After World War II, Atlanta and Charlotte emerged as leading urban centers in the South, redefining the region through their competing metropolitan identities. Both cities also served as home to queer communities who defined themselves in accordance with their urban surroundings and profited to varying degrees from the emphasis on economic growth. Uniting southern women's history with urban history, La Shonda Mims considers an imaginatively constructed archive including feminist newsletters and queer bar guides alongside sources revealing corporate boosterism and political rhetoric to explore the complex nature of lesbian life in the South. Mims's work reveals significant differences between gay men's and lesbian women's lived experiences, with lesbians often missing out on the promises of prosperity that benefitted some members of gay communities. Money, class, and race were significant variables in shaping the divergent life experiences for the lesbian communities of Atlanta and Charlotte; whiteness especially bestowed certain privileges. In Atlanta, an inclusive corporate culture bolstered the city's queer community. In Charlotte, tenacious lesbian collectives persevered, as many queer Charlotteans leaned on Atlanta's enormous Pride celebrations for sanctuary when similar institutional community supports were lacking at home.

The activists and victories that made Florida a leader in land preservation. Despite Florida's important place at the beginning of the American conservation movement and its notable successes in the fight against environmental damage, the full story of land conservation in the state has not yet been told. In this comprehensive history, Clay Henderson celebrates the individuals and organizations who made the Sunshine State a leader in state-funded conservation and land preservation. Starting with early naturalists like William Bartram and John Muir who inspired the movement to create national parks and protect the country's wilderness, Forces of Nature describes the efforts of familiar heroes like Marjorie Stoneman Douglas and May Mann Jennings and introduces lesser-known champions like Frank Chapman, who helped convince Theodore Roosevelt to establish Pelican Island as the first national wildlife refuge in the United States. Henderson details how many of Florida's activists, artists, philanthropists, and politicians have worked to designate threatened land for use as parks, preserves, and other conservation areas. Drawing on historical sources, interviews, and his own long career in environmental law, Henderson recounts the many small victories over time that helped Florida create several units of the national park system, nearly thirty national wildlife refuges, and one of the best state park systems in the country. Forces of Nature will motivate readers to join in defending Florida's natural wonders.

The arrival of Spaniards in 1769 served as a defining moment for California's future. They described the First Peoples and their cultures and provided a window into the evolution of California's Camino Real. In an effort to establish the Camino Real de California as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, Joseph P. Sanchez explores the rich history of the path running from San Diego to San Francisco in this significant study. While records capture the stories and legends of the Camino Real there is little information on the exact ground route. Sanchez utilizes historical and archaeological literature and the documentation from Spanish and Mexican archives to begin the much-needed process of authentication of this braided corridor to further establish the Camino Real de California's integrity and valuable history, which is shared with Spain, Mexico, and Native American tribes. Their story is part of the patrimony of the Camino Real de California, which ought to be authenticated, preserved, and protected for future generations to enjoy.

During the formative years of jazz (1890-1917), the Creoles of Color-as they were then called-played a significant role in the development of jazz as teachers, bandleaders, instrumentalists, singers, and composers. Indeed, music penetrated all aspects of the life of this tight-knit community, proud of its French heritage and language. They played and/or sang classical, military, and dance music, as well as popular songs and cantiques that incorporated African, European, and Caribbean elements decades before early jazz appeared. In Jazz a la Creole: French Creole Music and the Birth of Jazz, author Caroline Vezina describes the music played by the Afro-Creole community since the arrival of enslaved Africans in La Louisiane, then a French colony, at the beginning of the eighteenth century, emphasizing the many cultural exchanges that led to the development of jazz. Vezina has compiled and analyzed a broad scope of primary sources found in diverse locations from New Orleans to Quebec City, Washington, DC, New York City, and Chicago. Two previously unpublished interviews add valuable insider knowledge about the music on French plantations and the danses Creoles held in Congo Square after the Civil War. Musical and textual analyses of cantiques provide new information about the process of their appropriation by the Creole Catholics as the French counterpart of the Negro spirituals. Finally, a closer look at their musical practices indicates that the Creoles sang and improvised music and/or lyrics of Creole songs, and that some were part of their professional repertoire. As such, they belong to the Black American and the Franco-American folk music traditions that reflect the rich cultural heritage of Louisiana.

From about a generation after the end of the Industrial Revolution up until the Great Depression, Texas agriculture went through many changes. Unlike the massive, storied ranches spun into romantic westerns or Hollywood films, small family ranches had to adapt constantly to the economic present. Cattle, Cotton, Corn draws from the minutiae of family records and oral accounts to piece together the history of several middle-class ranches in Central Texas that were operational from 1880 to 1930. The Caufields, Cavitts, Youngs, and Footes were ordinary Texans surviving changing economic forecasts and the boom-and-bust cycles of living from the land. Compiled from decades of research by a scion of one of the families, this book adds to the corpus of Texas ranching epics by focusing on the lived experiences of regular ranch families, most of whom were not particularly wealthy or politically prominent. Cattle, Cotton, Corn tells a history important to the fabric of turn-of-the-century Texas, and it will resonate with many who will see their own family's history reflected in its very pages.

On June 11, 1950, the Cleveland Plain Dealer published an obituary under the bold headline "Chief Thunderwater, Famous in Cleveland 50 Years, Dies." And there, it seems, the consensus on Thunderwater ends. Was he, as many say, a con artist and an imposter posing as an Indian who lead a political movement that was a cruel hoax? Or was he a Native activist who worked tirelessly and successfully to promote Haudenosaunee, or Iroquois, sovereignty in Canada? The truth about this enigmatic figure, so long obscured by vying historical narratives, emerges clearly in Gerald F. Reid's biography, Chief Thunderwater-the first full portrait of a central character in twentieth-century Iroquois history. Searching out Thunderwater's true identity, Reid documents Thunderwater's life from his birth in 1865, as Oghema Niagara, through his turns as a performer of Indian identity and, alternately, as a dedicated advocate of Indian rights. After nearly a decade as an entertainer in Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show, Thunderwater became progressively more engaged in Haudenosaunee political affairs-first in New York and then in Quebec and Ontario. As Reid shows, Thunderwater's advocacy for Haudenosaunee sovereignty sparked alarm within Canada's Department of Indian Affairs, which moved forcefully to discredit Thunderwater and dismantle his movement. Self-promoter, political activist, entrepreneur: Reid's critical study reveals Thunderwater in all his contradictions and complexity-a complicated man whose story expands our understanding of Native life in the early modern era, and whose movement represents a key moment in the development of modern Haudenosaunee nationalism.

On an August night in 1893, the deadliest hurricane in South Carolina history struck the Lowcountry, killing thousands-almost all African American. But the devastating storm is only the beginning of this story. The hurricane's long effects intermingled with ongoing processes of economic downturn, racial oppression, resistance, and environmental change. In the Lowcountry, the political, economic, and social conditions of Jim Crow were inextricable from its environmental dimensions. This narrative history of a monumental disaster and its aftermath uncovers how Black workers and politicians, white landowners and former enslavers, northern interlocutors and humanitarians all met on the flooded ground of the coast and fought to realize very different visions for the region's future. Through a telescoping series of narratives in which no one's actions were ever fully triumphant or utterly futile, Hurricane Jim Crow explores with nuance this painful and contradictory history and shows how environmental change, political repression, and communal traditions of resistance, survival, and care converged.

On an August night in 1893, the deadliest hurricane in South Carolina history struck the Lowcountry, killing thousands-almost all African American. But the devastating storm is only the beginning of this story. The hurricane's long effects intermingled with ongoing processes of economic downturn, racial oppression, resistance, and environmental change. In the Lowcountry, the political, economic, and social conditions of Jim Crow were inextricable from its environmental dimensions. This narrative history of a monumental disaster and its aftermath uncovers how Black workers and politicians, white landowners and former enslavers, northern interlocutors and humanitarians all met on the flooded ground of the coast and fought to realize very different visions for the region's future. Through a telescoping series of narratives in which no one's actions were ever fully triumphant or utterly futile, Hurricane Jim Crow explores with nuance this painful and contradictory history and shows how environmental change, political repression, and communal traditions of resistance, survival, and care converged.

Pantex was built during World War II near the town of Amarillo, Texas. The site was converted early in the Cold War to assemble nuclear weapons and produce high explosives. For nearly fifty years Pantex has been the sole assembly and disassembly plant for nuclear weapons in the United States. Today, most of the activities of the plant consist of the manufacture of high explosive components and the dismantlement or life extension of weapons. Unlike the much more famous nuclear-weapons-production sites at Los Alamos, Oak Ridge, Hanford, and Rocky Flats, the Pantex plant has drawn little attention, hidden under a metaphoric "cap of invisibility." Lucie Genay now lifts that invisibility cap to give the world its first in-depth look at Pantex and the people who have spent their lives as neighbors and employees of this secretive industry. The book investigates how Pantex has impacted local identity by molding elements of the past into the guaranty of its future and its concealment. It further examines the multiple facets of Pantexism through the voices of native and adoptive Panhandlers.

On August 8, 1942, 302 people arrived by train at Vocation, Wyoming, to become the first Japanese American residents of what the U.S. government called the Relocation Center at Heart Mountain. In the following weeks and months, they would be joined by some 10,000 of the more than 120,000 people of Japanese descent, two-thirds of them U.S. citizens, incarcerated as "domestic enemy aliens" during World War II. Heart Mountain became a town with workplaces, social groups, and political alliances-in short, networks. These networks are the focus of Saara Kekki's Japanese Americans at Heart Mountain. Interconnections between people are the foundation of human societies. Exploring the creation of networks at Heart Mountain, as well as movement to and from the camp between 1942 and 1945, this book offers an unusually detailed look at the formation of a society within the incarcerated community, specifically the manifestation of power, agency, and resistance. Kekki constructs a dynamic network model of all of Heart Mountain's residents and their interconnections-family, political, employment, social, and geospatial networks-using historical "big data" drawn from the War Relocation Authority and narrative sources, including the camp newspaper Heart Mountain Sentinel. For all the inmates, life inevitably went on: people married, had children, worked, and engaged in politics. Because of the duration of the incarceration, many became institutionalized and unwilling to leave the camps when the time came. Yet most individuals, Kekki finds, took charge of their own destinies despite the injustice and looked forward to the day when Heart Mountain was behind them. Especially timely in its implications for debates over immigration and assimilation, Japanese Americans at Heart Mountain presents a remarkable opportunity to reconstruct a community created under duress within the larger American society, and to gain new insight into an American experience largely lost to official history.

Winner of the 2021 Southwest Book Award from the Border Regional Library Association The Shoulders We Stand On traces the complex history of bilingual education in New Mexico, covering Spanish, Dine, and Pueblo languages. The book focuses on the formal establishment of bilingual education infrastructure and looks at the range of contemporary challenges facing the educational environment today. The book's contributors highlight particular actions, initiatives, and people that have made significant impacts on bilingual education in New Mexico, and they place New Mexico's experience in context with other states' responses to bilingual education. The book also includes an excellent timeline of bilingual education in the state. The Shoulders We Stand On is the first book to delve into the history of bilingual education in New Mexico and to present New Mexico's leaders, families, and educators who have pioneered program development, legislation, policy, evaluation, curriculum development, and teacher preparation in the field of bilingual multicultural education at state and national levels. Historians of education, educators, and educators in training will want to consider this as required reading.

Few historical chronicles are as informative and eloquent as the journals written by Prince Maximilian of Wied as a record of his journey into the North American interior in 1833-34, following the route Lewis and Clark had taken almost thirty years earlier. Maximilian's memorable descriptions of topography, Native peoples, natural history, and the burgeoning fur trade were further brought to life through the now-familiar watercolors and prints of Karl Bodmer, the young Swiss artist who accompanied him.

The first two volumes of the "North American Journals" recount the prince's journey from Europe to St. Louis, then up the Missouri some 2,500 river miles to the expedition's western endpoint, Fort McKenzie, in what is today Montana. In this third, and final, volume, Maximilian vividly narrates his extended stay at Fort Clark (near today's Bismarck, North Dakota) and his return journey eastward across America and on to his home in Germany. Despite subzero temperatures and a shortage of food at Fort Clark during the winter of 1833-34, Maximilian continued to study and interview the Mandan and Hidatsa Indians who lived nearby, recording descriptions of their social customs, religious rituals, languages, material culture, and art. This handsome, oversize volume not only reproduces the prince's historic document but also features every one of his illustrations--nearly 100 in all, including several in color--from the original journal, along with other watercolors, now housed at Joslyn Art Museum in Omaha, Nebraska.

Publication of these journals, fifty years in the making and complete with extensive annotation, opens the 1830s American West to modern readers in an indispensable scholarly resource and a work of lasting beauty."This book is published with the assistance of the National Historical Publications and Records Commission."

Juan Bautista de Anza led the Spanish colonizing expedition in 1775-76 that opened a trail from Arizona to California and established a presidio at San Francisco Bay. Franciscan missionary Fray Pedro Font accompanied Anza. As chaplain and geographer, Font kept a detailed daily record of the expedition's progress that today is considered one of the fundamental documents of exploration in the American Southwest. This new edition includes Font's recently discovered field journal-the actual notes he wrote on the trail. Previously published only in Spanish, this journal contains many details and perspectives not found in the two "official" versions that Font prepared after the expedition. It supplants the 1930 edition prepared by Herbert Eugene Bolton, which was based solely on Font's "official" texts.With Anza to California, 1775-1776 interweaves and correlates for the first time all existing texts of Font's journal and incorporates the latest research on this pathbreaking expedition. Editor Alan K. Brown has rendered a more accurate translation, allowing us to relive the journey through Font's eyes as the friar presents a panorama of history, geography, and ecology. Font also describes the interaction between Hispanic settlers and Native peoples-revealing Spanish relations with the Quechans on the Colorado River and the Kumeyaay uprising in San Diego. Featuring maps and relief profiles drawn by Font, along with new maps prepared by Brown, this edition includes an extensive introduction and copious explanatory notes. It is the most complete account of the Anza expedition and a foundational primary source in California and Southwest history.

Goldwater Girls to Reagan Women is a statewide study of women's part in the history of conservatism, the New Right, and the Republican Party in the state of Georgia. Robin M. Morris examines how the growth of the Republican Party in the 1960s and 1970s was due in large part to the political activism of white women. The book begins with the African American women who established the Georgia Federation of Republican Women and follows how they lost the organization and the party to white women moving to the Sunbelt South. Conservative white women developed a language and strategy of family values that they deployed to battle school busing, defeat the Equal Rights Amendment, and elect Republican leaders even in Jimmy Carter's home state. Morris uses original interviews and archival research in personal papers of women activists in the Georgia New Right movement, including Lee Ague Miller, Beth Callaway, Kathryn Dunaway, Lee Wysong, and Hattie Greene, to reveal the motivations and actions that transformed the state from blue to red. In this era, perceived threats to family life and traditional values spurred women-led grassroots organization that enabled broad political shifts on the state level. Conservative women carved out their political niche as they consolidated and expanded their power and influence. Rather than a male-dominated, top-down approach, Morris centers her historical account on the middle-class white women whose actions changed the political landscape of the state and ultimately the country.

Over the past generation the Deep South has become the primary focus, and the plantation the predominant site, in southern literary studies. These developments followed academic interest first in postcolonial studies and more recently in globalization studies and conceptions of the Global South. With The North of the South Barbara Ladd turns her attention to the Upper South, exploring the fluidity of regional boundaries in this part of the world. In so doing she argues for greater attention to the impact of its distinctive ecosystems on its literature and points out the complex ways the Upper South's cultural and natural histories are foundational for our national imaginary. Surprisingly, it is Edgar Allan Poe who anchors this study. No longer American literary nationalism's most famous misfit, here he is shown to be remarkably attentive to both the natural and the nationalizing world around him, to have engaged deeply and critically with the environmental and the nationalist vision of Thomas Jefferson. Poe left a legacy of national melancholy around questions of American origins and possible futures discernible in the Souths of Elizabeth Madox Roberts, Cormac McCarthy, and Toni Morrison. In her examination of these cultural aspects of the Upper South, Ladd plumbs the depths of Poe's influence on southern literary studies.

At the beginning of the eighteenth century, over twenty different American Indian tribal groups inhabited present-day Mississippi. Today, Mississippi is home to only one tribe, the Mississippi Band of Choctaw Indians. In Mississippi's American Indians, author James F. Barnett Jr. explores the historical forces and processes that led to this sweeping change in the diversity of the state's native peoples. The book begins with a chapter on Mississippi's approximately 12,000-year prehistory, from early hunter-gatherer societies through the powerful mound building civilizations encountered by the first European expeditions. With the coming of the Spanish, French, and English to the New World, native societies in the Mississippi region connected with the Atlantic market economy, a source for guns, blankets, and many other trade items. Europeans offered these trade materials in exchange for Indian slaves and deerskins, currencies that radically altered the relationships between tribal groups. Smallpox and other diseases followed along the trading paths. Colonial competition between the French and English helped to spark the Natchez rebellion, the Chickasaw-French wars, the Choctaw civil war, and a half-century of client warfare between the Choctaws and Chickasaws. The Treaty of Paris in 1763 forced Mississippi's pro-French tribes to move west of the Mississippi River. The Diaspora included the Tunicas, Houmas, Pascagoulas, Biloxis, and a portion of the Choctaw confederacy. In the early nineteenth century, Mississippi's remaining Choctaws and Chickasaws faced a series of treaties with the United States government that ended in destitution and removal. Despite the intense pressures of European invasion, the Mississippi tribes survived by adapting and contributing to their rapidly evolving world.

We remember the 1966 birth of the New Orleans Saints as a shady quid pro quo between the NFL commissioner and a Louisiana congressman. Moving the Chains is the untold story of the athlete protest that necessitated this backroom deal, as New Orleans scrambled to respond to a very public repudiation of the racist policies that governed the city. In the decade that preceded the 1965 athlete walkout, a reactionary backlash had swept through Louisiana, bringing with it a host of new segregation laws and enough social strong-arming to quash any complaints, even from suffering sports promoters. Nationwide protests assailed the Tulane Green Wave, the Sugar Bowl, and the NFL's preseason stop-offs, and only legal loopholes and a lot of luck kept football alive in the city. Still, live it did, and in January 1965, locals believed they were just a week away from landing their own pro franchise. All they had to do was pack Tulane Stadium for the city's biggest audition yet, the AFL All-Star game. Ultimately, all fifty-eight Black and white teammates walked out of the game to protest the town's lingering segregation practices and public abuse of Black players. Following that, love of the gridiron prompted and excused something out of sync with the city's branding: change. In less than two years, the Big Easy made enough progress to pass a blitz inspection by Black and white NFL officials and receive the long-desired expansion team. The story of the athletes whose bravery led to change quickly fell by the wayside. Locals framed desegregation efforts as proof that the town had been progressive and tolerant all along. Furthermore, when a handshake between Pete Rozelle and Hale Boggs gave America its first Super Bowl and New Orleans its own club, the city proudly clung to that version of events, never admitting the cleanup even took place. As a result, Moving the Chains is the first book to reveal the ramifications of the All-Stars' civil resistance and to detail the Saints' true first win.

In the nineteenth century, most American farms had a small orchard or at least a few fruit-bearing trees. People grew their own apple trees or purchased apples grown within a few hundred miles of their homes. Nowadays, in contrast, Americans buy mass-produced fruit in supermarkets, and roughly 70 percent of apples come from Washington State. So how did Washington become the leading producer of America's most popular fruit? In this enlightening book, Amanda L. Van Lanen offers a comprehensive response to this question by tracing the origins, evolution, and environmental consequences of the state's apple industry. Washington's success in producing apples was not a happy accident of nature, according to Van Lanen. Apples are not native to Washington, any more than potatoes are to Idaho or peaches to Georgia. In fact, Washington apple farmers were late to the game, lagging their eastern competitors. The author outlines the numerous challenges early Washington entrepreneurs faced in such areas as irrigation, transportation, and labor. Eventually, with crucial help from railroads, Washington farmers transformed themselves into "growers" by embracing new technologies and marketing strategies. By the 1920s, the state's growers managed not only to innovate the industry but to dominate it. Industrial agriculture has its fair share of problems involving the environment, consumers, and growers themselves. In the quest to create the perfect apple, early growers did not question the long-term environmental effects of chemical sprays. Since the late twentieth century, consumers have increasingly questioned the environmental safety of industrial apple production. Today, as this book reveals, the apple industry continues to evolve in response to shifting consumer demands and accelerating climate change. Yet, through it all, the Washington apple maintains its iconic status as Washington's most valuable agricultural crop.

Over the past generation the Deep South has become the primary focus, and the plantation the predominant site, in southern literary studies. These developments followed academic interest first in postcolonial studies and more recently in globalization studies and conceptions of the Global South. With The North of the South Barbara Ladd turns her attention to the Upper South, exploring the fluidity of regional boundaries in this part of the world. In so doing she argues for greater attention to the impact of its distinctive ecosystems on its literature and points out the complex ways the Upper South's cultural and natural histories are foundational for our national imaginary. Surprisingly, it is Edgar Allan Poe who anchors this study. No longer American literary nationalism's most famous misfit, here he is shown to be remarkably attentive to both the natural and the nationalizing world around him, to have engaged deeply and critically with the environmental and the nationalist vision of Thomas Jefferson. Poe left a legacy of national melancholy around questions of American origins and possible futures discernible in the Souths of Elizabeth Madox Roberts, Cormac McCarthy, and Toni Morrison. In her examination of these cultural aspects of the Upper South, Ladd plumbs the depths of Poe's influence on southern literary studies.

Savannah's Midnight Hour argues that Savannah's development is best understood within the larger history of municipal finance, public policy, and judicial readjustment in an urbanizing nation. In providing such context, Lisa Denmark adds constructive complexity to the conventional Old South/New South dichotomous narrative, in which the politics of slavery, secession, Civil War, and Reconstruction dominate the analysis of economic development. Denmark shows us that Savannah's fiscal experience in the antebellum and postbellum years, while exhibiting some distinctively southern characteristics, also echoes a larger national experience. Her broad account of municipal decision making about improvement investment throughout the nineteenth century offers a more nuanced look at the continuity and change of policies in this pivotal urban setting. Beginning in the 1820s and continuing into the 1870s, Savannah's resourceful government leaders acted enthusiastically and aggressively to establish transportation links and to construct a modern infrastructure. Taking the long view of financial risk, the city/municipal government invested in an ever-widening array of projects-canals, railroads, harbor improvement, drainage- because of their potential to stimulate the city's economy. Denmark examines how this ideology of over-optimistic risk-taking, rooted firmly in the antebellum period, persisted after the Civil War and eventually brought the city to the brink of bankruptcy. The struggle to strike the right balance between using public policy and public money to promote economic development while, at the same time, trying to maintain a sound fiscal footing is a question governments still struggle with today.

Winner of the 2019 Mark E. Mack Community Engagement Award from the Society for Historical Archaeology, the collaborative archaeology project at the former Stewart Indian School documents the archaeology and history of a heritage project at a boarding school for American Indian children in the Western United States. In Collaborative Archaeology at Stewart Indian School, the team's collective efforts shed light on the children's education, foodways, entertainment, health, and resilience in the face of the US government's attempt to forcibly assimilate Native populations at the turn of the twentieth century, as well as school life in later years after reforms. This edited volume addresses the theory, methods, and outcomes of collaborative archaeology conducted at the Stewart Indian School site and is a genuine collective effort between archaeologists, tribal members, and former students of the school including University of Nevada, Reno, Nevada Indian Commission, and Washoe Tribal Historic Preservation Office. With more than twenty contributing authors, over half of which are tribal members (Washoe, Paiute, and Shoshone), this rich case study is strongly influenced by previous work in collaborative and Indigenous archaeologies. It elaborates on these efforts by applying concepts of governmentality (legal instruments and practices that constrain and enable decisions, in this case, regarding the management of historical populations and modern heritage resources) as well as social capital (valued relations with others, in this case, between Native and non-Native stakeholders). As told through the trials, errors, shared experiences, sobering memories, and stunning accomplishments of a group of students, archaeologists, and tribal members, this rare gem humanizes archaeological method and theory and bolsters collaborative archaeological research.