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FORT Edwards perches above the Hudson River, forty miles north of Albany, at the juncture of the river and the Champlain branch of the State Barge Canal. Dominated by a large plant of the International Paper Company, even in the 1930s, the village had the appearance of an old and somber mill town. Apart from the gravesite of Revolutionary War martyr Jane McCrea, its only noteworthy feature was that it served as headquarters for the International Brotherhood of Pulp, Sulphite, and Paper Mill Workers, AFL (IBPSPMW). Even so, Fort Edwards was hardly a center of laborite activism. "Fort Edwards is a village of less than four thousand," observed the union's president, John P. Burke, and it had "no labor movement of any kind."' Yet it was from this isolated community that IBPS PMW responded to the organizational opportunities offered by the New Deal and by frustrated, resentful working people throughout the country. The brotherhood's efforts to tap this grass roots militancy and to build effective unions in the important converted paper industry-a field geographically and organizationally remote from the union's traditional sources of strength-offer important insights into the nature and significance of rank and file unionism in the 1930s. In recent years, the theme of grass roots militancy has attracted the attention of students of the labor movement of the 1930s. Perhaps stimulated by excellent narrative accounts2 and by the social ferment of the

The Educational Resources Information Center (ERIC), sponsored by the U.S. Department of Education, is the largest and oldest education information system in the world. The ERIC Clearinghouse for Social Studies/Social Science Education (ERIC/ChESS) is one of sixteen subject-oriented clear inghouses that compose the ERIC system. The heart of this system, the ERIC database of education-related literature, con tains nearly one million citations with abstracts, drawn from a variety of disciplines. Citations to journal articles, teaching and curriculum guides, bibliographies, research reports, and confer ence papers are included. The ERIC database is available free in many large public and university libraries and on the Internet. The listings below are drawn from the ERIC database and include both teaching materials and general background informa tion on the topic. The key to obtaining the full text of the materials cited below is the unique ERIC number assigned to each item in the database. Journal articles, denoted by "EJ" numbers (for example, EJ549890) can be copied at most academic libraries, borrowed through interlibrary loan, or purchased from article reprint services such as UnCover, UMI, and ISI. Research reports, conference papers, and other materials besides journal articles are denoted by "ED" numbers (for example, ED398110); paper or microfiche copies of most of these documents can be purchased from the ERIC Document Reproduction Service (EDRS), 7420 Fullerton Road, Suite 110, Springfield, VA 22153-2852; (800) 443-3742; (703) 440-1400; ; ; or copied from an ERIC microfiche collection, avail able at many libraries. ERIC/ChESS welcomes requests for general information or sample database searches on topics within the social studies, social sciences, and music and art education. Contact ERIC/ChESS by telephone at (800) 266-3815 or (812) 855-3838, or by e-mail at . Background Information Brinkley, Alan. "The New Deal: An Overview." Social Education 60 (September 1996): 255-58. EJ534967. This ar ticle characterizes the New Deal as "the single most important twentieth-century episode in the creation of the modern Ameri can state." Brinkley discusses the astonishing range of legisla tive activity enacted to respond to the Great Depression and the ensuing political opposition. He frankly evaluates those programs that failed. Cohen, Robert. "Dear Mrs. Roosevelt: Cries for Help from Depression Youth." Social Education 60 (September 1996): 271 76. EJ534971. Cohen personalizes the devastating effect of the Great Depression on young people through excerpts of letters sent to Eleanor Roosevelt. Young people across the country responded to the First Lady's efforts on behalf of the poor and dispossessed. The author also discusses the many relief and work programs created by the New Deal. Fogel, Jared A., and Robert L. Stevens. "The Safford, Arizona, Murals of Seymour Fogel: A Study in Artistic Controversy." Social Education 60 (September 1996): 287-91. EJ534976. Fogel and Stevens examine the controversy surrounding art works commis sioned by the Works Progress Administration (WPA). Attempt ing to create work for depression-era artists, the WPA often commissioned murals for government buildings. The article recounts the experience of Seymour Fogel, whose positive portrayal of Native Americans ran contrary to racist senti ments in Safford, Arizona. Maney, Patrick J. "The Rise and Fall of the New Deal Congress, 1933-1945." OAH Magazine of History 12 (Summer 1998): 13-19. EJ572677. This article recounts the role of Congress in creating New Deal legislation. Maney argues that the impetus for many pieces of legislation came from Congress, not from President Roosevelt. He suggests that the story of

Picturing Migrants: The Grapes of Wrath and New Deal Documentary Photography . Charles M. Russell Center Series on Art and Photography of the American West. By James R. Swensen. (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2015. xi + 256 pp. Illustrations, notes, bibliography, index. $34.95.) In this richly illustrated, carefully researched book, James R. Swensen, assistant professor of the history of photography at Brigham Young University, reveals the fascinating interplay between Farm Security Administration (FSA) photographs and the print and film versions of John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath (1939). While other scholars have noted some of the connections, Swensen devotes sustained attention to them. In addition to the photographs themselves, Swensen draws upon interviews with the photographers, the papers of Steinbeck and FSA head Roy Stryker, journalism, agency records, and hundreds of secondary sources. The author convincingly argues that FSA photographs … Brian_cannon{at}byu.edu

This paper describes the ways in which African Americans were written out of or subordinated within the social policies of the New Deal period. To explain this feature of the New Deal, I argue that the existing social science perspectives on social policy need to be built on a greater appreciation of the role of racial subjugation in the construction of class interests, party processes, and the state. The recovery of this racial basis helps us understand why our liberal welfare state resists efforts to move in a more social democratic direction.

This paper examines the rise and decline of the unemployed workers movement in the United States in the 1930s. The analysis highlights the articulation of the movement's organizational form and the larger political environment to explain these changes. The movement's inability to change its organizational form in the face of early New Deal reforms led to the precipitous decline in protest activity in 1934. Contrary to the Piven and Cloward thesis, this inability derived from neither oligarchic tendencies within the leadership nor political coaptation by the New Deal, but from the competition between organizations within the movement. Although protest declined, lobbying continued and shifted the parameters of the welfare debate in 1934 and 1935. I consider the implications of this analysis for theories of collective action and argue that movement structure and political environment are key resources in a movement's development.

Since passage of the Wagner Act in 1935, U.S. labor law has guaranteed workers the right to strike. Three years later, the same system of law assured the employer's right to continue production in spite of a strike. This paper explores how the Wagner Act and its subsequent developments have simultaneously empowered workers and constrained their collective capacity to exercise control over the workplace. Historical legal analysis of Wagner and its applications, interpretations, and amendments indicates that the law has diminished the effectiveness of the strike, reduced the likelihood of its occurrence, and limited its legitimate forms, all the while sustaining the right to strike. I argue that by this careful balance of empowerment and constraint, the state has found the means of reconciling the structural constraints of capitalism—the imperatives of accumulation—with those of democracy— the demands of legitimacy.

7ITHUCYDIDES, in Book I of The Peloponnesian War, compares certain speeches included in his history to those actually delivered. On some occasions he had been present; on other occasions, he had had to rely on reports. In all instances it had been quite impossible "to carry them [the speeches] word for word in one's memory," and Thucydides adopted the scheme of having his "speakers say what was in my opinion demanded of them by the various occasions, of course adhering as closely as possible to the general sense of what they really said."1 Pericles' funeral oration, and less familiar speeches designed for Brasidas, Nicias, Gylippus, and a host of others-many of whom are remembered only through the words Thucydides would have them say-have provided source material for historians for almost 2,400 years. Subsequent generations held Thucydides' judgment in respect, and no other available sources seemed so authoritative and complete. During the twentieth century, despite the availability of recording devices and the New York Times, Judge Samuel I. Rosenman emerged as the Thucydides of the New Deal. Although Franklin D. Roosevelt deliberately set in motion the machinery which established Rosenman's position, it is highly improbable that the President ever anticipated the full impact which Rosenman would assert upon New Deal historiography. During January 1937, Roosevelt directed Rosenman's editorial talents toward the preparation of a multivolume edition of the President's speeches and other public papers for the years through 1936. Roosevelt's private letters, papers, and memoranda were not to be included in the volumes. As conceived by the President, the publication was part of a larger decision to establish a library at Hyde Park, which would ultimately serve as a repository for all Roosevelt's papers and a center for the study of his administration and personal

Henry Agard Wallace was a geneticist of international renown, a prolific author, a groundbreaking economist, & a businessman whose company paved th way for a worldwide agricultural revolution. He also held two cabinet posts, served four tumultuous years as America's wartime vice president under FDR, and waged a quixotic campaign for president in 1948. Wallace was a figure of Sphinx-like paradox, a shy man, uncomfortable in the world of politics who only narrowly missed becoming president of the United States: the scion of prominent Midwestern Republicans and the philosophical embodiment of New Deal liberalism loved by millions as the Prophet of the Common Man and reviled by millions more as a dangerous misguided radical. John C. Culver and John F. Hyde have combed through thousands of document pages and family papers from Wallace's letters and diaries to previously unavailable files sealed within the archives of the Soviet Union. Here is the remakable story of an authentic American dreamer.

Public health is one of the most frequently discussed concepts in constitutional law. As any student of the subject knows, references to public health, or the laws designed to protect it, appear in many of the Supreme Court's most famous opinions, such as Gibbons v. Ogden,l Slaughter-House2 and Lochner v. New York.3 In all of those cases, public health is discussed in conjunction with the police power, that elusive power of the states to regulate their internal affairs. To most scholars, however, public health itself has had no real import to the development of constitutional law theory. The Court's use of the term is seen at best as rhetorical and at worst as obfuscatory.4 Both "public health" and the "police power" that states used to advance it are seen as meaningless terms that the New Deal Court wisely put aside.5 In this paper I challenge that assessment of public health's role in constitutional law. I argue that the term "public health" once had a relatively clear and widely understood meaning, and that it served, for a time, to provide some concreteness to the concept of the "police power." When the ante-bellum or Reconstruction Court stated that the police power enabled states to protect the public health, the Court was following widely accepted traditions and invoking terms whose meanings were relatively well understood. By associating the police power with public health, the Court was thereby acceding to the commonly shared view that public

W A hen former San Francisco mayor Joseph L. Alioto referred to New Deal liberalism as the inspiration for the initiatives of his administration, he thereby testified to both the ideological continuity between western and national politics and to the victory of conservative over radical priorities in urban policy. Western historians have appreciated such "imitative" dimensions of their region since Earl Pomeroy made his strong argument on the subject in 1955, but the extent to which post-New Deal liberalism in the West represented a conservative accommodation to capitalism has yet to be explored. This paper addresses that topic by analyzing the case of liberalism and urban policy in San Francisco, and it does so in the context of a growing literature critical of romanticism and reductionism in western history.2 When dramatic worldwide processes such as industrialization, or global events such as depression and war, alter relationships between individuals, groups, and organizations, new social networks develop that struggle over the economic and political resources necessary for urban policy-making. These struggles take place in ways that continue to be structured by previously existing economic and political institutions, and ideologies. Social change occurs in such contexts, and the task of

The role of the civil rights issue in the 1960 presidential election was investigated through a survey of the voting intentions of 130 Negroes and 147 whites in a southern city. The civil rights issue proved to be of central importance in the decisions of the Negro voters. The white voters, on the other hand, tended to make their decisions on other grounds, and the civil rights issue played a much lesser role. This was due not to indifference toward the issue but rather to the belief that the stands of Nixon and Kennedy were equally unacceptable. Thus Kennedy was able to attract a majority of Negro voters by adopting a somewhat more militant stance than his opponent on civil rights without alienating a large number of southern whites, who tended to regard any differences between the candidates on civil rights as insignificant. O S NE OF THE major issues of recent presidential election campaigns in the United States has been the question of civil rights for Negroes. Yet, in spite of the great importance attached to the issue by the candidates in the conduct of their campaigns, the impact of the issue upon the voting decisions of the public has not generally been studied except in indirect fashion, primarily through the analysis of gross voting returns. Thus we have little knowledge of the specific effects of the civil rights issue as distinct from other issues with regard to the voting patterns of either Negroes or whites. There have been many studies of Negro presidential voting based primarily upon the analysis of voting returns in predominantly Negro wards and precincts in southern and northern cities.' These studies show that until 1936 Negroes in the United States tended to vote Republican as a kind of perpetual monument to Reconstruction. New Deal economic and welfare measures, however, tended to attract Negroes to the Democratic party in the elections between 1936 and 1952. In 1956 there were widespread defections back to the Republican Party. According to Lubell's study of 86 cities, Eisenhower received only 25 percent of the Negro vote in these cities in 1952 but received 36 percent in 1956.2 The change was especially great in the southern cities, where the percent voting for Eisenhower rose from 19 percent in 1952 to 47 percent in 1956. A Gallup poll in January 1957, showed that "of all the major groups of the nation's population, the one that shifted most to the Eisenhower-Nixon ticket... was the Negro voter."3 The reason for the shift of the Negro vote in 1956 has been the subject of much speculation. Moon believes that "civil rights was most certainly an important consideration in the minds of Negro voters," and he points out that their switch was most pronounced in the South, where the issue was sharp and inescapable.4 Lubell states that ... . the crucial struggle in the minds of Negroes during the last campaign was the conflict between their anger over incidents of racial violence in the South and the economic attachment that they felt to the Democratic party."'5 Where unemployment was heavy and where Negroes were relatively well integrated into the labor movement, as in Michigan and Toledo, there were few defections from the * Paper read at the twenty-fourth annual meeting of the Southern Sociological Society, Miami Beach, Florida, April 1961. I am indebted to the Research Council of Florida State University for financial support of this study and to Charles U. Smith of Florida A. & M. University for his co-operation and assistance during the field survey phase of the study. 1 See Elston Roady, "The Negro's Role in Southern Politics," The Negro in American Society (Tallahassee: Florida State University Studies, no. 28, 1958); Hugh D. Price, The Negro and Southern Politics (New York: New York University Press, 1957); Margaret Price, The Negro Voter in the South (Atlanta: Southern Regional Council, 1957); and the numerous articles in the Journal of Negro Education, 26 (Summer 1957). 2 Samuel Lubell, "The Future of the Negro Voter in the United States," Journal of Negro Education, 26 (Summer 1957), pp. 408-417. 3 Henry Lee Moon, "The Negro Vote in the Presidential Election of 1956," Journal of Negro Education, 26 (Summer 1957), pp. 219-230. 4 Ibid. p. 226. 5 Lubell, op. cit., p. 408. This content downloaded from 157.55.39.208 on Fri, 14 Oct 2016 04:22:55 UTC All use subject to http://about.jstor.org/terms

to reconstruct with the aid of our past experience the picture in the artist's head. Unless it jars our expectations, we say it is a true picture. The foregoing rapid characterization of a method which has been used skilfully in rural research by such writers as J. M. Williams makes no claim to adequacy. Particularly, we have failed to demarcate boundaries between fiction, such as Rolvaag's Giants in the Earth and the first cousin of fiction, such as Sandburg's Lincoln: The Prairie Years, which places closer restrictions on an author's imagination. The whole subject is, of course, beyond the scope of the present paper. It is mentioned here only by way of attempting to see statistical induction, the main subject of our remarks, in an undistorted setting. While the trend in rural research has been perhaps toward the method used by Brunner and Kolb, a very profitable meeting might be devoted soon to a critical reconsideration of the criteria of validity and the practical values of the method used by J. M. Williams. The possibility of eventually imitating physical science in its establishment of universal inductions has not been denied; neither has it been affirmed. Experience in social investigations is too young to permit any discussion of universal inductions except in the abstract. Usually, the mnost we can do is to project results haltingly and then only within the limits of a restricted culture area. This projection, no matter how meticulous our methods in the original historical study, is often just a laymnan's guess. We have not yet been vouchsafed credentials to serve as the oracles of Apollo. And what of it? There is solid, important work to be done, and rural social research is doing it conscientiously.

The attitude of historians toward business and its history reflects the state of the larger culture. During the Progressive period historians wrote about business villains who were responsible for a capitalism that exploited its workers, while in the New Deal era business was suspect because it had "caused" the Great Depression. In the aftermath of World War II, individual entrepreneurs portrayed as business heroes took center stage in the historiography, for they had been an essential element in the victory over Germany, Italy, and Japan. During the past twenty years business history has altered its emphasis, largely in response to the pioneering efforts of Alfred D. Chandler, Jr. Chandler's work stressed the changing nature of business organization, from a personal capitalism of unified enterprises dominated by owner-managers to a managerial capitalism of multiple operating units run by a group of middle and top managers. The latter stage has its counterpart in the larger culture where individualism struggles in an increasingly anonymous, bureaucratized world. In an attempt to understand business as a changing institution, the new business history has focused on corporate culture, the meanings and symbols shared by employees at all levels within an industry.' Oral history-with its ability to customize evidence by the careful crafting of questions and its emphasis on all groups within a population or organization, from the lowest to the highest is well suited to the study of business history through investigation of corporate culture. Oral history is a particularly valuable tool because it can fill in gaps in the historical record created by the practice of making important decisions without much paper documentation and can provide information about members of the work force for whom few archival records are maintained. This essay addresses three major points: the nature of existing collections of business oral history; the particular methodological and ethical problems that confront creators and consumers of business oral history; and the way future business oral history should be pursued.

TH TOW can the agricultural economists help to shape the nation's farm policy? Perhaps a historical analysis of the experiences of the economists of an earlier day who had some influence upon national policy may hold something of significance for the policy-oriented economists of today.' Many economists contributed to the development of New Deal farm policy. This paper will look at but four of the most prominent who were both professors and economists: Rexford G. Tugwell, M. L. Wilson, George F. Warren and William I. Myers. Their role was large-too large to survey in these pages. But the basic significance of their experiences can be discussed. That significance lay in the relationships between ideas and power. When these economists became interested in shaping policy, they found that they had entered a world in which power was the fundamental reality. They found that they had to think in power terms as well as economic terms. Economists had to explore the location, function, and nature of power and the ways in which changes in elements in the political situation influenced power relationships. The economists' ideas helped them to gain access to power for men of power needed economic ideas. But the ideas alone, no matter what their quality may have been, did not enable the economists to control policy. They first had to establish working relationships with men who had the capacity to control policy. Thus the ideas of the economists had to appear to harmonize with the interests of such men. In short, Tugwell, Wilson, Warren and Myers found, often from bitter experience, that men of ideas needed to learn to work with men of power. Economists needed to learn to work with officeholders, representatives of organized interest groups, men of wealth, and men with political skills. The pragmatic orientation of much of the American academic world provided an underlying explanation of the ability of these economists to work with some men of power. By the 1930's, as one well-informed observer of the "Brain Trust" noted, American universities had for "nearly forty years" been insisting that their "business" was "not only to preserve, to increase and to interpret knowledge, but to cariy scholarship and