I was talking to a friend of mine in the history program yesterday, telling him about two of my students who just did a great job on their first assignment in my course. He noted that I should fail them on principle-the principle of survival: we really don't want them to proceed into grad school and be competing with us for the ever-narrowing ( Read more... )

And still I push on in this very long and protracted narrative of my trip east into the West. Not much farther now, just this stretch from the nuclear heartland of South Dakota through one of the corniest spots in the nation to Minnesota and then another day across the unmapped cornfields, over the Mississippi, and to, finally, Evanston, Illinois ( Read more... )

After I finally got everything dry and packed away (I hate packing a wet tent), I went back to the battlefield for a second look around. During the day, there were a lot more tourists around, the parking lot was packed, and the whole scene was suffused with the unrelenting glare of the sun. It was nice to see, though, that a fair number of people ( Read more... )

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"Let us or the moment follow one thought. I state two facts:

"First-Every day in the year and [sic] average of three helpless wives are shot to death, beaten to death, knifed, poisoned, strangled, or in some other way, hurried out of this fair world by men who promised to make life beautiful for them.

"Second-Young women are in more danger from ( Read more... )

From a publication (circa early 1900s):

Dickory Dickory Dare

Dickory, dickory, dare!
About my health I care;
And so, you see,
No beer for me!
Dickory, dickory, dare!

The publication is Jingly Jingles and is filled with rewritten children rhymes

I finally connected with the volunteer archivist at the Frances Willard House in Evanston, IL, and, although she is not sure what (if any) materials they have of use for me, I will get full access to the collection. In fact, given the chaotic state of the collection, it sounds like I'll be able to work my way through boxes of uncataloged materials ( Read more... )

About a year ago, I presented a paper on a California Indian named José Peña. Peña caught my attention when he elected to join the all-white temperance society in Lockeford, California, circa 1860. How, I wondered, did an Indian end up being elected by the all-white membership to one of the leading organizations in this community. I suggested it ( Read more... )

The serendipity of historical research is always something that just sort of takes my breath away ( Read more... )

From the 11 September 1884 Union Signal:

Mrs. Hobart, president of the Minnesota W. C. T. U. keeps the crusade fires stil burning. She leads a holy war for the children's sake, against drunken public school teachers and officials. All honor to these mothers of the republic who watch and gurad [sic] its highest interests