Wisconsin's trees heard "Timber " during World War II, as the forest products industry of the Badger State played a key role in the Allied aerial campaign. It was Wisconsin that provided the material for the De Havilland Mosquito, known as the "Timber Terror," while the CG-4A battle-ready gliders, cloaked in stealthy silence, carried the 82nd and 101st Airborne into fierce fighting throughout Europe and the Pacific. Sara Witter Connor follows a forgotten thread of the American war effort, celebrating the factory workers, lumberjacks, pilots and innovative thinkers of the U.S. Forest Products Laboratory who helped win a world war with paper, wood and glue.

Adored by many, appalling to some, baffling still to others, few authors defy any single critical narrative to the confounding extent that James Baldwin manages. Was he a black or queer writer? Was he a religious or secular writer? Was he a spokesman for the civil rights movement or a champion of the individual? His critics, as disparate as his readership, endlessly wrestle with paradoxes, not just in his work but also in the life of a man who described himself as "all those strangers called Jimmy Baldwin" and who declared that "all theories are suspect." Viewing Baldwin through a cultural-historical lens alongside a more traditional literary critical approach, All Those Strangers examines how his fiction and nonfiction shaped and responded to key political and cultural developments in the United States from the 1940s to the 1980s. Showing how external forces molded Baldwinas personal, political, and psychological development, Douglas Field breaks through the established critical difficulties caused by Baldwinas geographical, ideological, and artistic multiplicity by analyzing his life and work against the radically transformative politics of his time. The book explores under-researched areas in Baldwin's life and work, including his relationship to the Left, his FBI files, and the significance of Africa in his writing, while also contributing to wider discussions about postwar US culture. Field deftly navigates key twentieth-century themesathe Cold War, African American literary history, conflicts between spirituality and organized religion, and transnationalismato bring a number of isolated subjects into dialogue with each other. By exploring the paradoxes in Baldwin's development as a writer, rather than trying to fix his life and work into a single framework, All Those Strangers contradicts the accepted critical paradigm that Baldwin's life and work are too ambiguous to make sense of. By studying him as an individual and an artist in flux, Field reveals the manifold ways in which Baldwin's work develops and coheres.

Future History traces the ways that English and American writers oriented themselves along an East-West axis to fantasize their place in the world. The book builds on new transoceanic scholarship and recent calls to approach early American studies from a global perspective. Such scholarship has largely focused on the early national period; Bross's work begins earlier and considers the intertwined identities of America, other English colonial sites and metropolitan England during a period before nation-state identities were hardened into the forms we know them today, when an English empire was nascent, not realized, and when a global perspective such as we might recognize it was just coming into focus for early modern Europeans. The author examines works that imagine England on a global stage in the Americas and East Indies just as-and in some cases even before-England occupied such spaces in force. Future History considers works written from the 1620s to the 1670s, but the center of gravity of Future History is writing at the mid-century, that is, writings coincident with the Interregnum, a time when England plotted and launched ambitious, often violent schemes to conquer, colonize or otherwise appropriate other lands, driven by both mercantile and religious desires.

In the 1830s, a small community known as El Fronton de Santa
Isabel set roots on the banks of the Laguna Madre Bay. Official claim for the land was granted to Don Rafael Garcia as part of the
Potrero ("Pasture") de Santa Isabel in 1828. Less than two decades
later, Point Isabel was home to Zachary Taylor's Fort Polk and found itself a home base during the Mexican-American War. In 1853, construction was completed on the Point Isabel lighthouse, a
navigational beacon with a 16-mile view. Port Isabel was incorporated in 1928, and a deep-water port shipped its first commercial load in 1937. By the 1950s, Port Isabel was the "Shrimping Capital of the World," and the first Queen Isabella Causeway connected South Padre Island to the mainland. Port Isabel continues to deepen its roots on the banks of the Laguna Madre Bay. Heritage and cultural tourism, a relaxed quality of life, and an appreciation for all things coastal are synonymous with Port Isabel.

In the last quarter of the 19th century, a circle of 16 tall Cottonwood trees stood in the wash that extended to the Verde River just north of where the old jail building now stands. Cattlemen and ranchers from Oak Creek and the mountains made their overnight stops under these trees and the location became known as "The Cottonwoods." The lush riparian area attracted hardy settlers, and Fort Verde's military camp and the copper mines of Jerome provided a ready market for agricultural goods. Thus began the town that was soon to become the commercial hub for the Verde Valley. Today the incorporated city of Cottonwood serves an area population of over 55,000 and boasts a diverse economy based on health care, education, tourism, and the service and retail industries. With its moderate climate, beautiful setting, and small-town charm, combined with the amenities of a larger city, Cottonwood continues to attract steady growth and tourism.

Nine years before Abraham Lincoln was elected president, Story came into being. In 1851, Pres. Millard Fillmore granted a land patent to Dr. George Story for the creation of this little town. Tucked into a scenic spot near the Hoosier National Forest, 13 miles southeast of Nashville, Indiana, Story lies deep in the heart of historic Brown County. And Story is just one reason to visit Brown County, also known as "the Art Colony of the Midwest." Amid forests, rolling hills, and winding country roads, charming Nashville is home to more than 120 shops, art galleries, and artists' studios and neighbors two villages quaintly named Gnawbone and Bean Blossom. The beauty of Brown County has always attracted artists and history buffs. Wander back roads across covered bridges that have spanned sparkling streams for more than a century to retrace the paths taken by artists seeking to capture the county's beauty.

At 7:30 a.m. on June 16, 1944, George Junius Stinney Jr. was escorted by four guards to the death chamber. Wearing socks but no shoes, the 14-year-old Black boy walked with his Bible tucked under his arm. The guards strapped his slight, five-foot-one-inch frame into the electric chair. His small size made it difficult to affix the electrode to his right leg and the face mask, which was clearly too large, fell to the floor when the executioner flipped the switch. That day, George Stinney became, and today remains, the youngest person executed in the United States during the twentieth century.How was it possible, even in Jim Crow South Carolina, for a child to be convicted, sentenced to death, and executed based on circumstantial evidence in a trial that lasted only a few hours? Through extensive archival research and interviews with Stinney's contemporaries-men and women alive today who still carry distinctive memories of the events that rocked the small town of Alcolu and the entire state-Eli Faber pieces together the chain of events that led to this tragic injustice. The first book to fully explore the events leading to Stinney's death, The Child in the Electric Chair offers a compelling narrative with a meticulously researched analysis of the world in which Stinney lived-the era of lynching, segregation, and racist assumptions about Black Americans. Faber explains how a systemically racist system, paired with the personal ambitions of powerful individuals, turned a blind eye to human decency and one of the basic tenets of the American legal system that individuals are innocent until proven guilty. As society continues to grapple with the legacies of racial injustice, the story of George Stinney remains one that can teach us lessons about our collective past and present. By ably placing the Stinney case into a larger context, Faber reveals how this case is not just a travesty of justice locked in the era of the Jim Crow South but rather one that continues to resonate in our own time. A foreword is provided by Carol Berkin, Presidential Professor of History Emerita at Baruch College at the City University of New York and author of several books including Civil War Wives: The Lives and Times of Angelina Grimke Weld, Varina Howell Davis, and Julia Dent Grant.

Hemmed in by steep hills, Glen Park is defined by its quintessentially San Franciscan topography. Only 120 years ago this area, as well as neighboring Diamond Heights, was part of the Outside Lands, so
isolated that only farmers would settle here. Life revolved around Islais Creek, which ran through the canyon and provided water for the dairies. Then, in 1892, a German immigrant named Behrend Joost founded the citys first electric streetcar to shuttle residents to jobs downtown, and a neighborhood was born. As peak-roofed wooden cottages and houses began to fill in the valleys, the urban, homey, and decidedly livable Glen Park that we know today began to emerge.

Tiny Amelia Island, in the northeast corner of Florida, was once among the most important ports in the western hemisphere. Before Florida was granted statehood, the island served as an international gateway between Spanish Florida and the English colonies that would later become the United States. Where Spanish monks and pirates once roamed, the island eventually developed into a significant seaport that exported the rich resources of Florida's interior in the late 1800s. This era was known as the Golden Age of Amelia Island and the town located on its north end, Fernandina. The railroad that connected Amelia Island to the Gulf Coast was largely responsible for the Golden Age, as it brought a burgeoning economy and many of the South's most prominent and wealthy figures. Today the island is best known as a resort community but retains the influence and charm of its remarkable past.

In 1899, Carrie Chapman Catt, who succeeded Susan B. Anthony as head of the National American Women Suffrage Association, argued that it was the "duty" of U.S. women to help lift the inhabitants of its new island possessions up from "barbarism" to "civilization," a project that would presumably demonstrate the capacity of U.S. women for full citizenship and political rights. Catt, like many suffragists in her day, was well-versed in the language of empire, and infused the cause of suffrage with imperialist zeal in public debate. Unlike their predecessors, who were working for votes for women within the context of slavery and abolition, the next generation of suffragists argued their case against the backdrop of the U.S. expansionism into Indian and Mormon territory at home as well as overseas in the Philippines, Puerto Rico, and Hawaii. In this book, Allison L. Sneider carefully examines these simultaneous political movements--woman suffrage and American imperialism--as inextricably intertwined phenomena, instructively complicating the histories of both.

Ends of Assimilation compares sociological and Chicano/a (Mexican American) literary representations of assimilation. It argues that while Chicano/a literary works engage assimilation in complex, often contradictory ways, they manifest an underlying conviction in literature's productive power. At the same time, Chicano/a literature demonstrates assimilation sociology's inattention to its status as a representational discourse. As twentieth-century sociologists employ the term, assimilation reinscribes as fact the fiction of a unitary national culture, ignores the interlinking of race and gender in cultural formation, and valorizes upward economic mobility as a politically neutral index of success. The study unfolds chronologically, describing how the historical formation of Chicano/a literature confronts the specter of assimilation discourse. It tracks how the figurative, rhetorical, and lyrical power of Chicano/a literary works compels us to compare literary discourse with the self-authorizing empiricism of assimilation sociology. It also challenges presumptions of authenticity on the part of Chicano/a cultural nationalist works, arguing that Chicano/a literature must reckon with cultural dynamism and develop models of relational authenticity to counter essentialist discourses. The book advances these arguments through sustained close readings of canonical and noncanonical figures and gives an account of various moments in the history and institutional development of Chicano/a literature, such as the rise and fall of Quinto Sol Publications, asserting that Chicano/a writers, editors, and publishers have self-consciously sought to acquire and redistribute literary cultural capital.