Reader; All American Experience, Amusing the Million, Coney Island Frolics:
What I noticed while reading these last three sources was the way that Coney seemed to strip away all identifying characteristics of the people who attended the parks. Thats not to say that they became mindless automatons, but rather that their individual culture and social class seemed to dissipate in lieu of the festivities of the park.
In the All American Adventure, Lilly Daché says, "'What would Mam say, if she knew that I smiled at a strange young man I never saw before. This is what she warned me about, No nice girl would ever think of doing such an unladylike thing'" (2). We see that the park takes Lilly out of her natural comfort zone and rigid social code to enjoy the freedom of the amusement. Her previous culture is stripped away in favor a relaxed society loosely bound by the search of entertainment.
Likewise Thompson comments, "People are just boys and girls grown tall. Elaborated child's play is what they want on a holiday. Sliding down cellar doors and the make-believes of youngsters are the most effective amusements for grown ups" (6). For Thompson's case, the adults suspend their airs of maturity and become children once more. Yet another level of their identity stripped away.
Finally Fox makes note, "If it were not for the men who accompany them it would he impossible to recognize them as the same persons who but a little while ago entered those diminutive rooms" (1). The woman who go to Coney to bath strip away the makeup and the fashion of the time to become nearly different people. They shed the entrapment of their old lives and culture for the freedom offered at Coney.
So then, is this freedom from prior culture and status a good or a bad thing (to put it rather elementary)? How should we view this trait of Coney Island in a historical perspective? And what does it show us about the changing nature of American culture?
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Friday, December 3, 2010
Abstracting the Real for Real Enjoyment
Amusing the Millions 55-112:
The section that most stood out to me in reading the last parts of Kasson's work was a small segment on pages 72 and 73. Kasson writes, "Coney abstracted features from larger society and presented them in an intensified, fantastic forms. Instruments of production and efficiency were transformed into objects of amusement, and life around them lifted from the dull routine to exhilarating pageantry" (73). With this statement he also includes two pictures with the captions, "Miners descending for work" and, "Thrill seekers descending for pleasure" respectively.
I thought this was an interesting take on the forms of entertainment that Coney Island produced. Kasson seems to be arguing that Coney's attractions serve as fantastic microcosms for the society at large. The owners of the parks seemed to be taking aspects of the working class, such as the miner's track and transforming them into amusing rides. So something that an individual would be loath to go out outside of the parks now become prime attractions.
In the same way, the recreated natural disasters at Luna Park mirror the tragedies of the past, but do so in a perverted, re-imagined, romanticized way. The attractions turned past catastrophes into the entertainment of the day. In respect, this could also be the source of America's fascination with disaster films today.
So my question is for what reason were these rides such draws to people? They could have experienced similar things in the working world and yet now they pay good money to do the same thing in a different setting. And why were recreated disasters such a big hit? Does it relate somehow to the society as a whole, or to human nature?
The section that most stood out to me in reading the last parts of Kasson's work was a small segment on pages 72 and 73. Kasson writes, "Coney abstracted features from larger society and presented them in an intensified, fantastic forms. Instruments of production and efficiency were transformed into objects of amusement, and life around them lifted from the dull routine to exhilarating pageantry" (73). With this statement he also includes two pictures with the captions, "Miners descending for work" and, "Thrill seekers descending for pleasure" respectively.
I thought this was an interesting take on the forms of entertainment that Coney Island produced. Kasson seems to be arguing that Coney's attractions serve as fantastic microcosms for the society at large. The owners of the parks seemed to be taking aspects of the working class, such as the miner's track and transforming them into amusing rides. So something that an individual would be loath to go out outside of the parks now become prime attractions.
In the same way, the recreated natural disasters at Luna Park mirror the tragedies of the past, but do so in a perverted, re-imagined, romanticized way. The attractions turned past catastrophes into the entertainment of the day. In respect, this could also be the source of America's fascination with disaster films today.
So my question is for what reason were these rides such draws to people? They could have experienced similar things in the working world and yet now they pay good money to do the same thing in a different setting. And why were recreated disasters such a big hit? Does it relate somehow to the society as a whole, or to human nature?
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Pleasure’s Play is Leisure’s Lay
John F. Kasson makes a very bold claim on page 3 of Amusing the Million, “Nowhere were these symbols and their relationship to the new mass audience more clearly revealed than at the turn of the century Coney Island”. How well do the evens and structure of the amusement parks at Coney Island truly reflect the changing values of the urban Americans?
Going through these first few chapters it seems that Coney Island is a microcosm for the whole of city existence. As opposed to Olmsted’s Central park which was purely for the purpose of “contemplation of natural scenery” exists only to further the materialist idealism that overtook American thought which started by around the turn of the century (13). It was “seized upon the new opportunities for profit in amusement” (31). Coney island became another source of wealth for enterprising individuals and another place for people to lose their hard earned dollars, even after the gambling huts and prostitutes were carted away. The owners were clearly “[oriented] toward quantity” of guests to make the maximum possible profit (33).
Also like the city, Coney Island’s amusement parks cater to a number of different ethnic groups. “Coney Island provided attractions and generated a sense of festivity in many respects familiar to frequents of, say, New York’s Italian street festivals, band concerts, and theatre, or to celebrants of Purim and patrons of Yiddish theatre” (39). The island both attracted and embraced all of the different ethnic groups that New York similarly welcomed.
So can we consider Coney island a reflection of the city, or as an escape from the city that so many claimed it was? Or is it some combination of both?
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Business as Usual
How The Other Half Lives 24, 25:
Something that I noticed while reading these chapters was Riis' focus on business and capitalism to fix the problem of the poor in the tenements. He states that the Law acts out of a "desire to educate rather than force the community into a better way". His critique is that the government is acting too slowly in their intervention. The US government at this time like many other nations, was following the notion of laissez-faire capitalism, which, as the French means, a hands off approach to most things, including business and social-economical trends in the population.
Though this may seem the argument of a socialist, Riis takes a different turn, "The business of housing the poor, if it is to amount to anything, must be business, as it was business with our fathers to put them where they are. As charity, pastime, or fad, it will miserably fail, always and everywhere". Though we consider Riis and his fellow muck-rakers as progressives, he is actually following again with the prescribed traditions of his time.
He obviously wants the poor to be helped, but he understands their problem in a capitalist mindset. Riis cannot go beyond the bonds of the system, whether or not he can mentally ascertain a different system or that he is just following standards to connect more easily to his audience. He's writing to a middle class audience, many of whom buy into the system to make money, and cannot turn them away with a new idea that would destroy their social class and position.
So is Riis doing this intentionally? Or is he simply the result of the system in which he exists?
Something that I noticed while reading these chapters was Riis' focus on business and capitalism to fix the problem of the poor in the tenements. He states that the Law acts out of a "desire to educate rather than force the community into a better way". His critique is that the government is acting too slowly in their intervention. The US government at this time like many other nations, was following the notion of laissez-faire capitalism, which, as the French means, a hands off approach to most things, including business and social-economical trends in the population.
Though this may seem the argument of a socialist, Riis takes a different turn, "The business of housing the poor, if it is to amount to anything, must be business, as it was business with our fathers to put them where they are. As charity, pastime, or fad, it will miserably fail, always and everywhere". Though we consider Riis and his fellow muck-rakers as progressives, he is actually following again with the prescribed traditions of his time.
He obviously wants the poor to be helped, but he understands their problem in a capitalist mindset. Riis cannot go beyond the bonds of the system, whether or not he can mentally ascertain a different system or that he is just following standards to connect more easily to his audience. He's writing to a middle class audience, many of whom buy into the system to make money, and cannot turn them away with a new idea that would destroy their social class and position.
So is Riis doing this intentionally? Or is he simply the result of the system in which he exists?
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Losing My Religion
How the Other Half Lives 9, 10, 12, 13:
I found it interesting the parallels that Riis draws between race and religion.
"John Chinaman", as Riis so racistly puts it, follows no faith (according to Riis who is obviously ignoring Confucianism, Taoism, or Buddhism) because their "gentle teachings" are "beyond his grasp". Again he is reinforcing the contemporary notion of racial hierarchy, in which the Asians occupy the bottom rung. He continues to say that it is impossible for them to understand Christianity and if "he adopts [it] at all [...]" it is for an "ulterior motive", one of scam or thrift. This stereotyping is typical of the time considering the age of imperialism and colonialism in which Riis writes.
The next group he goes to are the Jewish people, set apart from everyone in race and religion. When discussing the schools that teach the Talmud he states that the professor's "native instinct for money making having been smothered in the process that has made him a learned man". Again the Jewish people are seen as vulture-like, parasitic creatures on society, who exist for the sake of "thrift", and swindling others out of their money. It seems strange then that Riis states he is tryng to bring awareness to their situation for the purpose of improving it. Riis is obviously more guided by his racist "native instinct" then that of a progressive individual.
Finally he comes to the Bohemians who are "Roman Catholics by birth, infidels by necessity, and Protestants by history and inclination". The Germans and others of their genealogy are the most physically and culturally similar to the WASPs of the new world, and yet they are still vilified. For Riis it seems to be not only a question of race and religion but also social class that makes the people groups valuable to soceity.
Is there anything else worth noting in Riis' work other than his racism and protrayal of racial groups?
Bye,
Jon
I found it interesting the parallels that Riis draws between race and religion.
"John Chinaman", as Riis so racistly puts it, follows no faith (according to Riis who is obviously ignoring Confucianism, Taoism, or Buddhism) because their "gentle teachings" are "beyond his grasp". Again he is reinforcing the contemporary notion of racial hierarchy, in which the Asians occupy the bottom rung. He continues to say that it is impossible for them to understand Christianity and if "he adopts [it] at all [...]" it is for an "ulterior motive", one of scam or thrift. This stereotyping is typical of the time considering the age of imperialism and colonialism in which Riis writes.
The next group he goes to are the Jewish people, set apart from everyone in race and religion. When discussing the schools that teach the Talmud he states that the professor's "native instinct for money making having been smothered in the process that has made him a learned man". Again the Jewish people are seen as vulture-like, parasitic creatures on society, who exist for the sake of "thrift", and swindling others out of their money. It seems strange then that Riis states he is tryng to bring awareness to their situation for the purpose of improving it. Riis is obviously more guided by his racist "native instinct" then that of a progressive individual.
Finally he comes to the Bohemians who are "Roman Catholics by birth, infidels by necessity, and Protestants by history and inclination". The Germans and others of their genealogy are the most physically and culturally similar to the WASPs of the new world, and yet they are still vilified. For Riis it seems to be not only a question of race and religion but also social class that makes the people groups valuable to soceity.
Is there anything else worth noting in Riis' work other than his racism and protrayal of racial groups?
Bye,
Jon
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Worth a Thousand Words
The Mirror With a Memory:
Going through this reading I was reminded of my IB art class a great deal. In this class we had to do artist critiques very often where we'd examine the works put out by the different artists we were studying and apply the different elements and principles of art to their works. Judging from this reading and from my experience looking over Riis' images I'd have to say that his work was not that of an amateur. While he claims he "had to use it [...] and beyond that [he] never went"the images he produced were so high grade that I'm disinclined to believe this. Each shot was taken with extreme care to show exactly what Riis wanted to be seen. They are both artistic and aesthetic. They show the squalor of the urban poor so precisely and meticulously that he could not have just snapped a picture and moved on.
In the case of "Five Cents a Spot" the scene is taken as a whole. It shows the whole of the room, further adding to the idea of crowded-ness. The people and their surroundings are dingy and dirty, further emphasized by the dark values in the room. Such a rendering took careful thought, obvious with the intent to provoke sympathy, so it's highly unlikely that Riis only used photography because he had to.
Any other art students/ex-students, do you agree with this interpretation? Can you find just as many artistic techniques as I have in any number of Riis' pictures?
да спаткання,
Jon
Going through this reading I was reminded of my IB art class a great deal. In this class we had to do artist critiques very often where we'd examine the works put out by the different artists we were studying and apply the different elements and principles of art to their works. Judging from this reading and from my experience looking over Riis' images I'd have to say that his work was not that of an amateur. While he claims he "had to use it [...] and beyond that [he] never went"the images he produced were so high grade that I'm disinclined to believe this. Each shot was taken with extreme care to show exactly what Riis wanted to be seen. They are both artistic and aesthetic. They show the squalor of the urban poor so precisely and meticulously that he could not have just snapped a picture and moved on.
In the case of "Five Cents a Spot" the scene is taken as a whole. It shows the whole of the room, further adding to the idea of crowded-ness. The people and their surroundings are dingy and dirty, further emphasized by the dark values in the room. Such a rendering took careful thought, obvious with the intent to provoke sympathy, so it's highly unlikely that Riis only used photography because he had to.
Any other art students/ex-students, do you agree with this interpretation? Can you find just as many artistic techniques as I have in any number of Riis' pictures?
да спаткання,
Jon
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
How the Other Century Lived
How the Other Half Lives:
The line I was really drawn to in reading Chapters 1-4 was in the third chapter (yeah no page numbers), "The poorest immigrant comes here with the purpose and ambition to better himself, and given half a chance, might be reasonably expected to make the most of it". I found this to be particularly striking because of the differences I see between the immigrants of the turn of the century and the people of today. Riis seems to agree with Alger, that the American dream is still real, and that one just needs to have the drive and maybe a little luck to achieve it. Today so few Americans are still chasing this dream. They believe that the rights and privileges of American citizenry are obligatory, that they are entitled to them. This cannot be further from the truth. One still needs to WORK for a living, they need to CONTRIBUTE to society in a meaningful way, they can't just party it up like the idiots on Jersey Shore (I know, I'm ashamed I even mentioned that show here too). Thats why I admire the individuals Riis portrays so much more than anyone in my generation (Very stereotypically of course).
The immigrants that Riis shows live hard lives, unfair lives, lives deemed to be of little consequence or meaning, but they fought for what they had. The policies that the government enacted to preserve their lives were just, and long overdue. The contributions they made helped to bring this nation into the modern age. They lived in squalid conditions to be sure, but out of that filth came a generation of men and women who rose above the odds, to "better themselves", and who overcame. They were the true Americans, regardless of their origin of birth.
Ok, that does it for my tirade. How does it make you feel? Do you pity those depicted less? Do you not feel so superior to their conditions? It's humbling to me at least.
Agur,
Jon
The line I was really drawn to in reading Chapters 1-4 was in the third chapter (yeah no page numbers), "The poorest immigrant comes here with the purpose and ambition to better himself, and given half a chance, might be reasonably expected to make the most of it". I found this to be particularly striking because of the differences I see between the immigrants of the turn of the century and the people of today. Riis seems to agree with Alger, that the American dream is still real, and that one just needs to have the drive and maybe a little luck to achieve it. Today so few Americans are still chasing this dream. They believe that the rights and privileges of American citizenry are obligatory, that they are entitled to them. This cannot be further from the truth. One still needs to WORK for a living, they need to CONTRIBUTE to society in a meaningful way, they can't just party it up like the idiots on Jersey Shore (I know, I'm ashamed I even mentioned that show here too). Thats why I admire the individuals Riis portrays so much more than anyone in my generation (Very stereotypically of course).
The immigrants that Riis shows live hard lives, unfair lives, lives deemed to be of little consequence or meaning, but they fought for what they had. The policies that the government enacted to preserve their lives were just, and long overdue. The contributions they made helped to bring this nation into the modern age. They lived in squalid conditions to be sure, but out of that filth came a generation of men and women who rose above the odds, to "better themselves", and who overcame. They were the true Americans, regardless of their origin of birth.
Ok, that does it for my tirade. How does it make you feel? Do you pity those depicted less? Do you not feel so superior to their conditions? It's humbling to me at least.
Agur,
Jon
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Think of the Children!
Orphan Boys and Other Stories:
The thing that I found most notable about these readings was the black and white version of the world that the authors were presenting, especially James D. McCabe Jr. McCabe especially wants to point out that the boys living on the street will either a) turn to crime or b) be influenced so positively by the Children's Aid Society that their entire life will be turned around. Confusingly though he also calls the bootblack boys "sharp, quick-witted" (McCabe 139). It seems strange that he'd give them the qualities that one needed to succeed back then and then turn around and say that they're doomed to "fall into criminal practices" (McCabe 139). I feel like there ought to be some inbetween. While Alger's novel is just that, a fictional novel, it still shows that the possibility for advancement was there.
Crapsey is a bit more unbiased in his representation of the boys. He states that they were "pushed by the relentless force of untoward circumstances into the criminal practices" rather than by their own vocation (Crapsey 141). His portrayal is that of children at the mercy of circumstance and that turning toward criminal practices are more the result of necessity than any personal shortcomings.
The journal of a visitor from the country, reprinted in Brace's analysis, shows some of the boy's own understanding of their condition. Paddy comes on rather sarcastically saying "Why don't you save your money" (Brace 144). They, at least as presented here, approached their situation with a tone of detached irony because they know that their situation, appears at the least, hopeless.
So my question to you is this, Is Alger's view of the American dream more correct than the depressed society of boys shown here? Or can there be some truth to both statements? Are the boys discussed in these writings the Johnny Nolands of the real world? And if thats the case, were are the Ragged Dicks?
Elveda,
Jon
The thing that I found most notable about these readings was the black and white version of the world that the authors were presenting, especially James D. McCabe Jr. McCabe especially wants to point out that the boys living on the street will either a) turn to crime or b) be influenced so positively by the Children's Aid Society that their entire life will be turned around. Confusingly though he also calls the bootblack boys "sharp, quick-witted" (McCabe 139). It seems strange that he'd give them the qualities that one needed to succeed back then and then turn around and say that they're doomed to "fall into criminal practices" (McCabe 139). I feel like there ought to be some inbetween. While Alger's novel is just that, a fictional novel, it still shows that the possibility for advancement was there.
Crapsey is a bit more unbiased in his representation of the boys. He states that they were "pushed by the relentless force of untoward circumstances into the criminal practices" rather than by their own vocation (Crapsey 141). His portrayal is that of children at the mercy of circumstance and that turning toward criminal practices are more the result of necessity than any personal shortcomings.
The journal of a visitor from the country, reprinted in Brace's analysis, shows some of the boy's own understanding of their condition. Paddy comes on rather sarcastically saying "Why don't you save your money" (Brace 144). They, at least as presented here, approached their situation with a tone of detached irony because they know that their situation, appears at the least, hopeless.
So my question to you is this, Is Alger's view of the American dream more correct than the depressed society of boys shown here? Or can there be some truth to both statements? Are the boys discussed in these writings the Johnny Nolands of the real world? And if thats the case, were are the Ragged Dicks?
Elveda,
Jon
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Floundering in a sea of Deus Ex Machina
Ragged Dick 11-27:
Ok, so the "Exciting Adventure" experience was so incredibly inane and trivial that I was almost painful to read. Alger seemed to run out of things for Dick to do and created a magical event to tie all the loose ends of the plot, or at least tried to. The ending he presents though is so contrived and petty that it loses some of it's meaning.
Just a quick recap of events;
1. Boy falls off boat, and father cannot help him because, for some reason, a well educated, aristocratic man does not know how to swim, even when his own son's life is at risk.
2. Dick saves him, despite the dangers and "doesn't hear" the reward offered by the man
3. Boy's father takes Dick and Fosdick in to his lavish home
4. Dick is offered an amazing job, given new clothes, and changes his name to the more "respectable" Richard.
Alger seems to be insinuating that if you try hard, such as Dick has an "earnest desire to improve" (86), that a magical series of events will allow you to succeed. It's almost as bad as the ending of the Twilight novels (Yes I read them, you can judge me latter); Bella becomes a super-special vampire with super-special powers, and wins the not-battle at the not-climax, just as Dick is a super-special boy with no real flaws, improves himself to become a super-special "respectable" person, and attains status after a not-climax with no real hardships. Dick faces no real challenges and succeeds in everything he does, how boring is that?
Of course we can call Alger just a poor writer, but I'd like to hope that he's oversimplifying the story for simplicity's sake, and for the sake of hammering in his message. Dick is successful because he works hard and is aided by certain members of a higher social class, just as Alger wants his readers to help "empower" the lower classes so that they too can become rich. Even just after Dick rises from the ashes of his old life, shedding his "Ragged" title in the process, he already turns around to help those he's left behind, "Somebody needs to look out for [Johnny Nolan]" (115).
So my question is anyone else disappointed in this ending? Should Alger have made the journey more difficult for Dick? And what if Dick hadn't succeeded, would that change the message of the story too drastically?
հրաժեշտ,
Jon
Ok, so the "Exciting Adventure" experience was so incredibly inane and trivial that I was almost painful to read. Alger seemed to run out of things for Dick to do and created a magical event to tie all the loose ends of the plot, or at least tried to. The ending he presents though is so contrived and petty that it loses some of it's meaning.
Just a quick recap of events;
1. Boy falls off boat, and father cannot help him because, for some reason, a well educated, aristocratic man does not know how to swim, even when his own son's life is at risk.
2. Dick saves him, despite the dangers and "doesn't hear" the reward offered by the man
3. Boy's father takes Dick and Fosdick in to his lavish home
4. Dick is offered an amazing job, given new clothes, and changes his name to the more "respectable" Richard.
Alger seems to be insinuating that if you try hard, such as Dick has an "earnest desire to improve" (86), that a magical series of events will allow you to succeed. It's almost as bad as the ending of the Twilight novels (Yes I read them, you can judge me latter); Bella becomes a super-special vampire with super-special powers, and wins the not-battle at the not-climax, just as Dick is a super-special boy with no real flaws, improves himself to become a super-special "respectable" person, and attains status after a not-climax with no real hardships. Dick faces no real challenges and succeeds in everything he does, how boring is that?
Of course we can call Alger just a poor writer, but I'd like to hope that he's oversimplifying the story for simplicity's sake, and for the sake of hammering in his message. Dick is successful because he works hard and is aided by certain members of a higher social class, just as Alger wants his readers to help "empower" the lower classes so that they too can become rich. Even just after Dick rises from the ashes of his old life, shedding his "Ragged" title in the process, he already turns around to help those he's left behind, "Somebody needs to look out for [Johnny Nolan]" (115).
So my question is anyone else disappointed in this ending? Should Alger have made the journey more difficult for Dick? And what if Dick hadn't succeeded, would that change the message of the story too drastically?
հրաժեշտ,
Jon
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Our Young Hero
Ragged Dick, Chapters 1-11:
What struck me the most in reading the few chapters that we have was the bluntness of Horatio Alger's message in the case of Dick. He is so explicitly direct that he might as well not be writing a novel but rather just giving a telethon sermon on the injustices of American society (metaphorically of course). No only does he blatantly tell the reader in his preface that he wishes to "have the effect of enlisting the sympathies of his readers in behalf of the unfortunate children [...]" but nearly every chapter contains some sort of reference, either to Dick's good nature or Frank's kindness towards Dick.
Dick is described along the same lines and possessing the same characteristics of any other "model hero" protagonist from the era. The greatest of his flaws being that he "swore sometimes, and now and then he played tricks upon unsophisticated boys from the country [...]" (5). Otherwise he is a rather amicable, and easy to love and/or associate with kid. He's witty, "decidedly good looking", motivated, clever, and compassionate (4). As such he seems almost like a flat character in that his flaws are few and minor.
Frank on the other hand, comes from an entirely different background, much the same as the boy who would probably be reading this novella. He is educated and polite if naive and perhaps even boring. Like Dick he seems a flat character that exists only to further Alger's own message, without any attempt of disguise of literary development. He "insisted on paying" (21), "his voice [was] full of sympathy" (29), and was "blessed with a good home and indulgent parents, [and] could not help pitying the friendless boy who had found life such up-hill work" (42). Frank embodies all which Alger wants his audience to become. Respectful and helpful and full of sympathy for the poor.
So why exactly does Alger use such blunt means to express his message? A more complex set of characters could be used and still convey the same message, perhaps even better than those with two dimensions. Does the simplicity of Alger's work add or detract from his meaning?
وداعا
Jon
Thursday, September 23, 2010
The Successful Protest and the Rioting Failure
Were the New York City Draft Riots successful or not? To answer this question, one must really look at the reasons for and actions of the mob. We all know that the riots were sparked by the call of the draft registry, however, they did not end with the draft office's destruction. As stated earlier the mob quickly lost control or direction and turned to looting and pillaging. In fact we know that African Americans were targeted and lynched specifically. We can look at these undertakings in two ways of course; that the mob was racist, and violent and took out heir social-tensions in a brutal manner. On the other hand, many northerners identified the blacks as the cause of the civil war and as such, they blamed the draft on them. This can then be viewed as a political battle whereas the blacks became a symbol of the draft and of the political issues that sparked the riot.
Continuing on though, we get the image that even though "exemption money" (Draft Riots 1863: Money) was paid by the city of new york for the removal of the necessity of the draft, "an appropriation twice as large would have been just as futile". The riots,as we now understand are not of political nature anymore, because, even with their primary aims achieved, the riots did not cease. It wasn't until"federal troops" were brought in to "quell the rioting" (Draft Riots reading day 3) that the commotion finally ended.
The protest in and of itself can still be seen as a success however in that Governor Seymour reduced NYC's "draft quota from twenty six thousand to twelve thousand men". In the reduction of more than half the quota, the political aims of the riots were achieved even more than originally imagined. Still the death toll and massive property damage show how far gone the riots left the city.
As such, can we consider, in the nature of hindsight, the riots to be a success, or a failure? And to what extent of each?
Continuing on though, we get the image that even though "exemption money" (Draft Riots 1863: Money) was paid by the city of new york for the removal of the necessity of the draft, "an appropriation twice as large would have been just as futile". The riots,as we now understand are not of political nature anymore, because, even with their primary aims achieved, the riots did not cease. It wasn't until"federal troops" were brought in to "quell the rioting" (Draft Riots reading day 3) that the commotion finally ended.
The protest in and of itself can still be seen as a success however in that Governor Seymour reduced NYC's "draft quota from twenty six thousand to twelve thousand men". In the reduction of more than half the quota, the political aims of the riots were achieved even more than originally imagined. Still the death toll and massive property damage show how far gone the riots left the city.
As such, can we consider, in the nature of hindsight, the riots to be a success, or a failure? And to what extent of each?
Lamtumirë,
Jon
Friday, September 17, 2010
Mob Mentality on the Second Day
The from the events of the second day's draft riots, we can clearly see that the mentality has changed. Whereas before the actions of the mob could be taken as an organized, albeit a violent, political protest, now the mob has descended into pure anarchy. As J.T. Headly put it, "The spirit of hell seemed to have entered the hearts of these men". These people were now openly looting, lynching, and burning anything they could connect to the war. The crowd targeted "places that represented the war effort, the Republican party, and/or social privilege" (Context to Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper). Any political aspect of the mob was stripped from media coverage. In each of the illustrations from the second or third days, the men and women are poor, animalistic, and brutal. Juxtaposed against the image of the well dressed and well organized mob of the morning of the first day, we can easily see that difference in character that the group has taken on as time progressed.
Prime evidence of this is Stoddard's comments on "exemption-money" in The Volcano Under the City. The city "Board of Aldermen" came together and appropriated "$2,500,000", an outlandishly high fee at the time, and even today, which would pay for the draft wavers of those called. The thought being that the mob was made up of draft protesters, and that by buying them out of their draft ticket, the mob would dispel. Perhaps, had the appropriation come out the day earlier, it would have been successful, but as it were the money feel on deaf ears. Indeed Stoddard continues, "An appropriation twice as large would have been just as futile". The crowd was no longer concerned with the draft as it's central issue, but it gave lead to the pursuit of violence and thievery.
As such I would argue that the draft calls were merely the spark that instigated a social uprising unheard of before or after in American history. It was an excuse for the disillusioned and impoverished's racial and social tensions to boil over and erupt, like a Volcano Under the City. Do you agree, or was the draft the main issue of the riot?
Totsiens,
Prime evidence of this is Stoddard's comments on "exemption-money" in The Volcano Under the City. The city "Board of Aldermen" came together and appropriated "$2,500,000", an outlandishly high fee at the time, and even today, which would pay for the draft wavers of those called. The thought being that the mob was made up of draft protesters, and that by buying them out of their draft ticket, the mob would dispel. Perhaps, had the appropriation come out the day earlier, it would have been successful, but as it were the money feel on deaf ears. Indeed Stoddard continues, "An appropriation twice as large would have been just as futile". The crowd was no longer concerned with the draft as it's central issue, but it gave lead to the pursuit of violence and thievery.
As such I would argue that the draft calls were merely the spark that instigated a social uprising unheard of before or after in American history. It was an excuse for the disillusioned and impoverished's racial and social tensions to boil over and erupt, like a Volcano Under the City. Do you agree, or was the draft the main issue of the riot?
Jon
Monday, September 13, 2010
Mob Mentality
What interested me the most from the articles was the supposed double nature of the draft mob. At points it seemed as if the mob followed a clear plan or leadership at the least, whereas other times it seemed as if the group's direction was lost. For example, when members of the mob took to cutting the telegraph lines connecting the number of precincts and police departments in New York, I took this to be very well reasoned, almost militaristic. One of the first actions in a military engagement is to cut one's enemies' lines of communication. To realize that the police were using this system to organize counter movements against the mob and to take the initiative to protect their plans is a complicated process that is usually not seen in a domestic disturbance, especially one that boiled over and erupted just a few short hours earlier. Similarly, attacks on the Tribute building, Draft office, and Colored Children's orphanage seemed all very organized, if not misguided.
On the other hand, random looting and property damage, along with street lynchings and beatings seem more characteristic of a mob beyond control. Looting and assault were also seen in Detroit in the 1960s (Don't quote me on that date) and following Hurricane Katrina's devastation in New Orleans. These are the actions of individuals and small groups rather than an organized force.
So my question is; was the mob organized by any central figure or authority, or were they a heterogeneous group prone to violence whose only common feature was a frustration with the civil war?
Also, I found this neato (Oh yes, I said neato) map of the riots which helps put things into perspective. My gift to you all.
Auf Wiedersehen,
Jon
| Originally from Mr.Lincoln and New York |
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Fall From Grace; Immorality in 1850s New York
Five Points Primary Sources:
What instantly resonated with me, in regards to these sources, was the way that each of the 3 authors looked at the causes, effects and possible solutions (or lack thereof) to the situation in the Five Points Neighborhood.
Foster, in the first document, is astonishingly cavalier in his approach to the neighborhood. He deems the situation a "poison" of "moral insanity" where salvation is seldom seen. This poison flows from the inhabitants of the slums and thus, the world is of their own making. The individuals are responsible for their own suffering. The "Irish women", "Jew and Jewess", and the "Negro" are to blame. In this way, Foster promotes the social racism of the time. Despite the fact that those of Irish descent are of close relation to the Anglo-Saxon founders, that the Jews have a similar religious tradition, that "Negroes" are more free in the liberal north, these groups are vilified and blamed for the social conditions thrust upon them by prejudice and circumstance. While certainly racist, and maybe even horrifying to our standards, such ethnocentrism was the norm in the past. America is not known for it's complete understanding and tolerance, but rather it's bouts of conflict between groups, and eventual reconciliation. Such commentary could be compared to one of a Texas border city now where the Latin Kings reign supreme. What is disappointing however is that he offers no solution to the situation other than to warn fathers and such to keep their daughters away from the "damning drought of ambition". It seems almost as though he finds their squalid conditions a personal affront (almost like an old fashioned royal who gets annoyed at the peasant who had the gall to be run over by their carriage). It's for this reason that I find his commentary less useful in diagnosing the problem discussed, despite its lengthy description of the symptoms.
The article written by the Ladies of the Mission on the other hand care less about the specifics of the problem as a whole, and give a call to action to cure the disease. It is important to note that the source is most likely from a Catholic Nunnery. Women especially are well known for leading different social movements throughout American history. The temperance movement, women's suffrage, emancipation, even the equal rights movement of the 1960s and 70s have been categorized by woman instigation, if not leadership. The Ladies of the Mission make an emotional plea to the citizens of New York, with "tears of regret and shame", to help "the children!". The thing that I find interesting though is that the sisters don't care so much for the problem as a whole, but specifically for the next generation, that they would not have to live in the same deplorable conditions of their parents (or lack thereof).
The final article, written by Charles Dickens, is notable because it tells the story of Five Points through allegory. The men of the slums are "pigs" and "dogs" who either fight each other to survive or have already given up to live in their miserable existence. The thing about Dickens' writing however is that it invokes sympathy for the people he's writing about, rather than disgust in Foster or the Ladies who've given up on most of the inhabitants. It seems as if the situation has created the people, rather than the people creating the situation, and so they cannot be blamed for the conditions. This then leads to the question of "who is to blame?" which Dickens hints at answering as well. As with much of his work, Dickens calls attention to the "high society" part of the public to become accountable for their actions (or lack thereof, which is my new favorite phrase if no one's noticed yet) which helped to create the conditions in the first place.
My question to you is then, who is to blame for the situation at Five Points? Is it the inhabitants? The "Aristocrats" of New York? The Police? Someone else entirely? I hesitate to ask what a solution could be since history has already provided us with an answer, but given the context of the time, what could be done, and by whom?
Adios,
Jon
What instantly resonated with me, in regards to these sources, was the way that each of the 3 authors looked at the causes, effects and possible solutions (or lack thereof) to the situation in the Five Points Neighborhood.
Foster, in the first document, is astonishingly cavalier in his approach to the neighborhood. He deems the situation a "poison" of "moral insanity" where salvation is seldom seen. This poison flows from the inhabitants of the slums and thus, the world is of their own making. The individuals are responsible for their own suffering. The "Irish women", "Jew and Jewess", and the "Negro" are to blame. In this way, Foster promotes the social racism of the time. Despite the fact that those of Irish descent are of close relation to the Anglo-Saxon founders, that the Jews have a similar religious tradition, that "Negroes" are more free in the liberal north, these groups are vilified and blamed for the social conditions thrust upon them by prejudice and circumstance. While certainly racist, and maybe even horrifying to our standards, such ethnocentrism was the norm in the past. America is not known for it's complete understanding and tolerance, but rather it's bouts of conflict between groups, and eventual reconciliation. Such commentary could be compared to one of a Texas border city now where the Latin Kings reign supreme. What is disappointing however is that he offers no solution to the situation other than to warn fathers and such to keep their daughters away from the "damning drought of ambition". It seems almost as though he finds their squalid conditions a personal affront (almost like an old fashioned royal who gets annoyed at the peasant who had the gall to be run over by their carriage). It's for this reason that I find his commentary less useful in diagnosing the problem discussed, despite its lengthy description of the symptoms.
The article written by the Ladies of the Mission on the other hand care less about the specifics of the problem as a whole, and give a call to action to cure the disease. It is important to note that the source is most likely from a Catholic Nunnery. Women especially are well known for leading different social movements throughout American history. The temperance movement, women's suffrage, emancipation, even the equal rights movement of the 1960s and 70s have been categorized by woman instigation, if not leadership. The Ladies of the Mission make an emotional plea to the citizens of New York, with "tears of regret and shame", to help "the children!". The thing that I find interesting though is that the sisters don't care so much for the problem as a whole, but specifically for the next generation, that they would not have to live in the same deplorable conditions of their parents (or lack thereof).
The final article, written by Charles Dickens, is notable because it tells the story of Five Points through allegory. The men of the slums are "pigs" and "dogs" who either fight each other to survive or have already given up to live in their miserable existence. The thing about Dickens' writing however is that it invokes sympathy for the people he's writing about, rather than disgust in Foster or the Ladies who've given up on most of the inhabitants. It seems as if the situation has created the people, rather than the people creating the situation, and so they cannot be blamed for the conditions. This then leads to the question of "who is to blame?" which Dickens hints at answering as well. As with much of his work, Dickens calls attention to the "high society" part of the public to become accountable for their actions (or lack thereof, which is my new favorite phrase if no one's noticed yet) which helped to create the conditions in the first place.
My question to you is then, who is to blame for the situation at Five Points? Is it the inhabitants? The "Aristocrats" of New York? The Police? Someone else entirely? I hesitate to ask what a solution could be since history has already provided us with an answer, but given the context of the time, what could be done, and by whom?
Adios,
Jon
Monday, September 6, 2010
Some General Thoughts on Studying History
Historical Thinking and Other Unnatural Acts:
Wineburg's main argument deals with the nature of studying history; from why study it at all to how to study it properly once you've decided to do so. Wineburg spends a great deal of time discussing the balance that one needs to establish between the familiarity of "known" history and the strangeness of "the distant past". On both sides we run the risk of misinterpreting the content of a document. If we feel too familiar with the work we can "contort the past to fit the predetermined meanings we ave already assigned it". On the other hand, if something is too foreign to us we can become "detached" and turn the work into "a kind of esoteric exoticism". I agree wholeheartedly with Wineburg and thus agree with his conclusion that "historical thinking [...] is neither a natural process" but that it is an "achievement", or a goal to be reached. Unfortunately for us Wineburg, nor any other historian that I know of, has given us a the perfect ratio, or a mathematical formula if you will, of how to mix the two extremes. We must simply learn to find equilibrium between the uncertainty of new (to us) historical events and the familiarity of our presumptions.
"Simply" however, turns out to not be so simple after all. Historians across the ages have argued on the best way to approach historical thought and the best ways to develop the skills needed to comprehend history. The Bradley Commission for example says that a student must "suspend [their] knowledge" and throw away any perceived connection they had before study to attain the "sense of empathy" needed for historical study. Despite this, the example that Wineburg gives of the high school student Derek shows that he needed his "existing beliefs" to "[shape] the information he encountered". It is for this reason that I especially adhere to the belief that history is a "foreign country, not a foreign planet". While it is strange and exotic and may be completely different from the society that we know today, human history is still human. The figures of the past may be alien and obscure to our paradigms and society, but they are still governed by the very same things that make us human today. They are just as prone to greed, ambition, love, pain, envy, wistfulness, sorrow, joy as we are today. This emotional connection is our bridge to the past, the thing that most allows us to try and understand not only what happened, but why.
Of course we're limited in our knowledge not only because we don't have completely unbiased, factual reports of what happened, but because the past is so foreign to us that we cannot hope to fully comprehend it. We can't study the past like we can study geology or biology because everything that is from the past exists in the present (At least until we get time travel, come on engineers!). Any historical evidence that exists today is no longer something in the past, but something that come from before and exists in the here and now. Julius Caesar's Gaelic Wars may have been penned long ago but we read it in the present, changing it's meaning to fit our culture today. Wineburg comments on this as well when he states that "we must consider the possibility that they drew [Egyptian Hieroglyphics] differently because they saw them differently". Our interpretations will always differ from those of the ancient Egyptians because they interpreted things in the past as part of their present and we will interpret things in the past as part of our present.
So why should we study history at all? If merely trying to understand what happened in the past is so difficult, let alone why it happened, why bother at all? Anyone can say "Those who do not know history are doomed to repeat it", but what does that really mean? I have no definitive answer for you. I have my own opinions an speculations of course, but I would truly like to hear what someone else has to say. Wineburg touches on the idea and Professor Belanger discussed it on the first day as well, but why does everyone else care about history? Or why don't you? Is this class a waste of time, and we just need to take it because Stonehill's administration is insane? Please leave your thoughts below or let me know f you have a full response on your own blogs.
Adieu,
Jon
Wineburg's main argument deals with the nature of studying history; from why study it at all to how to study it properly once you've decided to do so. Wineburg spends a great deal of time discussing the balance that one needs to establish between the familiarity of "known" history and the strangeness of "the distant past". On both sides we run the risk of misinterpreting the content of a document. If we feel too familiar with the work we can "contort the past to fit the predetermined meanings we ave already assigned it". On the other hand, if something is too foreign to us we can become "detached" and turn the work into "a kind of esoteric exoticism". I agree wholeheartedly with Wineburg and thus agree with his conclusion that "historical thinking [...] is neither a natural process" but that it is an "achievement", or a goal to be reached. Unfortunately for us Wineburg, nor any other historian that I know of, has given us a the perfect ratio, or a mathematical formula if you will, of how to mix the two extremes. We must simply learn to find equilibrium between the uncertainty of new (to us) historical events and the familiarity of our presumptions.
"Simply" however, turns out to not be so simple after all. Historians across the ages have argued on the best way to approach historical thought and the best ways to develop the skills needed to comprehend history. The Bradley Commission for example says that a student must "suspend [their] knowledge" and throw away any perceived connection they had before study to attain the "sense of empathy" needed for historical study. Despite this, the example that Wineburg gives of the high school student Derek shows that he needed his "existing beliefs" to "[shape] the information he encountered". It is for this reason that I especially adhere to the belief that history is a "foreign country, not a foreign planet". While it is strange and exotic and may be completely different from the society that we know today, human history is still human. The figures of the past may be alien and obscure to our paradigms and society, but they are still governed by the very same things that make us human today. They are just as prone to greed, ambition, love, pain, envy, wistfulness, sorrow, joy as we are today. This emotional connection is our bridge to the past, the thing that most allows us to try and understand not only what happened, but why.
Of course we're limited in our knowledge not only because we don't have completely unbiased, factual reports of what happened, but because the past is so foreign to us that we cannot hope to fully comprehend it. We can't study the past like we can study geology or biology because everything that is from the past exists in the present (At least until we get time travel, come on engineers!). Any historical evidence that exists today is no longer something in the past, but something that come from before and exists in the here and now. Julius Caesar's Gaelic Wars may have been penned long ago but we read it in the present, changing it's meaning to fit our culture today. Wineburg comments on this as well when he states that "we must consider the possibility that they drew [Egyptian Hieroglyphics] differently because they saw them differently". Our interpretations will always differ from those of the ancient Egyptians because they interpreted things in the past as part of their present and we will interpret things in the past as part of our present.
So why should we study history at all? If merely trying to understand what happened in the past is so difficult, let alone why it happened, why bother at all? Anyone can say "Those who do not know history are doomed to repeat it", but what does that really mean? I have no definitive answer for you. I have my own opinions an speculations of course, but I would truly like to hear what someone else has to say. Wineburg touches on the idea and Professor Belanger discussed it on the first day as well, but why does everyone else care about history? Or why don't you? Is this class a waste of time, and we just need to take it because Stonehill's administration is insane? Please leave your thoughts below or let me know f you have a full response on your own blogs.
Adieu,
Jon
Failures of Textbooks
Historical Thinking and Other Unnatural Acts:
While reading the Continuity and Change section of the passage I was immediately drawn to Wineburg's critique of modern historical textbooks. He first starts out with the three main failures of textbooks today; their editorial elimination of "metadiscourse" or the arguments or stances made by Historians in their professional work, which are later taken out. Secondly, he first states and then further rebukes the lack of primary source documents, or their belittlement "so as not to interfere with the main text". Finally he remarks on the "omniscient third person" narration of the works, which tie back into the elimination of metadiscourse. His thoughts on the failures of textbooks line up exactly with mine. This editorial process seems to turn our schoolbooks into little more than specialized encyclopedias, blindly thrusting "knowledge" onto the reader with little thought or interpretation necessary. The unintended side effect of textbooks is the effectual shutdown of learning. Textbook reading becomes boring because the student can put their brain into shut down and attempt to internalize the information via osmosis. Modern textbooks thus become collections of dry information that does little to develop the students own thought processes.
Furthermore, the narration of the works give a sense of "knowledge from on high", giving an authoritative stance on the knowledge provided. This is not only distracting in my opinion, but dangerous as it removes any contention or divergence in the claims supplied by the editors. It makes History appear as a flat landscape, devoid of the conflict of ideas and paradigms that riddle the mountainous terrain of time. One may go so far as to say as such transient positions given ruin the student's individual thought, compressing all ideas into one unified code, and striking the others that disagree from the record.
I'd like to note however that I am not completely against the idea of a textbook, and promote their burnings in the streets (Though I could warrant such a response when dealing with The American Pageant, which was perhaps the worst task heaped upon me by the IB program). Textbooks are a great source for preliminary knowledge and inarguable facts such as dates. The main thing to remember is the limitations of such works. Most textbooks cover a vast expanse of time, and not everything can be adequately expressed or addressed. For specifics and true historical understanding through conflicting ideas one must turn to modern historians' professional work, complete with metadiscourse, or even better, to primary sources. It is from these documents that one can develop a true sense of the events studied. Though of course, these sources are not without their own values and limitations (Which I will get to in my next posting)
As per the task, I must leave anyone who chooses to read my rambling thoughts with a question. I suppose the most fair question could be, "Are Wineburg and I wrong in our critique?". Please note that while I'm adding Wineburg's name to my stance (It's a nasty little trick to make you agree with me) I can by no means speak for him or say that he speaks for mean entirely. Please leave a comment or if you think a response will really merit an entire posting, by all means go ahead.
Ciao,
Jon
While reading the Continuity and Change section of the passage I was immediately drawn to Wineburg's critique of modern historical textbooks. He first starts out with the three main failures of textbooks today; their editorial elimination of "metadiscourse" or the arguments or stances made by Historians in their professional work, which are later taken out. Secondly, he first states and then further rebukes the lack of primary source documents, or their belittlement "so as not to interfere with the main text". Finally he remarks on the "omniscient third person" narration of the works, which tie back into the elimination of metadiscourse. His thoughts on the failures of textbooks line up exactly with mine. This editorial process seems to turn our schoolbooks into little more than specialized encyclopedias, blindly thrusting "knowledge" onto the reader with little thought or interpretation necessary. The unintended side effect of textbooks is the effectual shutdown of learning. Textbook reading becomes boring because the student can put their brain into shut down and attempt to internalize the information via osmosis. Modern textbooks thus become collections of dry information that does little to develop the students own thought processes.
Furthermore, the narration of the works give a sense of "knowledge from on high", giving an authoritative stance on the knowledge provided. This is not only distracting in my opinion, but dangerous as it removes any contention or divergence in the claims supplied by the editors. It makes History appear as a flat landscape, devoid of the conflict of ideas and paradigms that riddle the mountainous terrain of time. One may go so far as to say as such transient positions given ruin the student's individual thought, compressing all ideas into one unified code, and striking the others that disagree from the record.
I'd like to note however that I am not completely against the idea of a textbook, and promote their burnings in the streets (Though I could warrant such a response when dealing with The American Pageant, which was perhaps the worst task heaped upon me by the IB program). Textbooks are a great source for preliminary knowledge and inarguable facts such as dates. The main thing to remember is the limitations of such works. Most textbooks cover a vast expanse of time, and not everything can be adequately expressed or addressed. For specifics and true historical understanding through conflicting ideas one must turn to modern historians' professional work, complete with metadiscourse, or even better, to primary sources. It is from these documents that one can develop a true sense of the events studied. Though of course, these sources are not without their own values and limitations (Which I will get to in my next posting)
As per the task, I must leave anyone who chooses to read my rambling thoughts with a question. I suppose the most fair question could be, "Are Wineburg and I wrong in our critique?". Please note that while I'm adding Wineburg's name to my stance (It's a nasty little trick to make you agree with me) I can by no means speak for him or say that he speaks for mean entirely. Please leave a comment or if you think a response will really merit an entire posting, by all means go ahead.
Ciao,
Jon
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