Book Reviews, Book Notes, & Periodical Literature Volume 53 (1994), pp. 133-178

WEST VIRGINIA: A HISTORY. Second edition, by Otis K. Rice and Stephen W. Brown (Lexington: Univ. Press of Kentucky, 1993. Pp. x, 344. $32.00.)

No history book has a greater influence upon the public's knowledge of state development than a survey text adopted by the state's colleges and universities. The Mountain State has been fortunate in its survey writing by having the long-running and out-of-print work by Charles Ambler and Festus Summers and now the present Otis Rice. Since the last edition of Ambler and Summers's West Virginia: The Mountain State in 1958, a substantial amount of time and writing on previously unexplored topics waited synthesis. Rice's first edition appeared in 1985 with the laudable goal of presenting a narrative history with essential and accurate information, while deemphasizing the interpretive and analytical, to "informed West Virginians and others interested" in state history.

This new version has not undergone any extreme or significant change. The main alterations include, presumably for purposes of succession, the addition of a co-author, Rice's capable colleague at West Virginia Institute of Technology, and a new fifteen-page chapter which covers Governor Arch Moore's ill-fated third term and Gaston Caperton's first administration. The configurations of the original chapters and the pictures remain the same. Rice and Brown have removed most glitches, revised the preface, added a footnote, eliminated one paragraph from each of two chapters, and somewhat updated the bibliography.

Because of the dominance of Ambler and Summers and this survey in the study of state history, a brief comparison is necessary. Having greater length for a shorter historical period, the older book is vastly more encyclopedic. The Rice/Brown effort is a fine narrative history written in a readable style that more than fulfills the requirement of historiographic timeliness. Without hint of parochialism, there is greater emphasis on social and cultural matters within the confines of deterministic geography, frontier land legislation, and resultant land tenure. The newer work could profit from the editorial allotment of more pages so that more details of the story could be presented, and some interpretative effort could stimulate the narrative.

In a generally chronological approach, fourteen of the twenty-five chapters of the book cover the Virginia origins of West Virginia from the prehistoric to the statehood era. The placement of early exploration and frontier settlement with their imperial and colonial aspects in international and national perspective reflects the breadth of approach in the entire volume. The authors confront the main issues of western Virginian development and several falsehoods that mountaineers have fabricated about themselves. They view the land speculators' role before the French and Indian War as constructive, and they correctly emphasize the determinism of the Virginia laws of 1779 in alienating the land for subsequent generations. The first settler claim, the Betty Zane legend, and the false assertion that the Battle of Point Pleasant in Dunmore's War was the first battle of the American Revolution are temperately considered. Their dissection of social, cultural, and educational life stresses its diversity and progress within a difficult environment. The vivid portrayal of hardships and deprivation should dispel any modern romantic notions of pastoral Appalachian life before industrialization. Economic change intensified the velocity and degree of hardship in the mountains. The analysis of antebellum economic growth, the issues of sectional conflict in Virginia, and the influence of slavery on politics incorporates the latest scholarship in the field.

Perhaps the most controversial topic in West Virginia history is the interpretation of the statehood movement and partisan alignments during the Civil War. Little new scholarship has propelled the analysis beyond that of Richard Or Curry and George Ellis Moore. Unionist and secessionist viewpoints emerge while the more extravagant claims made on behalf of statehood opponents are qualified. Without new sources, John S. Carlile's motivations for moving from statehood firebrand to opponent must remain somewhat obscure. Civil War military campaigns are appropriately cast within the strategic requirements of new state politics and national necessity.

Relevant chapters on agriculture, industrial growth, labor, and education intersperse those that trace state political complexities through gubernatorial administrations to the present. The rendition is comprehensive and adequate. Whatever is lacking in the text's account is exactly what current historiographic research and writing cannot support. Only a minimum of research has concentrated on West Virginias Progressive Era (if it had one), the 1920s, the New Deal, and post-World War II. Hardly any investigation exists on West Virginia's legislature or its influential elected judiciary.

In political matters, the authors and other historians should be wary about taking at face value the politicians' labeling of themselves, their legislation, and the advocations of their allies and opponents. Because historians often starve for a good story to spice their writing, they sometimes swallow camels. Corroboration is required before accepting the account about Henry D. Hatfield's alleged physical examination of Mother Jones at Pratt.

Because of its recent nature, historical emphasis in the new chapter on the third Moore administration and the Caperton tenure is tentative, but the authors more than catalog current events. The tantalizing historical perennials of unemployment, population loss, corruption, official ineptitude, tough environmental fights, the teachers' strike and changes in public education, higher education governance, and Senator Robert C. Byrd's funneling of federal largesse bloom into full flower. No doubt exists that old themes in state history resprout, but the historical jury of appraisal must remain out, deferring to the passage of time.

Recent historical work could have amplified and sharpened several topics. Richard K. McMaster's study of the early Virginia cattle trade provides an opportunity to discuss national implications of an important economic activity in the Eastern Panhandle. Richard Lowe's work on Francis H. Pierpont and Virginia Reconstruction could elaborate the interstate connections of West Virginia's genesis. Ronald L. Lewis's and Joe W. Trotter's publications about African Americans in the coal districts illuminate several important features of society.

Because of his dedicated and continual research in West Virginia subjects and because he is the author of the standard essay on the writing of West Virginia history, no one could have been more mindful of the difficulties of writing surveys and more likely to overcome them than Rice. This work is a substantial professional achievement. The new co-author has a significant legacy to maintain. West Virginians and others must be indebted to both for their graceful accomplishment.

John E. Stealey, III

Shepherd College

WEST VIRGINIA: CRITICAL ESSAYS ON THE LITERATURE. Edited by Ronald L. Lewis and John C. Hennen, Jr. (Dubuque, IA: Kendall/Hunt Publishing, 1993. Pp. xix, 247. $29.95.)

The West Virginia Humanities Council deserves applause for its support of the development and production of this collection of essays. This much needed historiographical treatment of some state history themes is must reading for all those who have an interest in the states past and future. It also provides an understanding of the present which, in the minds of many state citizens, is at best ambivalent or negative. It affects the image by which West Virginia is perceived. West Virginia has been characterized as the "saddest of all American states," a "province" with seemingly "overwhelming" liabilities, and as being more like Afghanistan than Switzerland. In fact, some describe it as a state of "misery among riches," a "colony" controlled by absentee landlords, suffering from "population drain," "debased politics," and an endemic "deprssion of the spirit." However, most agree that West Virginia has been blessed with pristine natural beauty, and many will agree with Theodore H. White that West Virginians are "the best mannered and most courteous in the nation." In a variety of ways this work deals with the problem of historical image.

Ronald L. Lewis and John C. Hennen, Jr. have done a first-rate job as editors of this project. This kind of work would, by its very nature, lend itself to editorial problems. Yet the editing has resulted in a work with virtually no problems. The editors' goal is to "provide scholars with a readily available assessment of the state-of-the-literature in West Virginia studies, and to suggest directions for productive new research to fill the existing voids, or to correct misinterpretations." All of these clearly written essays are rather thorough literature surveys. They deal with most of the major historical problems in their topical areas and, as might be expected, sometimes overlap. All make significant contributions and raise important questions.

John E. Stealey's comprehensive essay on West Virginia politics is a thoughtful analysis of the state's political issues, historical trends, and the historians who have attempted to craft the story. He reveals that a significant "scholarly vacuum" exists and little has been accomplished in the realm of broad historical interpretation and analysis. He has successfully perused the major works on West Virginia politics and provides an excellent overview of the subject. He finds research on antebellum West Virginia is "undeveloped" and no modern riverain study exists. The impact of progressivism in the state has not been studied, post-World War I political history is a "vast desert," and little has been written on the New Deal in the state. Studies of West Virginia congressmen are "rare" and studies of legislative politics and legislators "are generally lacking." Studies of the judicial branch are "needed to comprehend political change," political corruption remains "unexplored," and the careers of Matthew M. Neely, Jennings Randolph, and Walter Hallahan await their biographers. In sum, the field of modern political history is wide open.

Otis K. Rice thoroughly surveys the historiography of all levels of education in West Virginia. He points out that "much remains to be done, including a synthesis of western Virginia education prior to 1863." He calls for an updating of Charles Ambler's History of Education and more examinations of county and regional educational trends. In higher education, Rice sees a need for a system-wide historical approach, as well as biographies of outstanding educators. He challenges professional historians to "lift the educational historiography to a plane where it can address the fundamental truths and values that have informed our history from the time of the ancient Greeks to the present day."

Paul Salstrom examines the economic history of the state and raises questions about the dichotomy between its rich natural resources and its historically weak economic position. His survey of the literature reveals that little "analysis or interpretation" exists, and agriculture and finance have received scant attention from historians. A major gap requiring attention is mid-nineteenth century empire building, causing the state to import more goods than it exported due to lack of manufacturing. Another issue is the role of the federal government in the development of the chemical and manufacturing enterprises in the Charleston, Huntington, and Parkersburg areas.

Edward M. Steel analyzes the historiography of the state's labor history and concludes "only a beginning has been made." Pointing out that labor history has only been recognized as an area of study since the 1960s, Steel reveals gaps in the early history of the region, including pottery, barrel making, and whiskey. Likewise, he concludes that iron, steel, and other metal workers have been neglected. Although historians have written about the railroads, they have failed to focus much attention on the railway worker. Moreover, historians have not documented the state's oil and gas workers. Finally, he calls for more research on union leadership.

Frederick A. Barkey reviews th literature on immigration and ethnicity in the state. His well-reasoned analysis treats the recruitment of immigrant laborers, their diversity, and assimilation. He calls for an examination of the middle-class immigrant's role in assimilation, as well as an analysis of migration patterns. Finally, he feels the ethnic "sense of community" must be explored and that historians should employ demographic methodology.

Barbara J. Howe does an outstanding job of providing a historical framework for the history of women in the state. She places women's history in context and discusses the importance of oral sources in documenting women's history. The role of women on the frontier, during the Civil War, in the operation of family coal mines, in religious life, and in World Wars I and II should be explored. Likewise, work needs to be done on the women's academies, women as independent agents, women's organizations, and the women's movement. There is also a need for a biography of Anna Jarvis, who stimulated interest in the establishment of Mothers Day. She argues that the "field of West Virginia women's history . . . is one that is open to anyone who wishes to contribute" and it "begs further inquiry."

West Virginia's black history is an area which, according to Joe W. Trotter, is "replete with blindspots." His excellent critique of the literature and sources of black history is very useful. In fact, there exists a large number of primary sources available to scholars interested in black history. These include federal and state demographic sources, manuscript and archival collections found in depositories inside and outside the state, periodicals, and oral histories. He calls for more studies of the "lives of black women, life in mountain cities, and changes since the Great Depression and World War II."

Finally, Dianne Bady and Richard Bady attempt to break new ground by focusing on environmental issues in a historical and public policy framework. They point out the basic problem of being a "resource colony" to outside interests who have generally controlled politicians of both parties. These interests blocked the 1903 attempt to raise corporate taxes and the enactment of a severance tax. Although they attempt to place the environmental issue in historical context, they fail to place it in the historical context of the national conservation movement of the Progressive Era and the impact of the New Deal. However, they synthesize in excellent fashion the recent trends of the environmental question. They deal with strip mining and conclude that attempts to regulate or block it have been mixed. They address the evils of acid mine drainage and the failure of the Division of Energy to perform adequately its regulatory functions. They examine the difficulty of regulating the timber industry and the problems of air pollution. Likewise, they review recent debates on out-of-state waste and groundwater. They conclude that the successes on environmental issues resulted from various citizen groups forged as a powerful political force. Finally, they point out that West Virginians, as the operatives of outside corporate interests, aided their exploitation, and this has been especially true of the "politicians who have done the corporate bidding throughout the states history."

Lewis and Hennen "hope to direct the attention of scholars toward the abundant opportunities for producing a fresh crop of historical studies from new unbroken fields." These essays succeed in pointing the way. Yet if scholarship is to succeed, it must have an outlet beyond West Virginia History. In order to bridge the void in state history, there is dire need of a first-rate university press. The scholars in this collection of essays have issued the call for new research, but the stimulus of an appropriate publishing outlet for research unique to West Virginia is still needed.

Robert F. Maddox

Marshall University

WEST VIRGINIA: A HISTORY FOR BEGINNERS. By John Alexander Williams (Charleston: Appalachian Editions, 1993. Pp. ix, 278. $22.95.)

"As a citizen of the state, you will be called upon to make judgements and choices for the future, no doubt involving others who live here. A knowledge of West Virginia's resources -- including its institutions and cultural values -- will help you make more intelligent decisions about our future. Simply put, you should be better able to decide where your state should go if you know where it's been." John Alexander Williams challenges the young reader to face the future in West Virginia: A History for Beginners, a thoughtful examination of the Mountain State's rich and proud heritage.

As stated in the preface, the author believes that the diversity of the people who settled this land is what makes our state's history exciting. Throughout the book, individuals and their interactions with others are presented as reasons why certain events or changes occurred. With a narrative style and use of interesting sidebar information, the text is well written and very readable. Moreover, it piques the reader's curiosity for further study.

The book is divided into four major sections covering what the author refers to as the frontier, statehood, industrial, and bureaucratic periods, and a fifth section on living in the state. The frontier section discusses exploration and cultural exchange between Native Americans and Europeans. Statehood examines the issues of sectional conflict between eastern and western Virginia. The industrial section defines the economic and industrial development of the state and the bureaucratic segment details the social impact of government, business, and labor on West Virginians in the twentieth century. The last section covers food, clothing, shelter, and includes biographies of famous and "not-so-famous" West Virginia residents. Missing is any mention of Chuck Yeager, Harmon Blennerhassett, Anna Jarvis, and other notables. Also included in the back of the book are a glossary of ninety terms and an index.

The information is presented in a style that is easy to comprehend. Many excellent explanations are given for such complex subjects as the French and Indian War and statehood. The text gives in-depth coverage of Native American influence in the state. The layout is to be commended for a nice balance of text, graphics, occasional sidebars, and wide margins. Notably absent is standard information of the state's geography and geographic regions. The text has liberal illustrations, including many maps, charts, photographs, and drawings. When the text mentions an event or area in the state, an outline map with the particular county shaded is usually found in the margin. In addition, important terms are in bold print.

As a textbook designed to hold the attention of today's student, the readability is excellent. On average, four study questions requiring more than recall are at the end of each chapter. Students are encouraged to interpret the information they examine. However, the book's stark black-and-white format will deter student interest, and its paperback binding is not durable enough for the classroom.

A teacher's guide is available which attempts to fill the text's geography gap left "for instructors who prefer to present geographic information in more traditional formats." Primary source documents are included for each chapter as well as suggested background readings. While it does not have reproducible blackline masters, it includes activities for different learning styles, with many suggestions for assignments requiring students to do further research.

Although there is still not a definitive textbook for younger readers on this topic, Williams makes an admirable contribution to educating students on the state's history. All West Virginians, and those who wish to learn more about the state, will find this book to be very enjoyable and one they will refer to time and time again.

Barbara Christo

Nitro High School

THE ANTEBELLUM KANAWHA SALT BUSINESS AND WESTERN MARKETS. By John E. Stealey, III (Lexington: Univ. Press of Kentucky, 1993. Pp. 256. $36.00.)

The neglect of economic historians to relate properly the contributions of midwestern and western enterprises to the economic development of the nation prior to the Civil War is partially remedied by this volume. The Antebellum Kaawha Salt Business and Western Markets is a piece of meticulous scholarship and an outstanding reconstruction, mostly from primary sources, of one of the first major manufacturing industries to develop in what is now southern West Virginia. This volume traces the development of the salt industry in the Kanawha Valley.

The book is the accumulation of thirty years of intensive research by the author, a task made difficult by the general absence of corporate records and correspondence. Nevertheless, using legal documents such as court and property records, reports of legislative committees, and minutes of corporate meetings, the author has reconstructed the period in which the industry grew and ultimately declined. The thoroughness of the author's research by itself would recommend the book, but there is also much more.

A dominant theme is the continuing attempt of salt manufacturers to control the market in which they sold their product. While there were a few short-term successes, most of these efforts failed. It was only when market conditions created desperate situations that the fiercely individualistic owners considered a joint operation to limit supply to the market, insuring prices sufficient to cover production costs. The efforts of the Kanawha entrepreneurs, for even the most casual reader, will lead to comparisons with those of oil sheiks to limit production and control price through the Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC). Competition from outside producers, inability to prevent cheating, and a market that absorbed only a portion of production doomed both to failure.

These attempts at combination, cooperation, and collusion predate the more widely publicized corporate trusts, joint stock companies, and pools of the post-Civil War period. The author notes that this post-Civil War collusive activity was an extension and refinement of earlier legal organizations. The business organizations attempted in the saline bottoms of the Kanawha Valley were the direct forerunners of the business concentrations of the latter nineteenth century. Unable to rationalize production on their own, the salt manufacturers sought an ally in state government, petitioning for corporate charters, internal improvements, and reduced taxes with only limited success.

At the national level, attempts to retain the tariff against imported salt were not completely successful, resulting in limited insulation against foreign competition. The desire to be protected from competition from foreign producers, neighboring states, and among themselves dominates the industry's history. Like their counterparts of today, the salt producers favored free trade in principle. But they also saw it as a potential source of personal ruin and relentlessly pursued its limitation.

Feeling they possessed a superior product, the Kanawha businessmen saw government regulation as a way of keeping an adulterated and improperly weighed product off the market. They also favored state banking over a federal system and sought either branches of existing banks or charters for their own financial institutions from the state.

The inclusion of salt in the tariff debates of the antebellum period demonstrates its importance. Led by Missouri Senator Thomas Hart Benton, critics charged that consumers of pork were gouged by unnecessarily high prices caused by the artificially maintained price of salt. The arguments used by the salt producers, including stability of supply, local employment, and product quality, were essentially the same as those advanced recently by the opponents of the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA).

More than just a recitation of the internal and external legal environments, this book also shows how technological advances created an industry which was dynamic, despite the uncertainties of the market, and controlled costs through improved efficiency. Many of these techniques involving drilling, extraction, refining, and marketing were later adapted by the oil and gas industry. Contrary to the widely held view, the author finds no support for the argument that slave labor retarded technological innovation. Faced with a chronic shortage of labor and comparatively high wages, slaves were imorted. The author concludes that slaves were well treated, and students of the institution will benefit greatly from his insights.

While one is tempted to say that this book is the last word on the early Kanawha salt industry, areas remain for further study. Economic historians might ask for more on the tariff's impact on the price of pork; the demise of the industry either from competition or from changes in the production and delivery of meat to the consumer; the necessity of slavery; the role of salt in the overall growth and development of the region; and the extent to which credit limitations and an unstable banking system contributed to the economic problems faced by the salt manufacturers. The political historian might ask if the Richmond government's unresponsiveness fanned separationist feeling and why this system was not more supportive of the salt producers, considering the industry's importance and the prominent positions of many company founders.

One could amply illustrate an entire principles of economics class by the story of the Kanawha salt manufacturers. The highly competitive market is demonstrated by the dilemma of producers caught with production exceeding demand, keeping prices chronically low. Just as Adam Smith predicted, competition forced the introduction of new technologies to lower costs. This book is an important contribution to regional history, an understanding of American business development, and the entrepreneurial initiative underlying it. This is a well-told story of entrepreneurship, revealing how innovators in a frontier industry both anticipated and adapted to change by introducing new technologies and forms of business organization, benefiting their region as they sought to benefit themselves.

Calvin A. Kent

Marshall University

THE AMBASSADORIAL DIARY OF JOHN W. DAVIS: THE COURT OF ST. JAMES'S 1918-1921. Edited by Julia Adams Davis and Dolores A. Fleming (Morgantown: West Virginia Univ. Press, 1993. Pp. 479. $40.00.)

"It is the end of a great adventure"(415), wrote John W. Davis, former West Virginia congressman and Solicitor General under Woodrow Wilson, as he ended his tour as U. S. ambassador to Great Britain. When the Clarksburg native and his wife Ellen arrived in London in December 1918, high expectations existed for Anglo-American cooperation. Especially on the part of the British, there was talk of an Anglo-American partnership to maintain the future peace and stability of the world.

Davis's predecessor at the Court of St. James's, Walter Hines Page, had been so pro-British that Wilson eventually stopped reading his cables. Although he delivered many obligatory speeches extolling Anglo-American ties, Davis assumed a more responsible diplomatic posture than Page. Nonetheless, his relations with the president were not good. On November 25, 1920, he wrote in his diary: "I do not and never have enjoyed his confidence, notwithstanding the fact that I am not ashamed of the service which I have rendered to his administration. . . . I confess that his patent pettiness of souls fills me with the same disgust which has infected all those who have been near him, save the sycophants and time servers, and is responsible for the cold hatred which denies him sympathy even in his illness."(362) Davis actually had a much higher opinion of British Prime Minister David Lloyd George than did Wilson. The president thought Lloyd George a "2nd rate politician"(21, fn36), but Davis viewed him as the equal of Benjamin Disraeli. After his first meeting with the Welshman, he noted, "I have never seen a man who seemed to radiate more vitality than he."(9)

The shared culture and many common political and strategic interests created the myth of a "special relationship" between the United States and Great Britain. Even during the blackest days of World War I, when cooperation between the two great English-speaking nations was absolutely essential to thwart German expansionism and avoid defeat, there was a serious underlying tension. The end of the common Grman threat tended to exacerbate the differences between the two dominant postwar powers. Trade rivalry, control of oil, and the dramatic fall in the value of the pound sterling against the dollar were economic issues dividing Washington and London. The failure to ratify the Treaty of Versailles, the apparent desire to match or surpass British naval strength, and economic nationalism as expressed by Washington's position in international finance tended to undermine British confidence in the U. S. as a global partner. Mutual suspicions were also fed by the ubiquitous Irish problem and the thinly disguised British efforts to harness American power to sustain the British Empire. Davis's diary serves as a mirror which reflects this tension during a period "unusually filled with stirring incidents."(208) The Paris Peace Conference, foreign intervention and civil war in Russia, and the Russo-Polish War are just some of the subjects Davis writes about.

This reviewer cannot suppress the regret that Davis devoted the bulk of his diary to the obligatory social life rather than extensive commentary on these momentous events and the British leaders with whom he mingled. There is hardly a day that Davis is not at a luncheon, a dinner party, or the speaker at a public ceremony or club and organization meeting. He seems to have met every British personality of any political or social importance and visited most of the great country houses and gentlemen's clubs. A tennis player himself, he was a spectator at Wimbledon, observing Suzanne Lenglen and William T. Tilden. He deemed the latter "incomparably the best player I have ever seen."(314) When Davis comments on these great men and women he is at times penetrating, but, alas, he is more frequently tactful and pedestrian. One finds little of the gossip, inside information, and wicked commentary that is typical of another diarist of this period who traveled in the same social circle, the famous British journalist Charles Court Repington. "Trashy stuff in the main"(363), incidentally, was Davis's verdict when Repington's diary was published in 1920 under the title The First World War 1914-1918. "Trashy" it may be, but Repington's diary remains an essential source for this period.

Though tedious at times, Davis's meticulous accounting of daily social activities serves the useful purpose of portraying the life of an American diplomat in Britain in the early years of this century. Certainly the monetary concerns of U. S. ambassadors who were not men of considerable means are reflected. Davis received an annual salary of $17,500 and a meager entertainment allowance. He had to find his own living quarters and pay most of his entertainment expenses. He once lamented: "I have lived simply, avoiding extravagance or ostentation, either of which would have been not only beyond my means but most unsuited to the times. Nevertheless my unavoidable expenditures are considerably more than twice the compensation of my office and out of all proportion to my private income."(243)

Davis's daughter Julia Davis and Dolores A. Fleming, with the editorial assistance of David W. Fleming, have done a model job of editing the typed and holograph entries in Davis's diary, which is located at the Sterling Memorial Library, Yale University. Approximately 95 percent of the ambassadorial diary is published. The co-editors do not paraphrase and most of the deleted material consists of the names of individuals who were present at various social functions but whose inclusion would add nothing to the value of the work. Nicely illustrated, this volume has appendices and an unusually valuable and thorough index. Explanatory footnotes, located at the end of each chapter, strike just the right balance, not overpowering the text but providing the reader with helpful and necessary information. Davis and Fleming deserve very high praise indeed for their exemplary editing. Their efforts obviously represent a labor of love.

David R. Woodward

Marshall University

TIME STEALS SOFTLY. By Virginia Jones Harper (Pittsburgh: Dorrance Publishing Co., 1992. Pp. 21. $16.95.)

Certain people in West Virginia history deserve, indeed call out for, biographical treatment. Lydia Boggs Shepherd Cruger surely is one of these. A totally unique woman of her times, she lived to 101 years of age and embodied the scope of Virginia/West Virginia life from frontier days through the tragedy of the Civil War. The title Time Steals Softly, adapted from Shakespeare's "the noiseless foot of time steals softly by," was carved on a sundial in Cruger's garden.

Yet Cruger, unlike time, did not tread softly through anything. Born in 1766 to a pioneer family of Frederick County, Virginia, her family moved west to Virginias Ohio River country in 1775, where her father Captain John Boggs tomahawked his claim several miles below the new Wheeling settlement. Early on, Cruger showed an independence, original mindedness, and sharp-tongued self-interest that were her great strengths and most provoking irritants.

Cruger was always hard to ignore. The nineteen-chapter book describes her life from the frontier terror of being captured by Indians and bitten by a rattler to "La Grande Dame" glittering at Washington parties and the "Ole Miss" of her solitary life in later days. She was there at the 1782 battle of Wheeling's Fort Henry when Betty Zane ran for the powder. Unfortunately, at age eighty and with all other participants deceased, Cruger exercised a little revisionist history, stating Molly Scott actually saved the day. Sour grapes, perhaps, since in 1782, Betty Zane and Moses Shepherd, a very eligible and soon-to-be wealthy young plantation owner, were headed toward marriage. But Cruger, the talk of the town in a wedding dress of black silk, married Shepherd herself. With this came land, wealth, a respected husband, and in 1798, the most imposing house in the area, Shepherd Hall.

By 1818, the Cumberland Road arrived literally right at the Shepherds' front door, thanks to his role as the local bridge engineer and the friendship of Henry Clay. Shepherd Hall became a stopping place for the most important travelers, from Andrew Jackson to Thomas Hart Benton. The Shepherds spent many months in Washington City, meeting every president from Washington to Fillmore, and cementing their friendship with Henry Clay. They even built a monument to him in their front yard.

In 1832, Moses Shepherd died of cholera, and in 1833, the widow, adrift and lonely, married General Daniel Cruger of New York, fourteen years her junior. While not an easy marriage, it lasted until his death in 1843. Cruger spent her remaining years becoming more isolated and feeble. The few visitors who stopped found her well informed on local and national issues, sometimes sparking a flash of her fiery temperament. They often commented on the upstairs ballroom she had filled with the fine old dresses of her glory days. Cruger died September 29, 1867, and was buried beside her two husbands on a hill overlooking her beloved mansion.

Virginia Jones Harper succeeds in capturing the spirit of a local West Virginia woman and her times for the general reader. The book is, in fact, a revised edition of a 1974 version. Harper, a descendant of the Boggs family, has her heart in the right place, but her literary style is sometimes irritating. Words such as "sanguinary," "redolent," "cynosure," and "sibilant" are overdone, and one is left wondering where history stops and literary license takes over. Did she have an affair with Henry Clay? Some of the fabricated dialogue can only be described as stilted, and the description of the slaves and their dialect a la Gone With the Wind might leave the reader uneasy.

However, the book is a best seller in the Wheeling area because it ". . . brings to life a woman worth meeting and a time worth remembering."

Margaret Brennan

Wheeling

WORKING FOR THE CHESSIE SYSTEM: OLDE KING COAL'S PRIME CARRIER. By Fred R. Toothman (Huntington: Vandalia Book Co., 1993. Pp. 280. $16.95.

The coal industry has played a huge role in the economic growth of West Virginia, and the state has been known as one of the largest coal-producing states in the world. In conjunction with the development of coal came another industry, railroads. The Chesapeake and Ohio Railway Company (C&O) was a leader in the construction of a rail network in West Virginia to transport coal to the marketplace. In addition to construction, many railroads looked for ways to develop coal lands along their rights-of-way. The C&O established its Coal Development Office in Huntington where author Fred Rees Toothman embarked on a career beginning in 1946, after graduating with a master's degree in mining engineering from West Virginia University in 1945.

The reader is introduced to a brief history of the C&O with biographical sketches of the men who led the railroad, such as Collis P. Huntington, M. E. Ingalls, George Stevens, Robert Y. Young, and Walter J. Yuohy. These are just a few of the men who expanded the C&O to one of the largest coal-hauling lines in the nation. When Toothman went to work for the C&O in the post-World War II era, the railroad was prosperous. The 1946 annual report discloses that it controlled stock in the New York, Chicago and St. Louis Railroad Company, better known as the Nickel Plate. The C&O also owned over 387,000 shares of stock in the New York Central Railroad.

Each year of Toothman's employment until 1980 is discussed in separate chapters. Highlights of each year's annual reports are given first, followed by his personal remembrances of the year with stories of his co-workers and job assignments. The annual reports show the reader the financial condition of the railroad, where improvements were made, when losses occurred, and long-range plans. We follow the merger of the Pere Marquette with the C&O in 1947, the replacement of steam locomotives by diesels in 1955, the merger with the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad in 1963, and the proposed merger with the Norfolk and Western in 1965 to offset the creation of the Penn Central System, a result of the merger of the New York Central and Pennsylvania railroads.

The book provides information and insights about the C&O between 1946 and 1980 that were not previously available in a single source. The personal remembrances introduce the joys and disappointments of Toothman's employment and personal life. For anyone who would like to know about the C&O, this book is a valuable source, particularly through information gained from the annual reports. Toothman's personal remembrances, while worthwhile, fail to provide sufficient detail, leading to confusion. The book is geared to the reader who is interested in coal mining and railroads.

Bill Sparkmon

Chesapeake and Ohio Historical Society

FIGHTING BACK IN APPALACHIA: TRADITIONS OF RESISTANCE AND CHANGE. Edited by Stephen L. Fisher (Philadelphia: Temple Univ. Press, 1992. Pp. x, 384. $19.95.)

Stephen L. Fisher deserves praise not only for editing this fine work but also for his useful introduction. In the latter he notes that regional stereotypes tend to dismiss the possibility that Appalachians are capable of purposeful activism. Fisher contends there exists within the region a long and diverse history of resistance. Apart, however, from works dealing with coal miners, there is "little systematic study of dissent in Appalachia."

In response to that lack, the articles gathered in this collection fall under at least one of two purposes. They either serve partially to chronicle the history of grassroots struggle in the region since the early 1960s or to explore the theoretical implications of that history. The goal, according to Fisher, is not to develop an exclusively Appalachian theory of resistance. The focus on a particular region does not entail isolationism, but keeps an eye on the question of social movements, an issue for modern society well beyond the geographical confines of the southern mountains.

This book is successful if for no other reason than the essays included demolish any image of Appalachians as passive, helpless victims. Readers seeking additional examples of rebellion wil benefit from the bibliography as well. Included in this volume are accounts of grassroots organizations such as Save Our Cumberland Mountains, Kentuckians for the Commonwealth, and the Community Farm Alliance. Collective resistance over single issues is addressed, including job classifications for women and black lung advocacy.

There is a particularly moving account of the Moss 3 plant occupation during the Pittston coal strike, as well as a discussion of the broader significance of miners' strikes and their relation to the local community. In the latter essay, Richard Couto finds that even if neither strikes nor social movements produce visible fundamental change, they do constitute valuable "moments when democratic imaginations are stirred," and people break out of fragmented apathy to act as collective groups.

An article by John M. Glen on the evolving role of the Highlander Research and Education Center concludes with the observation that the Appalachian movement, unlike the civil rights and labor movements, is not led by a single charismatic individual or embodied in a centralized organization. The reader is left with the impression that this characterization is not necessarily a liability.

The final section in Fighting Back in Appalachia explores the theoretical dimensions of regional popular resistance with some discussion of culture, class, and gender. Among the articles is an impressive collaborative treatment of the history of Appalachian studies, which concludes with a suggestive appeal for the relevance of postmodern theory.

Less satisfying is the concluding article by the editor. Fisher sets up an opposition between two theoretical perspectives: New Populism, with emphasis on community, decentralization, and participatory democracy, and Marxism, with its critique of political economy and emphasis on class analysis and struggle. Fisher argues that New Populism is naive regarding capitalism and theoretically vague in its advocacy of democracy and community. Such criticism is not in and of itself misplaced. More disturbing, however, is Fisher's subsequent defense of state bureaucracy, concluding New Populist mistrust of state power misses the point: "The issue is not just more government or less government, but for whom the government works. . . ." Ultimately, Fisher's conclusion confuses rather than clarifies the theoretical possibilities available to Appalachian studies.

Nearly twenty years ago, in an article in Peoples Appalachia (vol. 3, no. II), Bill Taft proposed a left libertarian model for the Appalachian movement, one that combined both a critique of political economy and an emphasis on participatory democracy. With its clear attention to both class and community, it would have made a more fitting conclusion to this otherwise superb collection.

Gordon Simmons

Trans Allegheny Books

THE AIRWAVES OF ZION: RADIO AND RELIGION IN APPALACHIA. By Howard Dorgan (Knoxville: Univ. of Tennessee Press, 1993. Pp. xv, 226. $18.95.)

Howard Dorgan is a professor of communications at Appalachian State University. He has written two previous works on Appalachian religion, Giving Glory to God in Appalachia and The Old Regular Baptists of Central Appalachia. Dorgan has filled an embarrassing void in Appalachian scholarship and mountain church tradition in The Airwaves of Zion, an ethnographic study of AM radio evangelism. The Airwaves of Zion is an important first step in broadening our understanding of a major religious element in the area. On Sunday mornings and weekdays it is impossible to scan the radio dial without finding fundamentalist "Come to Jesus" evangelical preaching. Dorgan provides a well-illustrated exposition of these radio stations and introduces the reader to the mechanics behind the scene. He has taken part in many hours of participant observation and spent the time necessary to examine in great detail the cultural heritage behind the messages that are preached.

The preachers are usually not products of mainline denominations, such as the Southern Baptists, but independent nondenominational Holiness-Pentecostals, who are highly indvidualistic or autonomous in practice. They have not received formal training in broadcasting or theology and rely on divine inspiration in delivering highly emotional, "stylized sermonic techniques that in many cases are distinctly Appalachian." In oral tradition, their skills have often been learned by serving a kind of informal apprenticeship, hearing, and watching others.

Dorgan uses four case studies (Brother Johnny Ward of WMCT, Mountain City, Tennessee; Rex and Eleanor Parker, WAEY, Mercer County, West Virginia; Dean Field, WNKY, Letcher County, Kentucky; and Brenda Blankenship, WELC, McDowell County, West Virginia) as the basis of his work. Nearly parallel to Holiness-Pentecostal church services, the radio programs are generally unstructured. In respect to their Wesleyan heritage, the preachers attack alcohol sales, lottery tickets, and roadhouses and combat every other kind of "sin" imaginable from their broadcast booths. Sometime during the program, long lists of people to be remembered in prayer are given. Dorgan debunks the myth that radio preachers plead for contributions from listeners. Broadcast time is funded by freewill offerings, since radio stations do not provide free time. It is rare for one of these preachers to ask for money in the style of televangelists.

In comparison to other traditional religious practices of Appalachia, the airwaves of Zion appear to be benign or in decline. During the 1970s, a shift in listening audiences occurred when AM stations lost 75 percent of their audience to FM stations. The remaining listeners are older and "less affluent," which is less attractive to advertisers. Changes in radio format and "culture-based" innovations brought to Appalachia by "sojourners," tourism, and second-home real estate markets have also undermined radio evangelism.

Dorgan makes several general statements that are not uniform in Appalachia. He holds the assertion that "Holiness-Pentecostal traditions allow women the full range of religious expression and practice, including preaching, administering sacraments, and the pastoring of fellowship."(55) This practice depends on local belief. Many Holiness-Pentecostal churches do not allow "woman preachers" in their pulpits and expect them to be subservient to men. Dorgan also states that "the circumscription of snake handling as worship is due, in part, to state prohibitions against the practice, with West Virginia being the only exception to that rule."(51) Snake-handling in religious services continues throughout Appalachia. There are also snake-handling churches in Fort Wayne, Indiana; Detroit, Michigan; and other northern industrial centers. In many cases, legal harassment has increased snake-handling activity, especially in Kentucky and Virginia. The 1950s editions of The Louisville Courier-Journal gives numerous accounts of escalated snake-handling after police harassment. If snake-handling has been "circumscribed" at all, it is simply due to members becoming "worldly" and looking for entertainment in places other than church.

In his interview with Brother Johnny Ward, Dorgan states that his criticism of Pentecostals "was that their passions for religious expressions were strong but that their involvements with individual churches were weak, all emotion and no hard work to build the church as an institution."(69) Dorgan does not qualify his meaning of Pentecostals, and leaves the reader with the impression that Pentecostal churches are unorganized. There are many branches of Pentecostal churches in the United States, the largest being the Assemblies of God. In 1990, the Assemblies of God membership numbered nearly 1,630,000 with over 9,000 local autonomous churches. They have a general council and general presbytery that formulates and administers church policies. The Assemblies of God maintains missions in ninety countries and has a world population that totals over 6 million. As with the various sects of Baptist congregations in Appalachia, some free Pentecostal groups exist. They reject governing bodies from other areas of the country that are insensitive to their needs and threaten their sovereignty.

In describing Rex Parker's home, Dorgan states that "the outside of this home fits well those junkyard aesthetcs that characterize some areas of central Appalachia, particularly the coalfield regions of eastern Kentucky and southern West Virginia."(73) It is apparent that the author has not travelled to Indianapolis, Chicago, Detroit, or New York lately. However, these small defects do not hurt the overall effect of the book and its contributions to our knowledge far outweigh the flaws. The Airwaves of Zion is a widely useful work that gets to the core of Appalachian religion. It deserves a wide reading that should be of great interest to Appalachian scholars.

David L. Kimbrough

Stanford, Indiana

LYNCHING IN THE NEW SOUTH: GEORGIA AND VIRGINIA, 1880-1930. By W. Fitzhugh Brundage (Champaign: Univ. of Illinois Press, 1993. Pp. xii, 375. $14.95.)

The racial violence that convulsed the South in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries has been the subject of a number of historical works in the last fifteen years. Case studies of individual lynchings have comprised much of this scholarship. Despite the contributions made by the authors of these highly detailed accounts, historians have failed to explain why some regions of the South witnessed so many more lynchings than others.

W. Fitzhugh Brundage, a Virginia native who is an assistant professor of history at Queens University, Kingston, Ontario, has ventured into this breach. Lynching in the New South: Georgia and Virginia, 1880-1930 is the most in-depth treatment of lynching as a distinct form of violence since Arthur F. Raper's 1932 classic, The Tragedy of Lynching. Brundage wrote his doctoral thesis at Harvard in 1988 on lynching and since then has published several articles on the subject. Lynching in the New South, his first book, will shape the historiography of Southern mob violence for years to come.

Eschewing the case study approach adopted by many scholars, Brundage comprehensively compares lynching in Georgia and Virginia. Georgia was representative of the violence-prone Deep South, and Virginia was selected as a typical border state. Drawing upon news clippings and the treasure chest of data on lynchings painstakingly compiled by organizations such as the Tuskegee Institute and the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, Brundage devotes the first five of his eight chapters to a comparative analysis of the two states' experiences with vigilantism. In the balance of the book, Brundage contrasts anti-lynching efforts in Georgia with those in Virginia and examines the multiple forces that contributed to the decline of mob violence in both states by the 1930s.

Brundage makes a compelling case that lynchings were complex, varied phenomena that cannot be understood simply as expressions of whites' collective obsession with reaffirming their hegemony over blacks. While some lynchings were carried out by huge, celebratory throngs and heavily laden with ritual, others were furtive executions accomplished by small groups.

Brundage explores why lynchings were so much more frequent in the Deep South than in border states. He argues convincingly that Virginians were no less committed to white supremacy than Georgians. Moreover, whites in both states vigorously defended segregation for decades after lynching had disappeared as a tool of oppression. Despite similar levels of racial animosity between 1880 and 1930, Georgia's 458 lynchings compared with only 86 in Virginia.

Brundage plots the geographical distribution of lynchings within both states through maps and tables. Virginia's southwestern counties' twenty-eight lynchings, more than any other region of the state, primarily occurred in the 1890s outburst of violence in the rapidly modernizing Appalachian region. The majority of these lynchings took place near "centers of change" such as Roanoke, Bluefield, and Richlands, communities which attracted black laborers as a result of a brief boom in mining and railroad building.

For Brundage, the social strains of industrialization and economic depression account only for brief spasms of lynching, such as occurred in many states during the early 1890s. Brundage's novel thesis is that lynchings resulted lss from the trauma of industrialization than from the form of labor relations prevalent in the region. Lynching was most frequent and persistent in the plantation South, where "sharecropping, monoculture agriculture, and a stark line separating white landowners and black tenants existed." Brundage argues that the likelihood of lynchings decreased "in rough proportion to the degree that a particular region diverged from the plantation South." In Brundage's view Virginia had relatively few lynchings because the Old Dominion was distinguished by diversified agriculture and ad hoc day labor. Largely absent from Virginia were the coercive and inherently violent labor practices that typified staple-crop agriculture throughout much of Georgia and other Deep South states. Virginia planters learned in the late nineteenth century that the "lash of wages was at least as effective as time-honored methods of coercive labor."

While Brundage demonstrates that the demise of lynching had a host of causes in both states, he suggests the proximate factor in Georgia's case was the introduction of New Deal programs into the southern cotton fields, where lynching had been endemic. Modern agricultural techniques and capitalist labor relations altered irrevocably the Deep South's plantation-based economy. The disappearance of lynching was also attributable to the proselytizing of humanitarian reformers and the gradual formation of a consensus among conservative elites that mob violence was an indefensible assault on law and order.

Brundage's argument that differing levels of mob violence in Virginia and Georgia represent patterns that prevailed throughout the South is both insightful and open to question. For example, Kentucky, another border state with a small plantation sector, has a significantly more horrific history of racial violence than does Virginia. George C. Wright has documented 353 lynchings in Kentucky between 1865 and 1940, one of the worst records in the South. Much of this violence occurred in central Kentucky where tenant plantations were uncommon.

Brundage's book also suffers from a distracting collection of minor errors. The number of lynchings exhibited on his map of Virginia does not match the number found in his text. Some of the footnotes would have benefitted from closer attention. The author, for instance, misstates the publication dates of three anti-lynching editorials written in 1925 by P. B. Young, the illustrious black editor of the Norfolk Journal and Guide.

The prospects certainly are strong that Brundage will receive a chance to correct these defects in a second edition. Lynching in the New South is a great leap forward in the rapidly evolving study of American vigilantism and catapults this young scholar to the forefront of historians struggling to understand the racial violence in our past.

Paul G. Beers, Esq.

Glenn, Flippin, Feldmann & Darby

Roanoke, Virginia

ROBERT E. LEE AND THE 35TH STAR. By Tim McKinney (Charleston: Pictorial Histories Publishing, 1993. Pp. viii, 144. $11.95.)

In slightly more than one hundred pages, including a profusion of maps and photographs, this book takes the reader on a fast-paced retelling of primarily military events in Civil War western Virginia during the campaigns of 1861. "For decades prior to the advent of the American Civil War there existed differences between eastern and western Virginia that would ultimately contribute to the addition of West Virginia as the 35th star on our nations flag," the reader is informed on the first page. Although a good portion of his narrative is devoted to Robert E. Lee's abortive attempts to hold the area for the Confederacy at Cheat Mountain and along the roadways connecting the Kanawha Valley and eastern Virginia, Tim McKinney deals with other aspects of the war in present West Virginia. Commendably, the author has sorted through numerous regimental histories, memoirs, and archival collections to uncover new insights about the men in both armies that fought and died during the western Virginia campaigns.

By the time Lee arrived in August 1861, most of the region had been overrun by Federal troops, and the "Reorganized Government" of Virginia under Governor Francis H. Pierpont had been ensconced at Wheeling with the help of Union bayonets. On the military front, former governor Henry A. Wise and the Wise Legion had been driven from the Kanawha Valley following the indecisive fight at Scary Creek. Robert W. Garnett, an early Confederate commander, had been killed near present Elkins. Wheeling and much of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad had been abandoned, and George Porterfield had been hurled out of Grafton and Philippi. Abraham Lincoln's generals in western Virginia, led by George B. McClellan and with superior numbers, quickly bested the lackluster Confederates. The early strategy of Jefferson Davis and Lee, his military advisor in transmontane Virginia, McKinney correctly observes, was "flawed."

In fairness, the Confederates faced nearly insurmountable obstacles in what became West Virginia after much of the area was occupied by forces under McClellan during the first months of war. Wise probably captured it best when he wrote to his Richmond superiors: "The Kanawha Valley is wholly disaffected and traitorous. It was gone from Charleston to Point Pleasant before I got there. . . . You cannot persuade these people that Virginia can or ever will reconquer the northwest, and they are submitting, subdued, and debased." Lee not only encountered hostile terrain with insufficient troops to defend it but also a population more likely to help the enemy than himself.

Victory against the Federals who had advanced eastward from Ohio persistently eluded this youngest son of Light-Horse Harry Lee of Revolutionary War renown. Besides a dearth of manpower, Lee was thwarted at every juncture by disease and foul weather that left his troops ravaged and cold. "The season was a most unfavorable one: for weeks it rained daily and in torrents; the conditions of the roads were frightful; they were barely passable," stated his aide Colonel Walter H. Taylor. The rainy, disagreeable weather coupled with primitive sanitation in the camps contributed to an outbreak of measles and related disorders. Although McKinney indicates that "adequate records of the extent to which disease played in the Confederacys defeat in West Virginia does [sic] not exist," sickness took an awesome toll upon Lee's troops. Their Yankee counterparts also suffered the various plagues, and at one time during late 1861, Union commanders reported "1,101 cases of measles, 2,089 cases of typhoid fever, 2,565 cases of malaria, 2,026 cases of other types of fever, 1,656 cases of rheumatism, and numerous other ailments and injuries which the available records do not reflect."

Finally, Lee devised a scheme to drive the Federals from their fortified positions atop Cheat Mountain Summit that ended in utter failure. Instead of surveying the laurel-covered precipice himself he relied upon others, including a former Arkansas congressman named Albert Rust, for his intelligence. When his troops became hopelessly bogged down and were forced to withdraw, Lee incurred the wrath of Southern newspapers as well as Confederate politicos. "In short," McKinney quotes Lee's biographer Douglas Southall Freeman, "the plan of action suggested that [he] was disposed to be overelaborate in his strategy to attempt too much with the tools he had."

Before his return to Richmond at the behest of Jefferson Davis, Lee traveled southward to the Sewell Mountain region of Greenbrier County to sort out a nasty dispute between Confederate commanders John B. Floyd and Henry A. Wise, both former governors of the Old Dominion. Animosities between the two had reached the breaking point following Floyd's withdrawal from the Carnifex Ferry battleground and the retreat of Wise from the Kanawha Valley. When Lee arrived, they were not only encamped within a short distance of each other but also engaged in a heated argument over who was in command. Although Davis ordered Wise to another theater, Lee, despite his later successes, was never able to exercise much control over the disparate Southern forces throughout western Virginia.

Following an impasse between Federal commander William S. Rosecrans and himself, Lee and Davis decided to abandon the region, eventhough Floyd had advanced to Cotton Hill overlooking Gauley Bridge. "There can be no doubt that General Lee and others in roles of leadership for the Confederacy, seriously, fatally, miscalculated both the Federal Government's resolve to hold West Virginia, and the strong division among its populace, McKinney reasons. Lesser-known Confederates remained, but Lee's departure for the South Carolina coast in October 1861 and the military collapse that followed pointed the way to West Virginia statehood without challenge. Yet the author finds merit in the efforts of Lee and his compeers: "They were able to prevent the Federal forces from advancing west of the Blue Ridge Mountains, or south of Lewisburg. Had the northern army done either in force, it would have spelled disaster for the Confederacy early in the conflict."

Paul D. Casdorph

West Virginia State College

HANGING ROCK REBEL: LT. JOHN BLUE'S WAR IN WEST VIRGINIA AND THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY. Edited by Dan Oates (Shippensburg, PA: Burd Street Press, 1994. Pp. 324. $24.95.)

Between 1898 and 1901, the Hampshire Review published the memoirs of Lieutenant John Blue (1834-1903), Company D, 11th Virginia Cavalry, C. S. A. With Hanging Rock Rebel editor Dan Oates brings this fascinating account of the Civil War back into the public eye in book form. Hampshire County and most of northeastern West Virginia was a hotbed of military activity between 1861 and 1865, with the town of Romney changing hands between blue and gray no less than fifty-six times, a distinction matched only by Winchester in Virginias Shenandoah Valley. The tide of war in and about Hampshire County was relentless and unpredictable. Its populace, as was the case in most of present-day West Virginia, had divided loyalties. Lieutenant Blue illustrates this point very early in his memoirs, explaining that word of the first Yankee occupation of Romney was given them by a man who was "about half Union anyway."

Blue enlisted early in 1861 and served throughout the war. The transition from civilian to military life was not an easy one for Blue and his comrades. Very early in the conflict, acquiring adequate food, shelter, and weapons was as much a priority as defeating the enemy. The author's company, also known as the "Huckleberry Rangers," were initially armed with flintlock muskets that apparently had seen service in the Revolution. Adding insult to injury, the men were quickly reduced to foraging for food. When a honey-laden bee tree was found the Huckleberry Rangers sprang into action: "We charged and repulsed several times before capturing the fortress."

Usually outnumbered and lacking accurate information as to the movements of their adversaries, the Rangers frequently undertook their scouting at night. This was no easy task in mountainous terrain, even for those who were familiar with the area. In December 1861, General Stonewall Jackson planned an advance on Romney, and Lieutenant Blue and a friend were sent out at night to reconnoiter the Federal positions. They accomplished their mission by leaving the road near Moorefield and following the ridge tops toward Romney: "The snow was 18 to 24 inches deep with no road or path to follow. We had to pick our way as best we could over and around fallen timber and ledges or rocks. Our progress was necessarily very slow. The night was bitter cold."

Arduous service in cold, wet weather caught up with Blue in March 1862 when he contracted measles which removed him from active duty for two weeks. The military doctors gave him up for dead as he explained: "Four doctors stood around my bed but failed to kill me. They gave up the job . . . an old woman came bringing roots . . . I soon got better."

Upon returning to duty the author narrowly escaped the advancing enemy at Romney and later barely avoided capture during another late-night scouting mission. Acting as a courier on August 9, 1862, Blue witnessed the bloody battle at Cedar Mountain, Virginia, his first major battle, while sitting beside Stonewall Jackson. His eyewitness description of the fighting is quite good. Shortly thereafter he was involved in the battles of Brandy Station and Seond Manassas, Virginia. In 1863, Blue participated in the famous Jones-Imboden raid through West Virginia, and that summer he witnessed the awful carnage of Pickett's Charge at Gettysburg. Captured four times during the war, the last being on October 12, 1863, the author was incarcerated at four separate Confederate prisons. We gain insight from Blue's account of day-to-day prison life, and his chance encounters with such fellow prisoners as Belle Boyd add a unique quality to this already valuable memoir.

The book has some shortcomings which, if addressed, would greatly enhance it. Editorial notes to add information about and identification of people and events under discussion are absent. Additionally, there are but three footnotes in a work which exceeds three hundred pages, and there is a serious need for maps to accompany the text. Maps of the campaigns and geography are readily available from such common sources as the Official Records Atlas. Famous Confederate cavalry commander General J. E. B. Stuart is mentioned frequently, though his name is misspelled "Stewart" or "Steward" all but a few times, a mistake maintained into the index.

Hanging Rock Rebel is enjoyable, educational reading. It is full of harrowing tales of intrepid exploits which hold the readers attention from start to finish. Its minor production problems do not detract from the significance of this work, which should be of interest to students of the Civil War.

Tim McKinney

Fayetteville

THE FIRST DAY AT GETTYSBURG: ESSAYS ON CONFEDERATE AND UNION LEADERSHIP. Edited by Gary W. Gallagher (Kent, OH: Kent State Univ. Press, 1992. Pp. x, 173. $24.00.)

THE SECOND DAY AT GETTYSBURG: ESSAYS ON CONFEDERATE AND UNION LEADERSHIP. Edited by Gary W. Gallagher (idem., 1993. Pp. xi, 209. $24.00.)

In this cynical age, another study of Gettysburg might elicit yawns from Civil War scholars. After all, nearly as much ink as blood has been spilled over that Pennsylvania field. But in the case of these two essay collections, the cynics would be wrong. The focus of these nine exhaustively documented articles is the existential role of those who make choices in battle. Less the captives of events than of their own decisions, the officers studied here were uniquely responsible for how the fight began, how it evolved, and for the determination of who lived and died. It is a timeless theme worthy of close scholarly attention, and it is particularly relevant to Gettysburg. Volume editor Gary W. Gallagher writes in The First Day that this engagement's outcome "depended to a significant degree"(viii) on the exercise of command decisions, that is, on leadership.

In The First Day, drawn from papers presented at the 1990 Conference on the Civil War at Pennsylvania State University-Mont Alto, Gallagher himself best demonstrates how the seemingly chance encounter of minor forces which grew into a bloodbath can be traced to a commanders conscious choice. Evaluating Robert E. Lee's decisions within the immediate context of his actions, Gallagher identifies the choice by "Marse" Robert which set the battle in motion. Before the first shot was fired, he allowed considerable discretion to his subordinate commanders. By the afternoon of July 1, Lee was present on the battlefield and assumed ultimate responsibility for the handling of what was by then only a meeting engagement. He, not his subordinates, permitted a full-scale battle to develop. He, not his subordinates, chose not to push for the capture of strategic Cemetery Hill, which became the foundation of the Union's defensive line. In contrast to Lost Cause traditionalists, Gallagher concludes that Lee, not chance or underlings, controlled the first day's events.

A far less convincing analysis of Lee's role is Alan T. Nolan's essay. Here, the lawyer-author trots out the arguments given fuller explication in his Lee Considered (1991). Nolan faults Lee for undertaking the camaign at all; the Pennsylvania expedition cost Lee's army casualties it could not replace. Far preferable would have been raids against Northern logistical centers by small, mobile forces. Confederate supply problems thus could have been erased without major losses. Moreover, "General" Nolan would have the Confederacy follow an overall defensive strategy with occasional sharp, offensive thrusts to unbalance the enemy. This armchair strategy has a logical tidiness, but it wrenches Lee out of historical context. The author misrepresents the Confederacy's lack of a coherent military policy. He also fails to acknowledge the relatively free rein enjoyed by charismatic commanders like Lee. More seriously, he seems oblivious to the South's fatal need for such romantic military adventures as Lee's aggressive campaigns. Indeed, Lee's defensive campaigns of 1864-65, which lasted eleven months and not the duration which Nolan prescribes, garnered only deteriorating public enthusiasm and a worsening tactical position. Nolan would fight the war with a Confederacy which is not historically accurate.

A less ambitious, but more successful, revision of Gettysburg interpretations comes from A. Wilson Greene. According to the author, Union General O. O. Howard and his Eleventh Corps do not deserve their traditional blame for the Northern debacle on July 1. Greene admits Howard's poor tactical choices cost many Federal lives and captured in the retreat through Gettysburg. But he credits Howard with initially selecting Cemetery Hill as a defensive site, which later became the linchpin of Union defenses on Cemetery Ridge. Command failure and limited success are the basis for Robert K. Krick's study of Confederate disasters northwest of Gettysburg on Oak Ridge. There, rebel corps, division, and brigade commanders did not adequately supervise assaults. The day's mistakes and its unnecessarily numerous Confederate dead underscore the military truism that "leaders must lead"(138), not simply unleash, their troops. Krick's meticulous reconstruction shows how a supposedly inconsequential firefight was in reality a profligate waste of lives through sloppy management.

Despite such command weaknesses, the Rebel army nearly won the battle on the following day. The Second Day, papers from the 1991 Pennsylvania State University-Mont Alto Conference on the Civil War, reexamines controversial issues from those fateful hours. The most significant topics include Lee's resumption of the tactical offensive, Federal General Daniel Sickles's questionable occupation of an exposed salient in the Cemetery Ridge defenses, and General James Longstreet's attack on the Union flank. For Lee's second day decision, Gallagher again presents a persuasive argument. He finds that sufficient forage existed in the region for Lee to have assumed a tactical defensive and awaited the inevitable Union attack. The temporary advantage rifled muskets gave 1860s defenders would have favored the Confederates. Gallagher contends Lee's choice to attack was an error, but it was not unreasonable in context. Lee hoped to capitalize on the momentum and morale the first days victories had gained.

Debatable choices also concern other essayists. William Glenn Robertson's account of the seizure of an unprotected point by Sickles's Third Corps is a model case study on the interplay of command factionalism, personality and policy, and military necessity. The author gives Sickles's self-inflicted disaster the credit of breaking the coordination of Longstreet's nearly successful attack. The Second Day's remaining essay of significance also comes from the pen of Robert K. Krick, who finds that Longstreet, Lee's tarnished lieutenant, did in fact merit his postwar reputation for untrustworthiness and intentional sloth. He executed the important march to the temporarily vulnerable Union left with little concern for haste, security, or surprise. Instead, he chose to sulk over a strategic disagreement with his commander and embarrassed Lee by the failure of the attack.

Hindsight by historians writing in libraries is a notoriously poor tool for evaluating a commander"s battlefield decisions. But Gettysburg has been studied so thoroughly for so long that it is possible to determine what a commander knw, when he knew it, and whether his choices were justified. Most of these essays provide useful insight into the hellish art of command. Not the least of the relevant themes is the implicit reminder that, whatever the century, the most influential and deadly weapon on the battlefield is the human mind.

James Russell Harris

Kentucky Historical Society

"NO SORROW LIKE OUR SORROW": NORTHERN PROTESTANT MINISTERS AND THE ASSASSINATION OF LINCOLN. By David B. Chesebrough (Kent, OH: Kent State Univ. Press, 1994. Pp. ix, 200. $24.00.)

The assassination of John F. Kennedy had an indelible impact on Americans at the time and continues to do so. Many remember where they were, what they were doing, and how they felt. The same feelings of frustration, anger, despair, concern, and the eternal question -- why -- must have been present in the minds and hearts of Americans after the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. A recent publication, "No Sorrow Like Our Sorrow" by David B. Chesebrough, eloquently resurrects the passions and concerns that faced the nation following Lincoln's assassination through an examination of the sermons of Northern protestant ministers.

For the most part, historians have ignored sermons as historical documents. As Chesebrough points out, the sermons of these Northern ministers mirrored and shaped public opinion. On the one hand, the more popular the preacher, the greater the likelihood that his words reflected the views of his congregation. On the other hand, ministers were traditionally held in high esteem and their words and actions had immense power to frame public opinion. A quick review of texts about the mid-1800s reveals that ministers were prominent "movers and shakers" on both sides of the national fence, whether in the cause of abolitionism or Southern nationalism.

Chesebrough's monograph describes how Northern protestant ministers reacted to Lincoln's assassination during roughly a four-week period beginning on Easter Sunday, April 16, 1865. Each chapter deals with some common outlook that reveals popular reaction to the incident -- the predominant theme of grief, the worthy content of Lincoln's character, the responsibility for the assassination, the demand for justice, and the assassination as an act of providence. The conclusion places these sermons in their nineteenth-century context, a fascinating and insightful look at how the sermons were influenced by years of moral indignation over such issues as the Fugitive Slave Law and the Dred Scott decision, as well as how Northern ministers influenced public opinion about the future course of Reconstruction.

More than any other theme, grief dominated the sermons following the assassination. In many ways, the grief was compounded by the overwhelming rush of emotion flowing from the euphoria over successes of the Union Army and General Robert E. Lee's surrender at Appomattox Court House. In fact, on the day of the assassination, April 14, the American flag was raised over Fort Sumter in a special ceremony. Roughly four-and-one-half years of struggle had come to an end, but the celebration was cut short after the news of Lincoln's murder became known. Most ministers noted the contrast and their sermons revealed that Americans were experiencing something very personal, a reaction akin to losing a beloved family member. Chesebrough points out, however, that Northern ministers had not been so unanimous in their support of Lincoln prior to the assassination. In fact, Lincoln had been castigated for not dealing with slavery in a timely fashion. The nine months preceding the assassination were some of Lincoln's darker days as far as Northern support was concerned, and the president questioned whether he would be re-elected. Although martyrdom secured Lincoln's place in the hearts of most Northerners, it also elicited intense anger against the South.

John Wilkes Booth merely pulled the trigger, according to most Northern ministers. The responsibility for Lincolns assassination rested heavily on the shoulders of the Confederacy, the South, and slavery. According to one minister, "Southern `chivalry' has earned for itself the title of barbarism; Soutern civilization -- the boasted paragon of perfection -- has shown itself to be a whited sepulchre of full corruption within." Most Northern ministers placed the blame on the leadership of the South; a few believed the South as a whole was the instigator. Thus, leniency and mercy were not realistic, reasonable, or acceptable when dealing with the South. Prior to the assassination, Northern ministers were not of one mind as to how the South should be treated after the war. The assassination seemed to bring about a unity of purpose and conviction that demanded "swift, harsh and certain justice." Chesebrough claims that Northern ministers were instrumental in "promoting bitter differences" between the North and South immediately after the war, even going so far as to exceed the acrimonious speeches of the "Radicals" in Congress.

Chesebrough has masterfully woven together the articulate responses of Northern ministers to the assassination of Lincoln and considered how they reflected and shaped public opinion, at the same time revealing the social and political conditions that provoked their responses. The ministers' eloquence and passion are central to this work. The author deserves praise for permitting the sermons to take center stage, allowing the words and ideas expressed by the ministers to plead their case. The inclusion of two sermons in the appendix is an added bonus. Books like this will interest nineteenth-century historians, but it deserves a wider audience.

John D. Hicks

West Virginia Humanities Council

Southern West Virginia Community College

NEITHER BALLOTS NOR BULLETS: WOMEN ABOLITIONISTS AND THE CIVIL WAR. By Wendy Hamand Venet (Charlottesville: Univ. Press of Virginia, 1991. Pp. 210. $25.00.)

During the Civil War, the National Women's Loyal League began its activities under the guidance of Elizabeth Cady Stanton. Through her influence, the newly formed organization collected over one hundred thousand signatures in favor of abolishing slavery through a constitutional amendment. Women of this era often resorted to the right to petition in the absence of voting privileges. This is a major contribution of Wendy Hamand Venet's book which presents the early history and development of the women's abolitionist movement whose goal became influencing congressional voting behavior.

Neither Ballots Nor Bullets contributes to the growing literature on women abolitionists. The causes women worked for gained momentum during the war and eventually changed the ways women affected government. Venet states in her preface that politically active women worked for abolition by trying to sway public opinion during the major conflict. Within this time frame, women worked together to win public support for the abolition of slavery through constitutional emancipation. Their collective efforts laid the foundation for feminist efforts later in the century. These pioneers attained confidence and public acclaim for their work. Their antislavery activities, according to Venet, gave "first wave" feminists their beginnings.

William Lloyd Garrison was one of the first abolitionists to respect women's involvement in changing laws and gave attention to their cause in the "Ladies Department" of The Liberator. He was instrumental in gaining national attention for these women who strongly believed in ending slavery and also led a broader reform movement. A theme of this period, states Venet, was the millennial notion of the perfectibility of humankind which removed all barriers to human improvement.

During the 1830s, women carved out an important role within the abolitionist goals they espoused. Through individual and group efforts, women founded antislavery societies in New Hampshire, Maine, Rhode Island, Connecticut, New York, Pennsylvania, and Michigan. Their early work before the Civil War was successful until a major conflict in 1840 disrupted the abolitionist movement. The denial of full participation in the World Anti-Slavery Convention in London altered the focus of the women abolitionists to include feminism. As the Civil War loomed, women abandoned purely supportive roles at meetings and developed a philosophy hat presented their gender-viewpoints. It was thought that political gains might enhance the cause for women abolitionists.

A strength of Venet's book is her presentation of Anna Dickinson's role in the women's movement. Although her contribution to feminism has not been thoroughly explored, the author successfully brings her life into focus with the abolitionist cause. Venet's study of the creation and sanction of the National Women's Loyal League provides an excellent analysis of this venue used by women to battle politicians on their own ground. The league became the principle instrument through which Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony demonstrated their leadership. It might be seen as a landmark in aiding the next generation of feminists.

Venet's underlying theme is the Civil War around which she centers the increasing role of women in the politics of the abolitionist movement. Their efforts to interact weaves an intriguing story of the period and provides the basis for studying the later nineteenth-century feminists.

Monty R. Baker

West Virginia Library Commission

THE ORIGINS AND EVOLUTION OF THE FIELD OF INDUSTRIAL RELATIONS IN THE UNITED STATES. By Bruce E. Kaufman (Ithaca: ILR Press, 1993. Pp. xv, 286. $19.95.)

What is industrial relations? How has the academic field developed? Does it have a future? These are the questions posed by Bruce Kaufman in his study of the institutional and organizational development of industrial relations. Kaufman traces the origins of the field to the early twentieth century when both academics and employers began searching for solutions to what was euphemistically called the "labor problem." The labor problem included labor-management conflict, high employee turnover, waste and inefficiency, unemployment, unsafe working conditions, inadequate pay, and child labor. As originally conceived, industrial relations was a multidisciplinary field of study that sought "to achieve more scientific, equitable, and humane employment practices through both progressive labor legislation and improved methods of employment management in industry."(13)

Almost immediately the field divided into two factions that Kaufman labels the PM school and the ILE school. The personnel management school argued that workers and employers shared mutual interests, and the cause of labor problems was faulty organizational and administrative managerial practices. The solution was the adoption of scientific methods of personnel administration, including aptitude testing and incentive pay systems, the development of human relations employment practices, and the establishment of some form of non-union employee representation. In sharp contrast, the institutional labor economics school traced labor conflict to crucial defects in the nature of the capitalist system itself. An imperfect labor market and the autocratic nature of the master-servant relationship left workers at a competitive disadvantage and open to exploitation. The ILE school would establish a level "plane of competition" through the adoption of social insurance programs, protective labor legislation, full employment monetary policies, and the promotion of independent trade unionism.

Despite internal conflict, the field of industrial relations grew rapidly through the 1940s and 1950s. Multidisciplinary industrial relations programs were established in universities across the nation, and scholars from diverse fields produced an outpouring of research on workplace issues. Kaufman rightly suggests that the rapid spread and increasing power of organized labor after World War II sparked the "golden age of industrial relations."(191) It was, however, a short-lived golden age. The 1960s and 1970s witnessed that "hollowing out" of industrial relations as the field was redefined from one studying all aspects of the workplace to one devoted solely to the study of organized labor and collective bargaining. At the same time, the ILE school became dominated by neoclassical labor economists who focused on data-driven minutiae and rarely asked big questions. As the field began to narrow, personnel management scholars fled to emerging human resourcesprograms in business schools. Kaufman makes it clear that in identifying with unions the field had linked up with a falling star. In the late 1970s and 1980s, the field of industrial relations suffered the same fate as organized labor. As the union sector of the economy declined in the anti-labor environment of the 1980s, industrial relations gained a negative stigma and IR programs had difficulty attracting students. This led some universities to disband programs or merge them into business departments.

If the field of industrial relations continues to be identified with the study of organized labor, Kaufman predicts a gloomy future. He offers, however, ideas for revitalizing industrial relations, beginning with discarding the old stigmatized name and replacing it with employment relations. This redesigned field would use the employment relationship as its organizing concept, hopefully reuniting the PM and ILE perspectives. While the study of collective bargaining would not be totally abandoned, Kaufman urges that unions be viewed as only one of many potential systems of workplace governance.

Kaufman has done a fine job in untangling the history of industrial relations. Supporters of organized labor, however, will have difficulty with his contention that collective bargaining has lost its effectiveness and his willingness to relegate unions to a minor role in the workplace.

Elizabeth Fones-Wolf

West Virginia University

DEAD LAWS FOR DEAD MEN: THE POLITICS OF FEDERAL COAL MINE HEALTH AND SAFETY LEGISLATION. By Daniel J. Curran (Pittsburgh: Univ. of Pittsburgh Press, 1993, Pp. xii, 208. $39.95.)

As stated by the author in the preface, this interesting but short book ". . . will focus on federal efforts to ensure worker health and safety in the coal mining industry . . ."(x), specifically on why health and safety laws were enacted when they were. Curran asks if these laws have succeeded in improving conditions and immediately answers that they have not. He then proceeds to discuss the ". . . disjunction between legislative intent and [the] application . . ." of coal mine safety laws. Curran only partially succeeds in this rather ambitious undertaking. As a current chronicle of the Reagan/Bush efforts to thwart mine safety efforts, however, the book is a necessary addition to the libraries of all coal mining and labor historians, mine safety advocates (both industry and worker), and industrial safety specialists.

Chapter 1 is largely an academic justification of why this book should be considered a scholarly work. For the non-specialist, this chapter can be passed over. However, it does contain some interesting assertions, such as ". . . miners protests over disasters become significant only during periods of industrial prosperity . . ."(9) or ". . . constraints created by the United Mine Workers of America [UMWA] leadership . . . have . . . tended to slow the movement toward improved health and safety for miners."(15-16) These assertions are argued, unconvincingly, later in the book.

Chapter 2 presents a brief history of coal mining and the rise of coal mining unions. There is a long discussion of the founding of the UMWA and the strikes of the late nineteenth century. Causes for the unrest are discussed, but almost omitted is any discussion of safety issues, one of the earliest reasons for strikes and efforts towards unionization by coal miners. Also missing is the crucial role of foreign-born, non-English speaking coal miners in breaking strikes and, not incidentally, in mine accidents and fatalities. Absent too is a discussion of federal and state responses to mine disasters which occurred in the period prior to 1900. Many of the important safety laws, such as multiple openings to underground mines and "fire boss" checks of mine workings before entering the workplace, originated before 1900. Chapter 3 inadequately covers some early coal mining history, including four pages on England and one on the U. S. There is no discussion of the effects of coal strikes and the resultant congressional inquiries, many of which focused on safety. Curran fails to explore the "progressive" safety-based reforms of te early 1900s, which were the result of muckraking and national recognition that reforms were needed.

The book really begins on page 57 with "Factors Leading to the First Legislation," shifting its focus to the federal government's efforts to address mine safety issues. Continuing into Chapter 4, Curran traces the history of the Bureau of Mines, the first federal agency with a mandate for coal mine safety. Interspersed is the history of the rise of the UMWA. This material is loosely tied to safety and only occasionally touches on the government role in the union-operator struggles. Curran discusses the important role of the National Industrial Recovery Act in allowing unionization of the coal industry and probably opening the southern West Virginia coalfields. Throughout the chapter and the rest of the book, Curran records the yearly totals of injuries and deaths of miners and uses these data to show the effects of legislation on reducing both rates. He also discusses each major coal mining disaster in the U. S. and briefly touches on news media, congressional, and public reactions to the disasters and resulting federal legislation. This is the strength of the book and should be substantially expanded in the next edition.

Chapter 5 starts with the Farmington disaster and the federal Coal Mine Health and Safety Act of 1969, much of which was authored by West Virginia Senator Jennings Randolph and Representative Ken Hechler. The removal of regulatory authority from the Bureau of Mines is recorded, but the continuing residual role of the bureau in coal mining research, much of it safety related, is not discussed. Suddenly appearing throughout the rest of the book are annoying, multi-page discussions of UMWA history, Jock Yablonski, Arnold Miller, the Bituminous Coal Operators Association, contract negotiations, etc. These are only remotely tied to the topic of federal laws on mining safety, and students of labor history will be unsatisfied with this superficial treatment.

Chapter 6 discusses the Mine Safety and Health Act amendments of 1977 which transferred safety regulation to the Department of Labor and established the Mine Safety and Health Administration (MSHA). The chapter portrays MSHA through the Reagan years, ending about 1988. Curran clearly shows the effects of the Reagan administration's efforts to emasculate MSHA, and this basic history is another strength of the book which should be expanded. The addition of information on the leadership of MSHA and its policies, lobbying groups and their players, and the roles of congressional committees, especially those with mine safety responsibilities, would be helpful. The fact that coal mining deaths have continued to drop over time should be addressed as well.

Even with these weaknesses, however, the book is current and, as such, is a prelude to the promised/hoped for reformation under the Clinton administration, and specifically Davitt McAteer, West Virginian and recently confirmed head of MSHA.

Jack Holbrook

Cross Lanes

WOBBLIES, PILE BUTTS, AND OTHER HEROES: LABORLORE EXPLORATIONS. By Archie Green (Urbana: Univ. of Illinois Press, 1993. Pp. xii, 523. $39.95.)

Archie Green invented the word laborlore, and in this capstone to his life's work, he reveals his compassionate philosophy and his depth of understanding of workers' cultures. For over fifty years, Green has been involved with workers and their cultures from the time he was a "Pile butt," a worker on a piledriving crew, through his many scholarly explorations into the life of the worker.

Most noted perhaps for his celebrated work Only a Miner (1972), Green here explores the multidimensional character of occupational expression. Songs, stories, customs, beliefs, and artifacts, both on and off the job, come alive in meaning and symbol. Precisely detailed descriptions of elements in worker culture are combined with analytical comment from Green's knowledge of folklore, history, literary criticism, and linguistics. This wide reach of knowledge is flavored and directed by Green's underlying philosophy of pluralism, one that argues for the diversityof work cultures. Green rejects monism in its various forms as he speaks to the worker and the intellectual.

In a brief introductory section entitled "Keywords" that prompts scholars to review Raymond Williams's learned 1976 etymological study of the same name, Green questions the division between toilers and thinkers. Just as those who study culture do, workers delight in using nicknames and newly coined words to convey complex meanings. These acts permit dignity and play in the workplace and are built upon the real skills and knowledge of the worker.

The heart of this work is in the ten chapters comprising in Green's words "a pair of heroes, two words, two tales, two ballads, a ritual grabbag, and an obscure trade."(4) John Henry, a mythical person, and Joe Hill, a person turned mythical, are the two heroes. Wobbly and fink, the two words, are traced from their origins to the controversies over their meanings. Tales of Marcus Daly and Matty Kiely, "copper bards," pose problems in interpreting labor's views of management, while tales of bosses cuckolding workers, the role of women in these stories, and the workman's reactions highlight a humor of powerlessness. Green's study of strike songs about the infamous 1892 Homestead strike offers a contrast and complement to the detailed history of a southern cotton mill rhyme originating in the Gastonia, North Carolina, conflict in 1929. A "ritual grabbag" analyzes ceremonial acts and ritualistic language used on the job or in the union hall, ranging from "rough music" to shivarees and from "shortened shovel" sabotage stories to Labor Day.

Green concludes the case study chapters with an examination of the lore of the pile butt, a job Green held in 1941 which led to his interest in occupational lore. Youthfully inspired by that direct experience to believe shipwrights had the talents of magicians, Green uses the trade's techniques, work rules, and craft rhetoric to sustain his argument that workers develop "enclaved communities" on the job which tend to an exclusivity based on experience and knowledge. Thus a cultural pluralism arises from the very necessity of work; workers simultaneously change and maintain traditions. This aspect of work culture is crucial to our understanding of culture and society. Green refuses to turn the worker into a statistic or an inanimate object moving in an abstract stream toward some higher goal. From our understanding of discrete items of job wisdom, Green believes we may understand the unique pluralism of work cultures and thereby affirm ourselves and what we do. In a brief "Afterword" Green tells us about "Spokane Tom" who deeply influenced his life.

It is impossible in a brief review to do justice to all the ideas in this study. Green uses connectedness of person, act, song, and story to reveal the import of work in the process of developing identity. He avoids, but does not reject as an analytical tool, the use of radical polarization of dialectical opposites. Rather, Green sees the act of a worker completing a job with great skill, exemplified by the perfect alignment of screws by a ship's carpenter, as a connected act of artful accomplishment reflecting pride. Such acts are examples of the "Tiffany touch," an expression of self-worth among workers.

Green delights us in his examination of the "visual" John Henry with an analysis of song, story, pictorials, and monuments. John Henry personifies work experience in his dual roles of humble worker and mysterious hero. A tragic failure in his attempt to master the machine, he is a towering figure in laborlore. Green traces John Henry as artists and songsters portray him. In a fascinating piece of art history, John Henry appears as he was shaped in the woodcarving of Shields Landon Jones, a retired Chesapeake and Ohio railroad workman (Goldenseal, vol. 8), and as sculpted in the John Henry memorial in Summers County, standing four hundred feet above the old Big Bend tunnel.

In contrast to the visual artifacts, humor and sexual imagery dominate the eleven "Home-Front Harassment" stories. Told by men for men on the job, these stories recount feelings of sexual impotency and powerlessness. The stories all assume that listeners know something about the time and place o the work narrative. They reveal the economic dependency and helplessness of the cuckolded worker. The two oldest are stories in which the worker returns home early from work to discover his wife in bed with another man. The worker cannot confront the man since he is a "perfect stranger." The next eight stories are variations on the theme of the worker who slips away from work early only to find his wife in bed with his boss. Here the worker invariably races back to work to avoid being caught, thereby endangering his job. The final, modern version of the same story results in the worker beating up the boss, tossing him out of his house, and then engaging in a successful drive to unionize the workplace. Green also examines the role of the women in these stories: two defended their actions, while the others appear as inanimate objects. Green hints at the possibility that the demands of modern work now threaten to emasculate the worker more than the power of the boss, and he expects that as the work force becomes more sexually integrated, the sexual imagery of occupational lore will be modified drastically.

Throughout this work Green meshes his personal experience with wide-ranging scholarship. We learn what shaped his thought by reading the vignettes of his life while working as a pile butt, envisioning the cotton mill as a youthful student, or reading "proletarian" literature. He reminds us that we are all outsiders when facing the detailed work processes and work cultures of others. We too often turn the workplace metaphor into language for our own purposes without trying to penetrate its meaning to understand those who create the words in the context of daily experience. The language of the workplace promotes self-identification and uniqueness, sometimes to the detriment of others. A "pile butt," with the words hurtful imagery, can be a term of pride just as "grease monkey" can capture feelings of an engine mechanic. Both words are from the language of the workplace where Green believes the worker frames his own humanity.

Lou Athey

Franklin and Marshall College

AN EVENING WHEN ALONE: FOUR JOURNALS OF SINGLE WOMEN IN THE SOUTH, 1827-1867. Edited by Michael OBrien (Charlottesville: Univ. Press of Virginia. 1993. Pp. 460. $35.00.)

This collection of the diaries of four nineteenth-century southern women is the first published product of the Southern Texts Society, an organization of scholars formed in 1988 to further the cultural and intellectual history of the South. Each of the manuscripts is located in a major depository of southern history -- the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, Louisiana State University, and the Mississippi Department of Archives and History. The diaries vary greatly in length and content, although they share some common themes. Each of the writers has much to say about family, friends, social visits, God, health, and sickness, but little in the way of observation of the world outside the perimeters of family and home. This should come as no surprise. Nineteenth-century white women of the social class of these diarists lived in a world largely defined by domesticity. Even when worldly affairs inevitably impinged on the private lives of these women, such as the Civil War years as revealed in the last of the four diaries, such affairs seemed significant only to the extent that they touched on family and friends. Readers will not find perceptive political commentary in these diaries or accounts of the major events. What the diaries reveal, however, is an important perspective on the nineteenth-century South which helps shed light on that era.

The oldest of the diaries is that of Elizabeth Ruffin, member of a large and distinguished southern family, who wrote in 1827 while living on a Virginia plantation and also while making an extended northern trip. Ruffin was a young woman at the time. Her insights into northern society are probably more valuable to readers today than her observaions on the South, since much of what she had to say about home is focused exclusively on her family. The second diarist is not positively identified by the editor but believed to be Margaret Wilson, governess and schoolteacher, who lived on a plantation in Selma, Mississippi, and wrote between 1835 and 1837. This particular writer offers the occasional commentary on men, although somewhat tongue-in-cheek. She suggests that women's fashion "has exhausted its genius," and that perhaps the time had come for men and women to exchange their styles of clothing and bring "some originality in the execution of the plan."(125) The Selma Plantation diary is followed by the journal of Jane North, a South Carolina "belle," who recorded daily experiences between 1851 and 1852. As did Elizabeth Ruffin, North also took an extended trip to New York and Canada at this time, and much of her diary concerns her travels. Of the four diaries, Norths offers the clearest details about the customs associated with the lives of young single southerners of prominent families seeking marriage partners. At home, North is busily in attendance at dinners, social visits, and dances where young eligible men are present. Much of what she writes is an expression, at times humorous, of her opinions of these men.

By far the most interesting of the four diaries is the last, that of Ann Lewis Hardeman, who lived near Jackson, Mississippi. Hardeman's diary is important because it covers a much longer period than the previous three, 1850 to 1867, and therefore reveals continuity and change over time. Hardeman had the unbelievable responsibility of raising the six young children of her dead sister, a task she took on with no apparent regrets. Much of her diary, as is true for all, but more so in her case, concerns itself with the health of the children, other family members, and friends. Hardeman was a deeply religious woman and the death of four-year-old Sarah Jane clearly tested her faith. Each year her diary notes the anniversary of the child's death with obvious pain. Hardeman serves as an example of a selfless individual who, as a single middle-aged woman, assumed a monumental job, but one which still left her utterly financially dependent on members of her family.

In conclusion, this collection of four women's diaries suggests an auspicious beginning for the Southern Texts Society. It is refreshing to see in published form the manuscripts of nineteenth-century women, well edited and nicely illustrated with family portraits. O'Brien's lengthy introduction enhances the value of this work by placing the diaries in proper historical context.

Donna Spindel

Marshall University

UNHEARD VOICES: THE FIRST HISTORIANS OF SOUTHERN WOMEN. Edited by Anne Firor Scott (Charlottesville: Univ. Press of Virginia, 1992. Pp. ix, 197. $29.95.)

In Unheard Voices: The First Historians of Southern Women, Anne Firor Scott has begun the important work of uncovering formerly unknown and unrecognized women who studied and wrote about topics in women's history during the first decades of the twentieth century. Unheard Voices, although limited to five academics who studied southern women, serves as a call to scholars everywhere to seek out women whose intellectual and academic endeavors have been previously ignored. Scott begins her work by introducing the lives and careers of the five women, then allows them to speak for themselves through their various works.

As their writings indicate, the historians Scott features were clearly innovators in the profession. Essays such as "Conjugal Felicity and Domestic Discord," by Julia Cherry Spruill, and "The Political and Civil Status of Women in Georgia, 1783-1860," written by Eleanor Miot Boatwright, introduce contemporary readers to the ingenious perspectives and methodologies these authors brought to their work. Challenging traditional historical paradigms by directing their research toward previously ignored issues relating to southern women, they made imaginative use of primary documents and articulated an interest in social history.

In spite of the promise exhibited by each of these women, all were ultimately styied when they sought positions within academia. The degree of their frustration varied significantly, however. Virginia Gearhart Gray, while never able to secure a tenured teaching position, became a well-respected archivist at Duke University. Spruill and Guion Griffis Johnson, both married to male academics who became important administrators, directed their energies toward family life, part-time teaching, and extensive volunteer work. Although she held a doctorate from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, Marjorie Mendenhall Applewhite could not acquire a permanent teaching position and was forced into a series of temporary positions. This circumstance contributed to a severe depression, and Applewhite died from the side effects of an experimental antidepressant medication. Boatwright's response to her situation was more dramatic. Although her faculty advisor at Duke assured her of the quality of her thesis, Boatwright was unable to publish her manuscript. Frustrated by this and other personal defeats, she committed suicide.

The responses of these women to the failure of their academic careers reflects an issue which, unfortunately, Scott does not address in Unheard Voices. For Gray, Spruill, and Johnson, the historical profession, while a sincere interest, was only one aspect of their lives. As the wives of tenured male professors, they enjoyed social and financial security. Boatwright, who never married, and Applewright, who was briefly married later in life, did not know the same economic stability. For them, the inability to practice their chosen profession represented a tragic failure. Had Scott considered the class and economic fissures which existed among her subjects, her introductory essay might have offered a more realistic depiction of the various costs which these women historians paid.

Scott's book also suffers from being geographically limited to the University of North Carolina and Duke, where all these women either trained or worked. While such a large contingent of female scholars in one location is significant, the reader wonders if other southern schools also produced students interested in studying the heritage of the region's women.

In spite of its narrow focus, Unheard Voices is still an important book. By reviving the works of these essentially forgotten authors, Scott introduces readers to important historical writings. The quality and innovation of these selections survives as a standard against which the rest of us must measure our own work. Contemporary historians can learn much from the academic writings of these women, as well as from their strength and tenacity in the struggles against professional discrimination.

Sandra Barney

West Virginia University

RECLAIMING THE PAST: LANDMARKS OF WOMEN'S HISTORY. Edited by Page Putnam Miller (Bloomington: Indiana Univ. Press, 1992. Pp. 256. $35.00.)

In recent decades, the field of women's history has broadened society's understanding of the past with numerous important contributions by scholars in a number of diverse topics relating to women's history. One area still in need of research is architectural history. Historic preservation societies have worked diligently to save important structures, but until recently, little attention has been paid to women and historic buildings.

In Reclaiming the Past: Landmarks of Women's History, Page Putnam Miller has compiled a collection of essays describing the contributions of women to preserving historic buildings that are open to the public. These essays also point to the often overlooked fact that much can be gleaned about women's history from evaluating historic buildings. Miller argues that "if Americans had to rely on existing historic sites for their understanding of womens history, a very limited and distorted picture would emerge." Currently, there are approximately fifty historic sites which have as their primary goals the development of interpretive programs about women. Most of these are house museums which focus on specific women.

Topics included in Reclaiming the Past are architecture, the arts, community, education, politics, religion, and work. The articles attempt to combine recent scholarship on women's experiences and contributions. The purpose of each essay is to provide a "synthetic overview" of each subtopic using historic structures to glean insights into women's history.

In the first essay, Barbara Howe studies three aspects of women and architecture: women as leaders and participants in historic preservation, women as promoters of better domestic architecture through theory and design, and women as architects of public and private buildings. Howe points out that few historic buildings shedding light on these topics are actually open to the public. Where they exist, most of the interpretive programs concentrate on events in the buildings rather than on womens preservation efforts. She argues that women were designers who used architects' journals and popular magazines like Ladies' Home Journal. Women, like Catherine Beecher, published essays on the domestic economy, and others, like Louise Blanchard Bethune, were architects. Howe maintains that more attention needs to be given to the individuals, usually women, who worked to preserve historic buildings.

Barbara Melosh's essay surveys some of the major issues which deal with the reinterpretation of women in the arts and suggests how those revisions guide the National Park Service as it chooses historic landmarks. Melosh focuses on literary criticism and art history as reflections of feminist scholarship. The homes of Emily Dickinson and Georgia O'Keefe are just two examples she cites to illustrate that society can learn much from the contents of a home.

The remaining essays deal directly or indirectly with community. Gail Lee Dubrow's article specifically examines women and community by looking at the homes of women like Francis Willard, who participated in social reform. She includes information on the women's club movement, Hull House, and local YWCA buildings. Helen Lefkowitz Horowitz discusses education, Joan Hoff deals with politics, Jean Soderlund with religion, and Lynn Weiner describes women and work.

As the essays in Reclaiming the Past prove, part of women's past is being retrieved by scholars who continue to find more and more sources of women's history. The authors use excellent secondary sources on their respective topics to supplement the primary materials, including photographs of different homes. Reclaiming the Past is long overdue and a welcome addition to women's history. It will help fill a void in the field and be useful in womens history courses as well as architectural history courses.

Jerra Jenrette

Edinboro University of Pennsylvania

BOOKER T. WASHINGTON AND THE ADULT EDUCATION MOVEMENT. By Virginia Lantz Denton (Gainesville: Univ. Press of Florida, 1993. Pp. 278. $34.95.)

In recent years there has been a renewed interest in Booker T. Washington. The controversy surrounding his life has led historians and educators alike to give a very broad interpretation to his place in history. Virginia Lantz Denton, in Booker T. Washington and the Adult Education Movement, attempts to address all facets of this fascinating life. She begins by describing the efforts to keep an entire race illiterate, fostered by the South's fear of slave rebellions. In chapters entitled "Prologue to Freedom" and "Freedom," Denton defines the repression of the desire for education by one race over another. Denton places the accomplishments of Washington within the context of the efforts of groups such as the military, the Quakers, the Freedmen's Bureau, and perhaps most influential, the American Missionary Association. Each group, however, had its own agenda in addition to educating blacks.

When the author turns to "A whole race trying to go to school," the account is both amazing and inspiring. The pictures and images of children and aging adults meeting together in open fields and barns to learn to read and write should touch every reader. Adults working all day in the fields and then giving up their nights for study shows how important was their belief in education.

Denton identifies many influences from Washington's early childhood. Unlike on the larger lantations, his childhood was spent working and playing with the owner's children and his family stayed together. The living conditions for owner and slave did not vary much but became worse with freedom. When Washington's family relocated to Malden, it was, unlike today, a bustling business center. Here the author makes an often repeated error, referring to Washington's work in the salt "mines." Salt production in the Kanawha Valley came from wells drilled to bring the brine to the surface. Denton gives a very even-handed account of these early influences on Washington's development and later philosophy.

A greater influence on Washington's methods was his experience at Hampton Institute under General Samuel Chapman Armstrong. This education reinforced previous influences and the theory "head, hand and heart" carried him into his position at Tuskegee Institute and international prominence. The author asserts that Washington never chose a leadership role in politics. However, his success at Tuskegee would not allow him to stay in the classroom.

Washington's prominence, the author points out, also made him a target. Because he spoke with presidents, many blamed Washington when the presidents ignored his counsel. Although accused of compromise, Denton points out that Washington often used his own resources in fighting the injustices vented on his race. The author speaks to the confrontations between Washington's methods and those of W. E. B. DuBois and the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. Readers are referred to the personal papers of Washington for additional insight into his beliefs, although the controversy over his beliefs continues and includes the editor of these papers.

Denton concludes by painting Washington as a realist. "Washington," she writes, "believed in priorities: First get the training, the job and the house, and then study Latin and Greek. . . ." The book is a valuable study of the much misunderstood Washington for both historians and educators.

J. D. Waggoner

West Virginia Library Commission

CARTER G. WOODSON: A LIFE IN BLACK HISTORY. By Jacqueline Goggin (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State Univ. Press, 1993. Pp. 288, $24.95.)

Considered by many the father of African-American history, Carter G. Woodson devoted his life to recovering the facts of a past buried by historians dedicated to the idea that America was a purely European-descended creation, mitigated by a Turnerian frontier influence. Woodson, born in Virginia of former slaves, immigrated to West Virginia at a young age and graduated from Douglass High School in Huntington. After an early stint mining coal in Fayette County, Woodson went to Berea College in Kentucky and eventually to Harvard for a doctorate in history.

Although Woodson taught school for several years in the Philippines and Washington, DC, in addition to serving as Dean of the College Department at West Virginia Collegiate Institute (now West Virginia State College) from 1920 to 1922, his primary occupation was with the Association for the Study of Negro Life and History. Founded in 1914 by Woodson and several colleagues, the association was a vehicle during the rest of his life for researching, writing, and teaching the history of Americans of African descent, their antecedents in Africa, and the concurrent experiences of counterparts in the Caribbean and Latin America. Woodson continued to promote the history and culture of African America while retaining sympathy for Appalachian Americans, regardless of race, with whom he associated in his coal mining and undergraduate college days.

Throughout much of his career after the founding of the association, Woodson was concerned with accuracy and objectivity in presenting African-American history while striving to free it from reliance on the financial support of white colleagues and foundations. In fact, Woodson felt that white Americans did "not appreciate the feeling, thought, and aspirations of the Negro and therefore cannot think black."(131) By such action Woodson hoped to limit white participation in African-American history, and in light of the racist focus and ethnic arrogance of mos white historians of the day, such an attitude was probably very appropriate. On the unbalanced playing field in which the historical profession found itself in the first half of the twentieth century, his actions were necessary if a serious study of African-American history was not to be compromised.

The inability to achieve this objectivity prompted a stern response from Woodson. Goggin argues that "Woodson's refusal to compromise and his desire always to control any project with which he was associated might be considered weaknesses, [but] they were also his greatest strengths, for he would not allow himself to be drawn into black political power struggles and organizational disputes, nor would he allow his freedom of action to be undermined."(139) This is certainly a valid point for maintaining one's independence, but it should not deny that other scholars working equally independently can also make positive contributions.

The real question then becomes one of independent response to those who control the financial resources. Objectivity in history must be independent of economic or political control, and Woodson is illustrative of what can happen on a wider sphere when such independence is asserted. In his case, independence led to a great deal of personal hardship and lack of adequate funding for otherwise viable projects, but as he pulled ahead of this adversity, the value of his contribution to history and historical methodology was greatly magnified. The result was the uncovering of a new phenomena in the nation's past and the initiation of the serious study of a very important segment in the formation of America.

Since Woodson's time, we have only scratched the surface of African cultural contributions and their impact on a predominantly European-influenced America. With Woodsons work and that of other outstanding African-American historians, such as John Hope Franklin who have continued his contributions, the next step is to go beyond the history of the development of a uniquely African-American people to the formation of an American people whose heritage includes rich contributions f