Results for: “History”
|R. Todd Laugen||University Press of Colorado||ePub|
In July 1908, Denver hosted the Democratic National Convention. William Jennings Bryan received the presidential nomination on the first ballot with few dissenting votes. Colorado voters had overwhelmingly supported Bryan in his previous presidential bids, and 1908 would prove no exception. His pro-silver stance was only partly the reason. When he came to Denver, Bryan had developed a reputation as a leading Progressive Democrat. Behind his 1908 campaign slogan “Shall the People Rule?” Bryan decried corporate manipulations of politics. His party platform included a plank to limit the use of injunctions against organized labor and another in support of woman suffrage. Pooling resources with the American Federation of Labor in the campaign, Bryan actively courted the labor vote. In November many Colorado workers gave it to him.
Yet Bryan’s appeal in Colorado also reflected his ability to blend radical politics and Protestant Christianity. His Social Gospel faith inspired many listeners with the hope that religion could reform and uplift politics and social conditions alike. Denver Progressives had already drawn on the language and moral vision of Protestant Christianity in their crusades against the Speer Democratic machine. Now, it seemed, Bryan would give even traditional Republican voters in the state a moral reason to vote Democratic. After Denver pastor Christian Reisner concluded his celebration of Bryan as a “Christian citizen” on the convention’s third day, one delegate quipped, “That’s a d—n good prayer . . . and if the Lawd was really listenin’ it ought to make Him a good Democrat.” Bryan’s Social Gospel appealed as well to many clubwomen in the state. Behind the leadership of Denver’s Sarah Platt Decker, some Republican activists openly endorsed the Woman’s Bryan Club. As one noted, the reform “spirit of the Republican Party had passed” to the Democrats.1See All Chapters
|James Fell||University Press of Colorado||ePub|
IN 1858 SOME PROSPECTORS HEADING FOR THE NEW EL DORADO decided to eschew the well-publicized gravels of Clear Creek in favor of the unknown country in the Arkansas Valley. Some parties ascended the river from Bent’s Fort. Others crossed the Mosquito Range from South Park. Still more arrived by way of Fremont Pass or Tennessee Pass. Regardless of the route they traveled, this was an arduous passage, for the headwaters of the Arkansas rose amid the highest peaks of the Rocky Mountains. Once in the river valley, these fifty-niners fell to work along the floodplain. Their supplies and fortitude dwindled as summer passed, but they still unearthed traces of placer gold at Kelly’s Bar, Cache Creek, Georgia Bar, and other nondescript sites now long forgotten.
When the first snows of winter blew down the valley, the prospectors retreated from the mountains to spend their winnings and replenish their outfits for another season. Many went to “Denver City,” still hardly more than a few tents, log cabins, and tepees huddled along the banks of the South Platte River. Like the Cherry Creek placers that touched off the gold rush, none of the discoveries on the Arkansas really amounted to much, but stories of easy wealth to be found in the valley abounded in Denver that winter. During the long months of inactivity, as the miners shivered on the cold, windy plain, flakes of placer gold grew by inference, suggestion, and fantasy into the harbingers of a real bonanza. And so early in 1860 new companies of fortune hunters, disappointed by their luck at the Gregory diggings, set out for the Arkansas country even before the snow was off the trails.See All Chapters
|Elena I. Campbell||Indiana University Press||ePub|
As it had in the Crimean conflict fifty years earlier, the empire’s military’s failure in the Russo-Japanese War of 1904–1905 discredited the tsarist government, hurt Russians’ national pride, and further aggravated the country’s already tense political situation. The growing sociopolitical crisis forced the government of Nicholas II to consider changes. The appointment in late August 1904 of P. D. Sviatopolk-Mirskii as the new minister of interior indicated such a transformation. Sviatopolk-Mirskii soon submitted his program of reforms to Nicholas II, which included an expansion of civil liberties and public participation in the government. The resulting “political spring” in relations between state and society, a course initiated by the new minister, stimulated discussions of reform among educated members of the imperial society, just as they had in the late 1850s.
This new push for political liberalization was taking place in a dramatically different context than the Great Reforms of a generation earlier. In the early years of the twentieth century, Russian society faced a complex tangle of unresolved problems. The social changes stimulated by the Great Reforms had led to the rise of new forces, including professional groups and an industrial working class who, along with the peasants, challenged the tsarist regime with liberal, nationalistic, and socialist demands. In the liberal atmosphere of Sviatopolk-Mirskii’s ministry, these disaffected groups began to organize into an opposition movement. In January 1905, workers marched toward the Winter Palace with a petition for the tsar, only to be fired upon by government troops. The resulting massacre unleashed a revolution that rapidly spread to the non-Russian borderlands, reaching an especially high degree of intensity in the Baltic provinces, the Kingdom of Poland, Ukraine, and Transcaucasia.See All Chapters
|Paul Amar||Indiana University Press||ePub|
This chapter traces the emergence of ASPA (the Summit of South America–Arab States) established by diplomatic concord in 2003 among the heads of state from the two world regions. ASPA constitutes a set of transregional diplomatic agreements and functioning institutions for educational, cultural, and commercial cooperation that have achieved broad success and visibility. Farah analyzes, in particular, the ASPA-related institutions that support cultural, educational, linguistic, and commercial exchanges and solidarity. Then this chapter does the important work of setting these new transregional connections into their historical context. He points out that the processes of integration with Muslim Africa and the Middle East are not new, but are part of the essential fabric of the Americas and date back more than two hundred years. A detailed social history is narrated here, of regional cultural, linguistic, and commercial integration. This history is animated by transnational circuits of forced and free migration, particularly to Bahia in the northeast (capital of anti-slavery unrest and Afro-Muslim cultural survival), and São Paulo in the southeast (capital of Levantine migration and commercial achievement).See All Chapters
|Christopher J. Huggard||University Press of Colorado||ePub|
SPANISH AND MEXICAN MINING IN APACHERíA
In 1799 José Manuel Carrasco struck virgin copper. The retired lieutenant colonel had rediscovered the richest native copper deposit in North America. Taken to the lustrous outcroppings by a small group of Apaches he had assisted in hard times while serving as captain of the Presidio of Carrizal in northern Chihuahua, the Spaniard thought he had found the mother lode of copper deposits (see figure 1.1). But he knew he and those who followed him to this place would have to contend with the native peoples. The Spanish officer had spent much of the preceding thirty years pursuing and fighting the nomadic inhabitants of Apachería, the expansive territory of the Apaches. Located in the heart of the Chihenne band’s homeland, the minas de cobre (copper mines) promised riches to the seasoned Spanish warrior. Or at least that was Carrasco’s hope. Unlike Francisco Coronado in the 1540s, who pursued the myth of Quivira and the seven cities of Cíbola, this Spaniard found his treasure. Yet, as this story will reveal, like Coronado, he would experience disappointment and conflict, and the fortune he sought to glorify Spain and to enrich himself would never be realized. Still, six years later in testimony to the Deputacíon de Minería (Mining Bureau) in Chihuahua, he claimed “divine providence” had intervened to protect him from the risks of journeying into Apache country. God, copper, and glory, he believed, were at hand.1See All Chapters
|Gary M. Lavergne||University of North Texas Press|
mJ~-------- Independent Actions
ments, sent them to the ·UT Security Office a few blocks north of the Tower at 24th and San Jacinto. There Houston McCoy asked them if they had a11Y additional shotguns. They did not. He also asked if they had any directions or a plan. They did not. At the office, UT's Security Chief Allen R. Hamilton directed one of his men, Sgt. A.Y. Barr, to lead the APD team to the Tower.
From the university police station, the band of officers walk.ed through the campus to an area directly east of the Tower. From that position there appeared to be only one way to get to the Tower-a dash over an open area. McCoy wondered aloud if there was a safer way for six men to get to the Main Building. William Wilcox, a university employee, knew of a maze of tunnels connecting the buildings to allow for relative ease when maintaining the campus infrastructure-telephone, power lines and water lines. Through the tunnel connecting the Computation Center to the Main Building,
Wilcox guided McCoy's team. ISee All Chapters
|James M. Aton||Utah State University Press||ePub|
BLM river ranger Jim Wright rows toward shore to inspect a campsite.
When river runners today leave Sand Wash they may feel like they are entering Powell’s “Great Unknown.”
The river, narrowly confined, drove them onward with
—Voltaire, Candide (1759)
When today’s river runners row away from Sand Wash, they probably feel as if they are entering Powell’s “great unknown.” In personal terms, perhaps many are. Current boaters, however, have all the technologically advanced (some say decadent) equipment that Northwest River Supply’s and Cascade Outfitters’ catalogs can offer. They carry French presses to brew Peet’s coffee and battery-operated blenders to mix margaritas. They sleep on thick, inflated pads inside of tents designed to protect them from the hardest rainstorms and fiercest mosquitoes (though not bears). They use waterproof river maps that show rapids, explain and visualize relevant history, and indicate fine terrain details. Roughing it in comfort, they hardly qualify as Lewis and Clarks or John C. Fremonts.See All Chapters
|Raye Ringholz||Utah State University Press||ePub|
“It’s started,” Dr. Victor Archer thought.
The new medical director of the uranium miner study laid the letter on his desk and sighed. It wasn’t much. Nothing conclusive. Not enough to prove that the “European Experience” was being repeated in America. But the report Archer received from Uravan, Colorado, that day in September 1956, read like a portent.
Dr. David J, Berman had admitted a patient named Tom Van Arsdale to St. Mary’s Hospital in Grand Junction. Van Arsdale, a fifty-one-year-old hardrock miner from Nucla, Colorado, had spent over half of the past sixteen years working in uranium mines. He had received a physical from the Public Health Service field examiners in 1953 and was part of the uranium miner study cohort. He had lung cancer.
Although the thirty-four-year-old surgeon and radiation specialist had only recently taken over Dr. James Egan’s duties at the Salt Lake field station, Archer recognized that there were indisputable parallels to be drawn between Van Arsdale and his Old World counterparts. The average age of the German and Czechoslovakian miners who died of lung cancer was forty-seven. Van Arsdale was fifty-one. Most of the European workers had died approximately seventeen years after their first exposure to uranium. It had been sixteen years since Van Arsdale’s initial contact. Typically, the foreign miners died within months of their diagnosis. Accordingly, Van Arsdale’s days might be limited.See All Chapters
|Joyce Gibson Roach||University of North Texas Press|
Hairpins on the Trail
owhere are cowboys, both real and imaginary, more noticeable than on cattle drives. From journals and diaries to the silver screen, the drama of stampede, crossing the herd, prairie fire, storm, bandits, Indians, gunplay and death is clearly a man's province. The few women in the fictional treatments are generally at the end of the trail waiting to offer comfort. Some go so far as to say that there were no women on cattle drives, just as there were no women on board sailing ships, period. The thought of women going up the trail with wild animals and rough men offended the sensibilities of polite society, or it might have ifpolite society had known such a state of affairs was going on in a remote part of the continent where even neighbors did not see each other once a year.
Women, of course, did go up the trail. They shattered old standards and left behind evidence that they were there with the first herds. But they weren't called cowgirls.
The mountains of Colorado provided a properly rugged setting for a drive where a new hand took breakfast with the crew and then mounted up to help gather a thousand Longhorns scattered in the canyons and valleys around Long's Peak.See All Chapters
|Ace Academics||Ace Academics||ePub|
|Larry A Hickman||Indiana University Press||ePub|
We have been dealing so far with the act of reflection as an entirety. There are subordinate unities within the process upon whose character the efficiency of the whole undertaking depends.
From one point of view the whole process of thinking consists of making a series of judgments that are so related as to support one another in leading to a final judgment—the conclusion. In spite of this fact, we have treated reflective activity as a whole, first, because judgments do not occur in isolation but in connection with the solution of a problem, the clearing away of something obscure and perplexing, the resolution of a difficulty; in short, as units in reflective activity. The purpose of solving a problem determines what kind of judgments should be made. If I were suddenly to announce that it would take twenty-two and a half yards of carpet to cover a certain floor, it might be a perfectly correct statement, but as a judgment it would be senseless if it did not bear upon some question that had come up. Judgments need to be relevant to an issue as well as correct. Judging is the act of selecting and weighing the bearing of facts and suggestions as they present themselves, as well as of deciding whether the alleged facts are really facts and whether the idea used is a sound idea or merely a fancy. We may say, for short, that a person of sound judgment is one who, in the idiomatic phrase, has “horse sense”; he is a good judge of relative values; he can estimate, appraise, evaluate, with tact and discernment.See All Chapters
|Joseph E. Early, Jr.||University of North Texas Press|
RECONSTRUCTION HAD BEEN DIFFICULT in Texas. Even though the state had been largely spared the scarred images of battleﬁelds, the economy was in ruins. The ﬁnancial problems that devastated the entire country had their roots in the overexpansion of the railroads. After the Civil War, the railroad added some
33,000 miles of track and employed tens of thousands of workers.
A problem, however, occurred in 1873. Because it was unable to market the bonds for the Northern Paciﬁc Railroad, the Banking
House of Jay Cooke and Company had failed in early 1873. The failure of the Northern Paciﬁc was a major factor in bringing on the Panic of 1873. Industries that depended on the railroad for cheap transportation feared they could not get their goods to market. Industries such as steel and cotton were forced to lay off thousands of workers and close hundreds of plants. By 1878 more than 10,000 companies had failed.1
Texas, too, experienced hard times, as jobs were lost and the price of cotton and other agrarian staples plummeted. This deep economic depression affected everyone, including the state’sSee All Chapters
|James M. Gillispie||University of North Texas Press|
FEDERAL POLICIES AT THE
MAJOR OHIO PRISONS
Johnson’s Island opened as an officers’ prison in 1863 and operated as such for the rest of the war. Located in Sandusky Bay in Lake Erie, this facility was described in terrible terms after the war by ex-prisoners. In February
1904, James F. Crocker spoke of his experiences at Johnson’s Island before a United Confederate Veterans meeting in Virginia. “My God,” he exclaimed, “it was terrible.” He explained to the gathering that prisoners there were intentionally starved by the Union officials as a matter of policy.
“It was a cruel, bitter treatment,” he said, adding to the postwar argument that the North’s superior resources ought to have made Yankee prisons oases, “and that too, by a hand into which Providence had poured to overflowing its most bounteous gifts.” In 1917 ex-prisoner Henry E. Shepherd recalled life in Johnson’s Island as a “grim and remorseless struggle with starvation . . . .” This was not just his experience; Shepherd claimed that for all prisoners on the Island, “relentless and gnawing hunger was the chronic and normal state.”1See All Chapters
|Mark Rawitsch||University Press of Colorado||ePub|
All in all, life in this California town had been hard but good for the Haradas. Standing at the great front window of his Washington Restaurant on some slow afternoons, Jukichi could watch the steady progress of his adopted hometown. After hearing stories of less civilized places from his Issei friends and other acquaintances—stories that suggested the United States still had a long way to go to realize its ideals of freedom and equality for all—the growing city of Riverside was a good place to live and raise a family.
When Jukichi, Ken, and Masa Atsu had come to town, the rough gravel of Eighth Street had been paved with concrete asphalt for only a couple of years. Its palm-lined route through the heart of the city, remembered by old-timers as muddy in winter and dusty in summer, was still most often occupied by horse traffic. However, with each passing day it seemed that automobiles, or “horseless carriages” as some of Jukichi’s older customers called them, were slowly outnumbering those passing by on horseback, in fancy painted rigs, or in worn-out farm wagons pulled by tired draft horses. Forward-thinking Frank Miller had added his own small fleet of ten Stearns automobiles to a new garage at the Mission Inn in 1906, hiring younger brother Edward and his sons to drive hotel guests out to the orange groves and all over Riverside. Now, less than a decade later, some people watching the noisy machines rattle by wondered how their restless horses would ever get used to the smoky and unreliable contraptions that were taking over every major downtown street, at times making walking a hazard.1See All Chapters
|Edited and Annotated by Charles M. Robinson III||University of North Texas Press|
Crook’s Animal Losses
(From Charles M. Robinson III, “Crook, Crazy Horse and the Great
Chief Myth,” M.A. Thesis, University of Texas-Pan American, pp.
One of the most remarkable features of Crook’s 1876 campaigns was the extensive loss of animals, most of whom were literally driven to death. The total number of animals killed in action, shot for food by starving soldiers, or simply wasted will never be known for the simple reason that army record keeping during that period was not what it is today.
Animal requisitions usually were handled on a regimental basis, with company commanders reporting their needs to the regimental quartermaster. Sometimes these reports were submitted to the departmental quartermaster for action, but often the RQM simply would organize a remount detail to purchase fresh animals at the nearest large town, submitting the paperwork later. Rarely did animal losses appear on battle reports.
On Crook’s expeditions, some company, battalion, and regimental commanders kept records of their animal loses; others did not.See All Chapters