A Tale of Two Fairs

St. Patrick Meets St. Louis:The Display of the Irish at the 1904 St. Louis World's Fair* Jeffrey O'Leary (bio) A short time after the 1904 St. Louis World's Fair opened, a controversy erupted within the Irish Industrial Exhibit, Ireland's showcase at this venue. Members of the Dublin-based Irish National Theatre, who crossed the Atlantic to perform the works of Irish writers, claimed that the leadership of the Irish exhibit permitted the use of the stage Irishman persona in order to boost ticket sales. These Irish actors asserted that they received assurances from exhibit organizers before their arrival that only "Irish classics" would grace the stage. When these actors objected to negative portrayals of the Irish and refused to participate in further productions until removal of this caricature occurred, they lost their jobs.1 After a series of reports and editorials in the press, the organizers of the Irish exhibit declared that they were "sufficiently qualified to judge of, and to maintain what is due to the respect and dignity of, the Irish character."2 The paradox [End Page 142] of this response was that the primary individuals with oversight of the Irish exhibit were St. Louis-based American Irish who argued that their agency regarding the display of Irishness on this fairground was supreme and criticism by outside voices, even Irish ones, were mistaken.3 This article investigates the presentation of Irishness at the St. Louis fair as a mechanism of influencing ethnic-identity construction within the transatlantic world and explores how this fairground emerged as a unique site to mediate memory and commodify Ireland's heritage within an expansive American marketplace. I argue that this world's fair permitted the American Irish community to engage in oversight and presentation of Irishness within the public sphere to increase the commercial visibility of Ireland, its people, and goods with the intent of bolstering investment in Ireland to revive a floundering economy. What differentiates the St. Louis fair from other world's fairs regarding an Irish display is that this event was the first in which a coordinated effort by prominent American Irish business and civic leaders through an enterprise based in the United States, known as the Irish Exhibit Company, worked with an entity of the British Parliament called the Department of Agriculture and Technical Instruction for Ireland (DATII) to ensure that the Irish exhibit came to fruition. The DATII, created by an act of Parliament in 1899, became the primary British institution that assisted Irish farmers and workers in the resolution of agrarian- and industrial-oriented problems in Ireland. By the start of the twentieth century, the DATII became an important body in representing Ireland at international exhibitions.4 Although Irish workers and performers appeared within the Irish Industrial Exhibit at the St. Louis fair to provide an authentic experience for its visitors, planning and implementation of this project occurred under the auspices of Ireland's descendants in the United States. The Irish, in fact, had [End Page 143] limited agency in how their heritage appeared within the confines of this world's fair. World's fairs are sites that reinforce or contest notions of identity. In particular, these international extravaganzas provided visitors of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries with myriad outlets to absorb numerous constructs of ethnicity, including Irishness, and became social texts that commodified ideas of self and portrayed a manufactured reality for fairground visitors. This process within the Irish Industrial Exhibit at St. Louis relied on "performing" Irishness for guests who purchased a ticket to "visit" Ireland without leaving the United States. The power to control these performances and determine the environment in which ethnic remembrance occurred in the Irish exhibit afforded the American Irish organizers enhanced agency over their Irish-born brethren. My examination of the display of Irishness at the 1904 St. Louis fair expands Jeffrey Alexander's work on cultural pragmatics, with its emphasis on social performance and power, as a means of analyzing authenticity "as an interpretive category" that allows for greater comprehension of the dissonance that resulted from contested interpretations of Irishness.5 The episode of the Irish actors who expressed extreme displeasure about...

Flight Activities at the 1904 St. Louis World's Fair: Introducing America to Aeronautics

Research Article| August 01 2000 “The Sole Guardians of the Art Inheritance of Asia”: Japan and China at the 1904 St. Louis World's Fair Carol Ann Christ Carol Ann Christ Search for other works by this author on: This Site Google positions (2000) 8 (3): 675–709. https://doi.org/10.1215/10679847-8-3-675 Cite Icon Cite Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn MailTo Permissions Search Site Citation Carol Ann Christ; “The Sole Guardians of the Art Inheritance of Asia”: Japan and China at the 1904 St. Louis World's Fair. positions 1 August 2000; 8 (3): 675–709. doi: https://doi.org/10.1215/10679847-8-3-675 Download citation file: Zotero Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search Dropdown Menu toolbar search search input Search input auto suggest filter your search Books & JournalsAll Journalspositions Search Advanced Search The text of this article is only available as a PDF. 2000 by Duke University Press2000 Article PDF first page preview Close Modal You do not currently have access to this content.

Based on a decade of painstaking research, Linda Peavy and Ursula Smith's Full-Court Quest paints a vibrant and nuanced picture of the Fort Shaw Indian School and the young women whose basketball skills amazed and delighted crowds at the 1904 St. Louis World's Fair. The beautifully constructed narrative weaves together a wide variety of subplots: the creation of the Fort Shaw Indian School in Montana's Sun River valley, the development of the game of basketball and its importance for women's team athletics at the turn of the twentieth century, the construction of the model Indian school at the St. Louis fairgrounds, and most importantly, the microhistories of ten young “world champions” who represented the Shoshone, Assiniboine, Gros Ventre, Piegan, Bannock, Ojibwe, and Cree nations. The story comprises events that resulted from a “confluence of cultures” (p. 343). One hundred years of native-nonnative interaction following the 1803 Louisiana Purchase coalesced by the end of the nineteenth century. The Fort Shaw girls came of age in a moment before the Indian School Service began to emphasize domestic and manual skills to the exclusion of academic, artistic, and athletic training. They also excelled at the fledgling game of basketball at a time when audiences—especially at international exhibitions—marveled at the women who were often barred from team competition because of their gender. The authors note that the 1904 St. Louis World's Fair was the last one to feature vast ethnographic displays that included model Indian schools and native villages, reflecting both the state of Americanist anthropology at the time and the general interest in indigenous peoples shown by an increasingly expansionist nation. The Fort Shaw team “seized that moment,” Smith and Peavy wrote, “and in doing so challenged the prevailing attitudes toward the athletic abilities of women and toward the abilities of Indian peoples” (p. 344).

At the 1904 St. Louis World's Fair, 1100 Filipino ‘natives’ were used as human displays to argue for the colonial enterprise in the Philippines. Seventy years later, the Marcos regime staged Kasaysayan ng Lahi (History of the Race), a mass ceremony that reworked the visual, performative and commercial dynamics of the 1904 colonial exposition to promote heritage tourism in the Philippines. While the use of human displays in colonial expositions has been well documented and analyzed as a constitutive element of a Eurocentric ‘exhibitionary complex’, its uptake in developing nations seeking entry into an emergent cultural economy has yet to be explored. This article places critical analyses of colonial expositions, human displays and heritage tourism in productive dialogue, and examines the continuities and discontinuities between the Philippine exhibit at the 1904 St. Louis World's Fair and the 1974 staging of Kasaysayan ng Lahi by the Marcos regime. Against established views of ‘staged authenticities’ as either exploitative or socially empowering, this case study advances a more complex framework for critical histories of the exhibitionary complex, and foregrounds the internal contradictions that inhere within the staging of indigenous heritage for purposes of cultural revitalization and economic development.

This chapter examines dramatizations of U.S.–Philippine contact during the years leading up to, during, and immediately after the Spanish–American War. In the early years of the American empire, the Filipino/a performing body appears in piecemeal form on diverse U.S. stages, including the 1904 St. Louis World's Fair, as part of chautauqua circuits, and on theater venues in major American cities such as New York and Chicago. The chapter specifically turns to two of these sites, the Philippine Reservation at the 1904 St. Louis World's Fair and the musical comedy Shoo-Fly Regiment by the African American creative team of Bob Cole, J. Rosamond, and James Weldon Johnson. It approaches these various performing stages as “contact zones,” as complex terrains of interaction among American patrons, Filipino/a performers, and the Philippines. Furthermore, the chapter also asks how this early contact is present in contemporary Filipino Americans' self-imagination.

Reviewed by: Asian Americans by Renee Tajima-Peña Melissa Phruksachart (bio) Asian Americans. Series Producer: Renee Tajima-Peña. PBS/WETA, 2020. 275 minutes. $29.99 DVD and $12.99 streaming. ISBN: 9781531712099. This five-part PBS documentary series on the history of Asians in the United States will become an essential part of the curriculum for ethnic studies and American history courses from high school to higher education. The team behind Asian Americans has produced a lively history combining archival footage, family stories, animations, and interviews with scholars, journalists, artists, descendants, and history-makers themselves. The series' engagement with knowledge is expository and fact-based, departing from the archival poetics of Loni Ding's documemoir approach in Ancestors in the Americas or the experimental approaches to truth and memory in Richard Fung's Dirty Laundry and Marlon Fuentes's Bontoc Eulogy. Supplementing screenings with readings and discussions would help disentangle the contradictions and implicit values presented by the narrative. Its five episodes run approximately fifty-five minutes each and are organized chronologically. Episode one, "Breaking Ground," covers the nineteenth century to pre-World War II, and emphasizes that Asian migration to the United States in this period was driven by a demand for labor. It begins not with the construction of the transcontinental railroad, but with U.S. colonial expansion into the Philippines. The Igorots at the St. Louis World's Fair Philippine exhibition are not portrayed as sad, unidentified victims here, but hustling ancestors with their own goals. The episode follows a multilingual young man named Antero as he puts his language skills to use and pursues a transnational life between the United States and the Philippines. The episode then transitions to Chinese laborers on the transcontinental railroad and the racism and cruelty they faced as they became a threat to the white American workforce. This presents the opportunity to discuss the Chinese Exclusion Act, birthright citizenship in United States v. Wong Kim Ark, and racial prerequisite cases such as United States v. Bhagat Singh Thind. The remainder of this jam-packed episode addresses the "second generation"—the [End Page 511] children born of these nineteenth-century immigrants, who want to assert their Americanness, play baseball, and be in the movies. Episode two, "A Question of Loyalty," focuses on World War II, the Japanese American incarceration, and Asian American communities' varied responses. In particular, it follows the war's impact on the children of the Japanese American Uno family. One son, Buddy, feeling scorned by his country of birth, starts to investigate the appeal of Japanese imperial ambitions. He eventually travels to Japan to join its army news corps, while other members of his family move in and out of concentration camps across the United States. The episode follows the divided loyalties in the Uno family, as well as the pain and silence that covered up their story for several generations. Refreshingly, the episode refuses Asian American World War II history as simply Japanese American history. It also touches upon Japanese imperialism in Korea and Manchuria, which allied Korean and Chinese nationalists with the United States, and considers the impact of enlisting in the U.S. military for Chinese and Filipino Americans. By way of closing, the episode connects the legacy of the internment to descendants' contemporary activism against the ongoing incarceration of Mexican and Central American migrants at the U.S.-Mexico border. Episode three, "Good Americans," addresses Asian American communities' reactions to the Cold War and the growth of the model minority stereotype after World War II. Asian American soldiers, having fought for democracy and freedom against fascism abroad, now expect equality at home. The episode notes how both racist policy and racist sentiment prevent integration from becoming a material reality. This impact is worsened by the Red Scare, when any Chinese Americans who contradicted the official U.S. position on China or who were simply contributing to Chinese diaspora newspapers came under FBI scrutiny. The story then shifts focus to Hawai'i and Hawaiian statehood to celebrate it as a platform from which the first Asian American members of Congress gain a foothold. The episode follows the careers of Hawaiian-born Representative Patsy Mink...

Reviewed by: Aesthetic Life: Beauty and Art in Modern Japan by Miya Elise Mizuta Lippit Noriko Murai Aesthetic Life: Beauty and Art in Modern Japan. By Miya Elise Mizuta Lippit. Harvard University Asia Center, 2019. 332 pages. ISBN: 9780674975163 (hardcover, also available as softcover). Aesthetic Life: Beauty and Art in Modern Japan is possibly the most conceptually innovative and ambitious book on Meiji aesthetics and art to have been published in [End Page 395] English in recent years. Carefully working through a diverse range of textual and visual materials, including novels, published debates, World's Fair exhibits, photographs, magazine and book illustrations, and paintings, Miya Elise Mizuta Lippit conducts a relentless investigation of bi (beauty) at the intersection of bijin (beautiful woman) and bijutsu (fine arts), both coveted embodiments of Japan's modernity. Lippit states that "because beauty is subjective, aesthetics should be thought of not as the study of something beautiful, but as a 'meta-aesthetic,' the study of the practice of aesthetic appreciation" (p. 18; italics added). She identifies the bijin as the quintessential "aesthetic figure through which one can track how aesthetic appreciation was conceived and developed" (p. 18) in Meiji Japan around the beginning of the twentieth century. The association of beauty, art, and femininity became a naturalized feature of modern culture and is perpetuated in many parts of the world to this day. Japan is certainly an elaborate—but in no way an exceptional—case where the beautiful, the artistic, and the feminine have been conflated and integrated into the national, designed to win both domestic and international approval as an idealized image of the nation. One of the major contributions of Aesthetic Life resides in its sophisticated and multifaceted account of how this ideology emerged and developed. The book is organized thematically into seven chapters that present "an array of Meiji reflections on and ideologies of modern Japanese beauty (bi)," which collectively "examine the origins of the bijin that emerged in the final years of the Meiji period as the subject of the Nihonga painting genre of bijinga" (p. 19). Chapters 1 and 2 examine the consolidation of the national image of Japan in the West during what Lippit calls "the era of Japonisme" (p. 31) that began in the latter half of the nineteenth century. By the start of the twentieth century, "the geisha epitomized a living work of art" (p. 34) and "the figure of the Japanese woman and Japanese artistic creations were fully conflated" (p. 35). In this discourse, Japan appears both as bijutsu and as bijin. Lippit emphasizes, however, that "turning itself into a feminine artifact" was only one side of Japan's "hybrid countenance" (p. 67). The Japanese self-presentation at the 1904 St. Louis World's Fair in the midst of the Russo-Japanese War demonstrates her point that "the West may have thought of Japan as feminine … a tendency that can still be seen today—but Japan was, in fact, merely simulating the feminine style, as it, in turn, encroached on other parts of Asia. Japan was never so much a woman, as it was playing at being like a woman" (pp. 24–25; italics in original). Lippit later reiterates more strongly that "the modern nation was increasingly identified abroad with the public image of the seductive bijin-geisha—a face that the nation, often masquerading as a feminized subject while behaving as a masculine conquistador, actively cultivated" (p. 105). In other words, the self-objectification of "Japan" as art, which Lippit identifies, for instance, in the art critic Okakura Kakuzō's speech at the 1904 World's Fair, was a masculinist project that allowed elite Japanese men to dictate the terms of Japan's national interests as they saw fit, whether in culture, diplomacy, or war. Lippit's analysis pivots on several conceptual pairs, including art and nature, word and image, East and West, and Nihonga and yōga (modern Japanese paintings created [End Page 396] in the so-defined "Japanese" and "Western" media, respectively). Chapter 3 addresses the dichotomy between art and nature. Lippit postulates that the concept of nature, especially human beauty, was largely theorized as a product of the West at the time...

Transitions and Quotes Augusto Espiritu (bio) Paul A. Kramer. The Blood of Government: Race, Empire, the United States, and the Philippines. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2006. xii + 538 pp. Illustrations, maps, appendices, notes, bibliography, and index. $69.95 (cloth); $26.95 (paper). This is an impressive book. At 442 pages of text and over 500 pages with footnotes, it is certainly one of the longest books published in recent memory on the relationship between the United States and the Philippines. Not only is its size impressive but also the way Kramer has brought together the literature and original research in a compelling argument about U.S.-Philippine race relations during the colonial period. Kramer takes his time, writes in an accessible but deeply learned manner, bringing to bear his expertise on the subject and perhaps staking a claim for the study of U.S. Empire as having a complexity, allure, and integrity that has only been granted to post-colonies of the former British Empire. In doing so, Kramer helps to anchor post-colonial studies of U.S. Empire in the Philippines.1 Of these, Kramer's is thus far the most ambitious in scope and also the most transnational, examining developments in the United States metropole that puts Philippine studies in dialogue with transnational American studies. Kramer's argument is that race is absolutely crucial to understanding the American imperial project in the Philippines and vice-versa; that American empire, as a transnational phenomenon, is essential for understanding the development and multiform character of race. He is addressing two different literatures—the literature of U.S. colonial rule of the Philippines, which has hitherto failed to produce a comprehensive argument on the issue of race and the literature of racial formation in the United States, which has been spotty in speaking to the imperial routes and transnational histories of U.S. racial ideologies—and bringing them into dialogue with each other through what he calls a "transnational history of race and empire" (p. 2). The "blood of government" in the title, which opens the Introduction, serves as Kramer's point of departure for this book on empire and race. It comes from Imperialist Senator Albert J. Beveridge's speech to the U.S. Senate in 1900, one year into the U.S.-Philippine War, which echoes the religiously inspired [End Page 406] "manifest destiny" of America's westward expansion. Beveridge's speech, in particular, emblematized the widespread belief in America's Anglo-Saxon racial destiny in the late nineteenth century. Beveridge states that the Philippine-American War was "deeper than any question of party politics" or of "any question of constitutional power." Instead, he argues, that it is "racial." As Kramer quotes him, this purpose for war is nothing less than that of the "English-speaking and Teutonic peoples" who had become "the master organizers of the world," possessors of "the blood of government" (p. 2). In order to make his case, Kramer explores what he regards as the formative events in the racial history of the U.S. colonial period. These include the turn-of-the-century Spanish-American and Philippine-American Wars, the St. Louis World's Fair of 1904, the making of a U.S. colonial state in collaboration with Filipino nationalist elites, and congressional legislation that set the timetable for Philippine independence, passed in the climate of the Great Depression, at the height of nativist sentiment against increasing Filipino immigration to the U.S. mainland. He outlines six themes that parallel these historical developments and the six chapters of the book (pp. 28–32). These include: (1) the crucial role of racial formation during the Spanish colonial period in setting the terrain for U.S.-Philippine race relations; (2) the significance of the Philippine-American War in the construction of an American racial state and a racial ideology Kramer labels "imperial indigenism," which racialized the pre-existing religious divisions among Filipinos, between Christians and non-Christians; (3) the imperatives of colonial state-building, which lead to the establishment of a "dual mandate," or a "bifurcated" colonial state in which Christian Filipino elites were allowed to evolve towards self-government, albeit with U...

Carrying a title suggestive of Keith Tor Carlson's The Twisted Road to Freedom: America's Granting of Independence to the Philippines (1995), Sharon Delmendo's study examines the century-long relationship between Filipinos and Americans, proffering the “two nations— and nationalism—variously defined and deployed by conflicting camps in both the United States and the Philippines” (p. 15). Perceiving a bond restrictive of Philippine sovereignty and self-identity, the author labels the two countries' restored accord since 9/11 an imperious renascence instigated by President George W. Bush. Through case studies, Delmendo, an associate professor of English at Rochester's St. John Fisher College, utilizes the identity, values, and state features of nationalism as lenses to interpret Filipino and American accounts of their meshed national experiences. Each case reveals a renewed United States hegemony accompanied by a compromised Philippine independence or national self-concept. Chapter 1 applies the identity idea of the hero to portray José Rizal's image subjugated to an American rendition compatible with United States imperialism. Chapter 2 employs identity to explain how racial stereotypes of Filipinos displayed at the 1904 St. Louis World's Fair and reinforced in Palmer Cox's children's book The Brownies in the Philippines (1903) confirmed the necessity of American colonization. State and identity interact in chapter 3 via Back to Bataan (1945), a World War II movie that underscores that Philippine sovereignty is obtainable solely through a Filipino resistance to Japanese occupation under United States leadership, as exemplified by an abject yet fictitious descendant of the national icon Andres Bonifacio. Chapter 4 uses the state to symbolize American neocolonialism as elucidated in controversy about civic holidays and the accidental entangling of the two countries' flags (hence the book's title) at the July 4, 1996, Philippine independence observance. The author's theme is rehashed in concluding chapters concerning a novel by F. Sionil José and the American army's keeping of the Balangiga Bells.

The Sweet Sixteen: The Journey that Inspired the Canadian Women's Press Club. Linda Kay. Montreal, Canada: McGill-Queen's University Press, 2012. 228 pp. $34.95 hbk.In June 1904, sixteen Canadian journalists boarded a luxurious train car bound for the St. Louis World's Fair. It was a newsworthy trip for more than one reason: they were female and about to report on a global exposition, undoubtedly the biggest story of the year. At the turn of the century, the few dozen women who worked as journalists in Canada typically penned articles on etiquette and social events for women's pages, and they rarely traveled for assignments. That was about to change.In this enjoyable road-trip narrative, Linda Kay, associate professor and chair of Concordia University's Department of Journalism, describes a journey that helped Canada's female journalists achieve professional legitimacy and led to the formation of the Canadian Women's Press Club (CWPC). As the first women's press club in the world to claim a national membership, the CWPC would endure 100 years.But the sixteen women traveling in the Canadian Pacific Railway (CPR) car could not know any of this. Dressed in the day's fashion of floor-length tweed skirts, shirt- waists, and large-brimmed hats, the women were excited and a little nervous. For some, the assignment marked their first reporting venture. The novices also were awe- struck by the few stars among them, such as Kathleen Blake Coleman of the Mail and Empire, one of Canada's largest newspapers. Known by her readers as Kit Coleman, she had become famous for covering the 1898 Spanish American War from Cuba.CPR sponsored the journalists' ten-day trip. The railway wanted to entice immi- grants to western Canada and thus ensure the transcontinental line it had completed in 1885 would enjoy brisk traffic. Its publicity-savvy officials knew a group of women traveling alone to the World's Fair would garner a great deal of press coverage about Canada and their company, and they were right. The railway's public relations appara- tus, although not a focus of this book, is an interesting side note.The author deftly places the women's stories within the political and social context of Canada at the start of the twentieth century. In 1904, women in Canada did not have the right to vote or hold public office. Married women found it difficult to continue professional careers. Kay shows that the cultural differences of the country's dual language citizenry are reflected in this group of journalists, which was evenly split between English- and French-speakers. …

twentieth-century Texas. His movements were reported by the state's newspapers and he was awarded prized commissions. His work was so well respected that when President William McKinley and his wife visited San Antonio on May 4, 1 90 1 , the city's leaders selected White to create a grand painting ofthe Alamo as a gift for the McKinleys. Three years later, White was selected to provide the paintings for the Texas exhibits at the 1904 St. Louis World's Fair. After the fair, White decided to settle in St. Louis, and his fame in Texas slowly dissolved into the mists oftime. Even though White's charm, good looks, connections, culture, and artistic skills made him oneofthe best-known and most respected artists in Texas between 1895 and 1904, he and most ofhis work have now become virtually forgotten. This is the story ofThomas Verner Moore White (he always went byVerner White) , his work and life in Texas, his mostfamous painting ( TheAlamo with Senora Candelaria), and his commission for the World's Fair. Born in Lunenburg County, Virginia, near Richmond, in 1863, White was the son of a Presbyterian churchman who belonged to an oldVirginia family.1 Although he grew up in the ruins ofthe Old South *James Graham Baker retired from Texas A&M University as Director ofComputing for the College of Architecture in 2005. In addition to his work in computing, during his time at the university he developed the first course in Texas Art History offered in the state. He has lectured on early Texas art for various museum programs, collector organizations, art leagues, and the Center for the Study and Advancement of Early Texas Art (CASETA) annual meetings. He was a founding director of caseta, has developed Texas Art History modules for secondary schools, and has organized and presented exhibitions of early Texas art and artists at Texas A&M and elsewhere in the College Station area. Mr. Baker holds a master's degree in nautical archaeology from Texas A&M and a bachelor's degree in anthropology from Soudiern

From displays of so-called defectives and primitives at the 1904 St. Louis World's Fair, early 20th-century authorities shaped a definition of abnormality that they showed to a curious public. Complementing these displays were discourses about disability that proposed schemes for education, custody, sterilization, and even extermination. Like the displays of defectives, the discourses about defectives paralleled discourses about primitive races that appeared at the turn of the century to rationalize American imperialism. Together, the displays and discourses of defectives and primitive races shaped an understanding of science and education. In so doing, they also provided American elites a way of distinguishing between improvable and unimprovable inferiors (see Note).

In the spring of 1904, Sara McLagan, owner of one of Vancouver's three daily newspapers, The World, embarked on a journey across the continent to cover the St. Louis World's Fair. She joined a group of eastern women journalists who were mustering as many of their number as they could find to cover the fair. They wanted to make visible the presence of newspaperwomen in the Canadian press. The end result of this gathering was the formation of the first nationally organized women's press club in the world, The Canadian Women's Press Club. Members aimed to advance the status of journalism as a profession which women could honourably and profitably practise. Within a few years the club embraced press women all across Canada, but of the original sixteen members only two were from west of Ontario, both from Vancouver: Sara McLagan and Sarah Crowe Atkins, who supplied the Province with news of the fair. The small number of newspaperwomen who were able to make a living in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries found their opportunities either in sophisticated and diverse urban settings with markets for the specialist journalist or in sparsely populated pioneering communities with comparatively few obstacles to the enterprising woman. To a certain extent Vancouver represented both extremes. Despite its youth, Vancouver had a lively newspaper scene. In the newly inaugurated city of 1886, three newspapers shared the fate of destruction by fire. From the outset, women contributed to the expansion and diversification of the Vancouver press. Sara McLagan headed the tradition of newspaperwomen in Vancouver. With

Directing O'Neill: <i>Mourning Becomes Electra, Long Day's Journey Into Night, Desire Under the Elms, Days Without End</i>