Mexico.” Typically, tornadoes travel from southwest to northeast, but can move in any direction including backwards. These storms are incredibly powerful as winds can reach up to 300 mph (highest recorded); however, they rarely last longer than ten minutes and leave skinny damage paths. On rare occasions, tornado damage paths have been recorded in excess of one mile wide and 50 miles long. For example, the Tri-State Tornado recorded a path of 219 miles, a duration of 3.5 hours, and a forward traveling speed of 73 mph. Yay for fun facts!

How does all of this USEFUL information connect to these spoons? So, like any good historian, I did a little background into the author of this piece. Her name is Kate Kretz and she makes some incredible pieces. As I stated earlier, she uses a technique called silverpoint, which according to her website, is “an archaic drawing technique that leaves fine, ghostly metallic lines on a gessoed surface.” So cool. What’s even cooler is her interpretation of the work. Now, bear with me as I attempt to explain. She doesn’t necessarily care about the act of nature (tornado, storm, or other disruptive force); she cares that they represent disturbances in family life. Although her website doesn’t explicitly make this claim, I think she uses household items to symbolize an aspect of the family. Generally speaking, a spoon is more representative of family than a landscape or fencepost. So, she creates these incredibly detailed storm depictions out of household items to represent some family trouble. Granted, I would only appreciate the incredible talent behind the art, but now that I know her backstory, the piece is that much more powerful.

And of course:

First quote: http://www.dosomething.org/tipsandtools/11-facts-about-tornados

Second quote: http://katekretz.blogspot.com/

January 24, 2014December 16, 2020

Simple Words Trump Sheer Size

The “State of Emergency” art exhibit in the Belk Visual Arts Center on the campus of Davidson College almost seems ironic at first glance. An exhibit that shows off artists and their interpretations of crisis is actually remarkably clean, modern and spacious. When I think of disaster and crisis my mind doesn’t picture sleek, white walls and a spacious gallery, however, this is what I saw at the “State of Emergency” exhibit. To me, this unique and somewhat mislead structure, describes the meaning of the entire exhibit as a whole. To me it represents how these works of art are providing different ways at looking at disaster and crisis just as the exhibit structure provides you with a different visual viewpoint. Furthermore, because of this unique design, I found myself leaving the area with most of the art pieces and focusing on the room across the hall. At first, I couldn’t tell if it was a piece of art or a building structure or what; it was massive. As I began to lean in I realized it was a wall with names all over it. But it wasn’t just a wall; this wall represented the massive size of the 2008 Sichuan earthquake.

This work was called “Namelist and Remembrance,” by Ai Weiwei which commemorates the school children lost in the 2008 Sichuan earthquake. According to the exhibit curator, “Namelist” will cover the gallery walls with the names of 5,196 schoolchildren who perished in the earthquake because of shoddily constructed schools. The names of the deceased will be read aloud in the audio work, “Remembrance.” As background, Ai Weiwei is a Chinese contemporary artist, active in sculpture, installation, architecture, and social, political and cultural criticism. As a political activist, he has been openly critical of the Chinese Government’s stance on human rights and has even investigated government corruption, in particular the Sichuan schools corruption scandal following the collapse of so-called “tofu-dreg schools” in the 2008 Sichuan earthquake.

Subsequently, Weiwei’s work, “Namelist and Remembrance,” is a continuation and political expression of his investigation into the scandal following the earthquake. The 2008 Sichuan earthquake, according to official figures, stated that 69,197 were confirmed dead, including 68,636 in Sichuan province, and 374,176 injured, with 18,222 listed as missing. Besides the sheer size of the artwork by Weiwei and its evident resemblance to the size of the earthquake, I believe his work is making a much bigger political argument than just commemorating the lives lost. I think this piece offers a unique window into the terrors of the earthquake, and in Weiwei’s attempt, probably the terrors of the Chinese government. This piece details all of Weiwei’s work in the past on the corruption of the Chinese government but shows us intimate details about that event like no other kind of historical evidence can. As this piece is a reaction to disaster and crisis, it is fitting that in Ai Weiwei’s past he led a team to survey the post-quake conditions in various disaster zones. I think this artwork can shine some light about the time and place where this crisis occurred and maybe more importantly, something about the human values of this civilization. With the background of Weiwei and the source information from the Sichuan earthquake, I believe his argument is a response to the government’s lack of transparency. By creating this sculpture with all the student’s names on it, I think he is doing what the government didn’t do in revealing names of students who perished in the earthquake due to substandard school campus constructions. A political statement against the Chinese government takes on the simplest of forms, as the artwork is just a list of names; an extremely powerful message.

Weiwei’s piece highlights and certainly speaks true to the message given by exhibit curator Lia Newman when she claimed, “The goal of the exhibition is not simply to present images of horror or ‘disaster pornography’ but rather to open a dialogue about the role artists can play in bringing attention to disasters while working toward recovery.” By not only commemorating those who had passed and taking political action through art, Weiwei is an excellent example of artists using their role in society to shine light on disaster relief and crisis situations at all ends of the earth.

Source: (Ai, Weiwei (2011). Ai Weiwei’s Blog: Writings, Interviews, and Digital Rants 2006-2009. Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press. p. 209.)

January 24, 2014December 16, 2020

Old Disasters, Modern Metaphors

Before walking into the Gallery room for the State of Emergency, I noticed a strange work on the left side of the entrance hallway to the VAC. The black and white etching, called And the Santa Fell a Week Later, first appears to be a sort of ship sinking in icy waters, but closer inspection reveals that it is a kind of UFO crashed in the snow. The artist, Wisconsite John Edward Paquette, entered the piece into the first Davidson National Print and Drawing Competition in 1972, although he never fully explained his work or its objectives. The title, according to the placard, refers to how NASA astronauts typically use the callsign “Santa Claus” to identify potential UFOs. And the Santa Fell won a Purchase Award at Davidson and is now a permanent work in the college’s catalog. Regardless of the origin or the intentions of the etching, it can doubtlessly be interpreted as a disaster.

The viewer can utilize various clues to build an interpretation of Paquette’s work. The scene shows a small column of cavalry investigating a crashed object in a frozen wasteland. Using the horsemen as a scale, I noticed the immensity of the ship- one that could capably store thousands of people. The very first image that popped into my mind was the Titanic sinking in the North Atlantic. I’m not sure what led to this mental connection. Was it because AMC just had a marathon of the movie last weekend? Or does the image of any ship facing a vertical demise immediately remind me of the Titanic? As Paquette never fully explained the argument of his work, we are only left to the details and our interpretations. As a work from 1972, the Titanic, as well as UFOs, had both become established parts of American folklore. However, I believe that the Titanic imagery is more important and prevalent than the use of the UFO. In my opinion, Paquette is making a contemporary argument about the state of America at the time of his work.

Marston noted how disasters are often utilized as tools of “inflated dramatization” in modern media, and I believe that Paquette uses this idea in his work. In the 1970s, the United States was struggling with unemployment, oil embargoes, and defeat in Vietnam. There was a crisis of trust and leadership, as highlighted with the chaos in the Nixon Administration. Despite its past victories and technological advances, the nation found itself vulnerable and susceptible to setbacks. Common clichés concerning the Titanic include how the ship was perceived to be invincible by its backers, only to find that there were internal faults that they had overlooked or underestimated. The same story, arguably, could be used for Vietnam-era America, and Paquette uses the memorable image of the Titanic’s stern slowly descending into the ocean as the powerful analogy. The “advancedness” of the UFO’s structure symbolizes the material strength of the US military, while the ship’s demise reveals its overconfidence. Paquette’s symbolism reveals power of using historical disasters (especially well-documented ones) to construct contemporary arguments and metaphors. These kinds of disasters create emotional responses in our psychological interpretation of art, whether we notice them or not.

January 23, 2014December 16, 2020

Art and history: an experiential bridge

I visited the State of Emergency exhibit a few minutes ago, and it was very interesting. I thought that the exhibit with the legal pads inscribed with lines which were actually tiny lines of text was fascinating, as was the exhibit on fracking.

The piece that spoke to me the most was the on e entitled “London 1940, Bloomsbury, Clerkenwell, Southwark, Waterloo.” Here, the artist used pages of a book that takes place in World War 2 London, and then built a replica of some of London neighborhoods out of that paper. He then burnt the paper in order to show the devastation of the bombings, using maps of London that had data on where bombs had fallen and the destruction that they had caused.

It is one thing to read about the bombing of a city, and to learn the number of bombs dropped, their explosive power in megatons of TNT, the number of deaths, the cost of the damage, the historic sites which were destroyed, or the other endless statistics. A story might do such a situation more justice, and I think that is what Kurt Vonnegut attempted to do in Slaughterhouse Five, where Billy Pilgrim wheels dead bodies into piles in the streets of Dresden after spending the night in the basement of a slaughterhouse.

Yet, neither literary nor historical works capture the visceral nature of something like a disaster in the same way that artwork can. Seeing the model of London laid out, I could see the empty spaces where walls and buildings had been, and it felt much more real than ever before, even though I knew previously that London had been ravaged by German bombing. It’s probably something that you can’t understand unless you’ve been there; but I felt closer to it than I did before. I tried to imagine what it was like to have that burn, that bomb, break down that wall across the street, or to walk down a street and see through to the next one, or the one after that, because the buildings in between had been leveled. I thought about what the smoldering edges of burnt paper looked like when the artist was working, and what the wreckage of destroyed buildings looked like after the bombs detonated. Viewing this piece, it made the whole city feel awfully fragile; likely no more fragile than the residents of London felt their homes were when the bombs tore through walls and leveled sturdy buildings.

The decision to use paper on which a story taking place in wartime London was brilliant. The lives and stories which existed on the paper are untold, as were the stories that were cut short or drastically changed by World War Two.

History is so often an examination of human lives and experiences in an unemotional way. This intellectualization is, of course, useful. By distancing ourselves, we can think well about the situation, and therefore, about future situations. If we truly felt the horror of most disasters, we could likely never process enough to contemplate what we could do to avert future possible similar disasters. Yet, part of understanding a disaster (or any situation) is understanding what it felt like to be there. Art has the ability to connect us in a way that academic literature cannot, in a way that even talented fiction writers often do not achieve. “London 1940” is a great example of this: it connected me, at an emotional, visceral, real level with the destruction of London, and helped me to see a sliver of a disaster through which I did not live, but which I would certainly like to understand.

January 22, 2014December 16, 2020

Its More Distinctive Than Some Think

Like Elcaldwell mentioned, all three articles read examine the ways in which we analysis/categorize history and the lenses through which we examine it. Rebecca Edwards, of Vassar College, passionately contributes to the thoughtful discussion that we have been having as a class about whether the label of “Gilded Age” is appropriate and just for what actually happened during the time period we are discussing. In the editor’s note of the “Forum: Should we abolish the ‘Gilded Age’”, she argues, as many in our class stated, that the most prominent Gilded Age stereotypes and historical assumptions do not rightly characterize the era. To wit, she “draws on the political trends and movements and policy innovations of those decades” and uproots the influences of other popular events like the Populist Party, the American Farmer’s Alliance, the Interstate Commerce Act, the Sherman Antitrust Act, and muckraking journalism.

Edwards’ argument regarding historicization of the Gilded Age is one of strength and valid historical backing, and I don’t seek to reject her interpretation out of hand; but, I disagree with her determination to abolish the Gilded Age as a separate period. As the editor’s note explains, her stance is part of a wider, more recent trend toward examining 1870-1920 as a single, unique period and possibly coining it the “long progressive era.” I completely agree with ElCaldwell’s assumption that that her frustration with existing perspectives on the Gilded Age comes from teachers and students, not from historians. The common high school textbook or lesson plan from high school teachers usually wants to hit the huge history events before and after the Gilded Age and skims the time period by unfortunately, using terms that now drive the popular perception of the Gilded Age as one of pure corruption, crony capitalism and Jim Crow. Yet, even with these possibly misinformed high school textbooks, Edward’s argument for a prolonged progressive era I believe falls short in comparison to Richard Schneirov’s argument in “Thoughts on Periodizing the Gilded Age: Capital Accumulation, Society, and Politics, 1873-1898.” Detailing a case for the distinct period of the Gilded Age, Schneirov, in my opinion, provides us with a more convincing argument to label the Gilded Age as a distinct period of its own that has very distinctive characteristics. I felt that Scheirnov’s essay was more valid than Edward’s as it used numerous historiographical evidence to support his claim for the periodization of the Gilded Age. Because this blog post does not allow me to go into further detail, our next assignment regarding a historiography, I will expand upon the great historiographical example by Scheirnov. Along with his examination of recent work and supporting evidence of periodization, Scheirnov briefly explains his opinion on the beginning date of this period and the differing views surrounding this seemingly unimportant but extremely interesting periodization factor. This possible small scale difference opens up the flood gates for a bigger question and a historiographical analysis of the start and finish of the Gilded Age.

January 22, 2014December 16, 2020

Historicization in historical study versus popular imagination

All three articles for Thursday’s reading examine the ways in which we think about history and the lenses through which we examine it. Rebecca Edwards, of New Spirits fame, continues the thoughtful discussion that we have been having as a class about whether the moniker of “Gilded Age” is appropriate for the time period we are discussing. Rightly, she argues, as we have discussed, that the most prominent Gilded Age stereotypes do not fully characterize the era. To wit, she raises the Grange movement, the Populist party, the American Farmer’s Alliance, the Interstate Commerce Act, the Sherman Antitrust Act, and muckraking journalism, among other items.

Edwards’ ardent argument regarding historicization of the Gilded Age clearly emerges from a depth of knowledge, and I don’t seek to reject her interpretation out of hand; yet, I think that her frustration with existing perspectives on the Gilded Age comes from teachers and students, not from historians. The dominant narrative of the Gilded Age, which Edwards’ glosses in her opening paragraphs, does not, I believe, dominate the historical literature inappropriately. Rather, the nuance with which Edwards would like students of history to examine the Gilded Age is lost in the shuffle of high school classes which cover American history from colonialism to the eve of World War 2. Unfortunately, that lost nuance drives popular perception of the Gilded Age as one of pure corruption, crony capitalism and Jim Crow. Yet, serious students of history still examine these issues with the perceptiveness and depth which Edwards desires. It is simply not reasonable to expect that the nation as a whole will embrace a complex vision of each era of history when eras themselves tend to get reduced down to their very essence by teachers who must move through them in a week.

I fully agree with Price’s perspective that the Supreme Court’s conservative decisions during this period eviscerated the ability of reformers to make serious legislative progress. His analysis is also apt in that he acknowledges the inadequacies of Edwards’ argument regarding the significance of reform in this period. I would like to reiterate my own perspective: the dominant narrative of this period does not eliminate the possibility of the existence of counter-narrative occurrences; rather, the dominant narrative exists because is most accurately summarizes the dominant trends in Gilded Age society.

January 21, 2014December 16, 2020

The Hollow Men: Defending the Term “Glided Age”

When reading Rebecca Edwards’ New Spirits: Americans in the “Glided Age” 1865-1905, I couldn’t help noticing the awkwardness of how she utilized the term “Glided Age” in the title of her work while rejecting the use of the term in the book’s introduction (page 7). Her first footnote in “Politics, Social Movements, and the Periodization of U.S. History”, however, acknowledges this fact, noting how the Oxford University Press stressed that she include the term in her title. This acknowledgment alone is a glaring example of the divide historians have over the issue. Some historians believe that the term “Glided Age” under-represents the reform efforts from both private and public interests in the late 19th century. Edwards certainly falls into this group, as her “Politics” article claims that the epoch should be re-termed the “Early Progressive Era.” (473)

As a historiographical analysis, Edwards’ work examines other secondary sources and their responses to the how the “Glided Age” should be memorialized. Emily notes how her teacher tended to gloss over the period as an insignificant lull between brighter portions of American history. In this view, it was a low point and learning period before the improvements and reforms of the Roosevelt Administration. Edwards, however, focuses on the positive trends gained from the era. Government made its first forays into business regulation and consumer protection. Journalists and activists established campaigns to prevent excessive poverty and poor living standards. Labor and agricultural organizations rose up to challenge the robber barons. To Edwards, the “Early Progressive Era” was instrumental in later governmental attempts to actively improve the lives of common individuals.

Unfortunately, Edwards’ argument falls flat for many reasons. Primarily, she focuses on reactions to the “Glided Age” rather than on results. Her examples of “progressivism” failed to actually yield progress. For example, she offers “the Populist Party” as a example of Glided Age progressivism but fails to explain its inability to impact Washington politics (note William Jennings Bryan’s three unsuccessful presidential bids). She contends that the Sherman Antitrust Act (1890) was a cornerstone in governmental regulation, despite the awkward fact that it did not successfully challenge a monopoly until 1902 (for twelve years it was used exclusively against unions). Even her use of the Pendleton Act as evidence of “progressive politics” is ironic, considering that George Pendleton was one of the most vocal critics of the 13^th Amendment. (466) Progressive federal law simply stood no chance of making significant inroads before the liberalization of the Supreme Court in the 20^th century. Therefore, I believe Edwards’ definition of the Glided Age is absolutely correct- on the cover of New Spirits, that is. The empty space behind the golden covering remained hollow until the rise of Roosevelt, even if a majority of the populace acknowledged the hollowness.