Colonized through Art: American Indian Schools and Art Education, 1889–1915 by Marinella Lentis

Reviewed by: Education at the Edge of Empire: Negotiating Pueblo Identity in New Mexico’s Indian Boarding Schools by John R. Gram, and: Community Self-Determination: American Indian Education in Chicago, 1952–2006 by John L. Laukaitis Kevin Whalen Education at the Edge of Empire: Negotiating Pueblo Identity in New Mexico’s Indian Boarding Schools. By John R. Gram. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2015. xviii + 241 pp. Cloth $45, paper $30. Community Self-Determination: American Indian Education in Chicago, 1952–2006. By John L. Laukaitis. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2015. xviii + 264 pp. Cloth $85, paper $25. After an almost decade-long slowdown, the literature on Indian education is gaining momentum again. During the 1990s, scholars began telling the stories of Indian boarding schools that aimed to erase Indigenous languages and cultures and assimilate Native people into the broader body politic of the United States. Robert Trennert and David Wallace Adams elucidated the design of the schools, while K. Tsianina Lomawaima, Brenda Child, and others highlighted how Native students and communities endured boarding school experiences and protected the Native languages and cultures that the schools aimed to erase. Almost as quickly as the literature began to flourish, it went quiet again. A new group of scholars is pushing the study of Indian education in novel directions. Where the first wave of scholarship on boarding schools often focused on specific schools, scholars such as Matthew Sakiestewa Gilbert began looking at the lasting connections between schools and Native communities; others such as Julie Davis reminded us that Indigenous education in the United States went beyond boarding schools as she chronicled the rise of community-based Indigenous education in Minneapolis. Now, John R. Gram and John J. Laukaitis provide a pair of studies that have added even more depth and nuance to Gilbert’s attention to community approaches to boarding schools and Davis’s examination of Indigenous schooling during the era of educational self-determination. While Gram and Laukaitis tackle topics separated by vast time and space, they engage in a common push to enrich the broader literature on [End Page 127] Indian education with close attention to how local contexts can both reinforce and reorder what we know about Indigenous education. While Gram is not the first scholar to explore the complicated ties between Indigenous communities and federal Indian boarding schools, he adds new layers of complexity to this approach as he teases out connections between Pueblo communities of northern New Mexico and the federal Indian boarding schools at Albuquerque and Santa Fe during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. This nuance is especially apparent in the first two chapters, where Gram sketches out a political economy in which the schools desperately needed Pueblo students to keep their doors open, and where Pueblos held the ability to send their children to Catholic boarding schools or federal schools in Arizona and Southern California. Using this leverage, Pueblo communities often forced the schools to change policies and practices they deemed harmful or unsatisfactory. Foremost for Pueblo people was the ability for their children to come home during the summer months. Where other large, off-reservation boarding schools often managed to hold students over the summer, Pueblo parents and political leaders made clear that they would not send their children to Albuquerque or Santa Fe if they could not come home for the summer. In his third chapter, Gram aptly places the schools at Santa Fe and Albuquerque within broader social and political contexts. Artists and writers such as Mabel Dodge Luhan and Charles F. Lummis—people the author calls “romantics”—held Pueblo culture as an antidote to the alleged moral and political decay brought by industrial capitalism, and they pushed the Bureau of Indian Affairs to protect rather than erase Pueblo lifeways. Alongside the visions of local crusaders, a nationwide disdain for boarding schools placed additional pressure on the schools at Albuquerque and Santa Fe. Here, Gram aptly demonstrates how the nexus of national and local politics provided Pueblo people with opportunities to exact change from school officials. Gram’s development of a political economy of Indian education stands among the most important contributions of his book. To close...

Acting Out AssimilationPlaying Indian and Becoming American in the Federal Indian Boarding Schools John R. Gram (bio) During the summer of 1886 the students of Albuquerque Indian School (ais) marked the passing of Decoration Day (predecessor of Memorial Day) with a day-long picnic. The following Monday the students took part in the Decoration Day parade in Albuquerque at the invitation of the local gar (Grand Army of the Republic) post. The boys wore their school uniforms and marched “in precision of movement and soldierly bearing,” while the girls, dressed in white aprons, rode on a float decorated with patriotic bunting. Each side of the float bore a banner with a different motto: “Anglo-Saxon civilization rules the world, we submit.” “Wise statesmanship demands a homogenous population.” “Patriotism precludes allegiance to civil powers, independent of the United States.” “We are free born; education confers knowledge and power to assert and maintain our freedom.”1 Scholars have long noted the assimilative importance of activities beyond classroom and industrial training at Indian boarding schools.2 What has received little focus in the existing literature, however, is the use of public performances, such as the Decoration Day parade described above—moments intended for consumption by both the student body and local citizens—as agents of assimilation. This study hopes to demonstrate the importance of public performance to the assimilative mission of the federal Indian boarding schools by examining how they were used at Albuquerque and Santa Fe Indian Schools from roughly 1880 to 1930. It also hopes to demonstrate that studying such performances at the boarding schools can place Indian education within the larger project of assimilation that preoccupied the country during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, as well as the [End Page 251] larger struggle over how the American public was to understand Indians and themselves. Though likely with varying levels of awareness, the Indian students participating in this parade, the Albuquerque Indian School personnel who arranged their participation, the gar post that invited them, and the Albuquerque citizens who watched the child soldiers and float pass by were all engaged in several national conversations as they took part in their local parade that day. These conversations remained important ones in American society during the era stretching from roughly 1880 to 1930. The first conversation revolved around how late nineteenth-and early twentieth-century Americans would think about Native Americans now that the conquest of the West was drawing to a close. The Wounded Knee Massacre, often thought of as the last battle of these wars, would happen a mere four years after this parade. One popular image of Native Americans was championed by Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show and other similar Wild West shows that enjoyed immense popularity during this time period. The appeal of these shows was the opportunity to witness an “authentic” display of a quickly closing chapter in the nation’s history. As historian L. G. Moses explains, “It appeared to many Americans . . . that the West and its native inhabitants, however wild they once may have been, were passing from existence.”3 In the words of another historian, Paul Reddin, the shows “tantaliz[ed] people with the proposition that they had missed something special because a particular phase of Plains history was nearing its end or had already passed.”4 These shows were about selling the past, not the future. And the Indians who worked in these shows were carefully crafted inhabitants of that past. They wore traditional costumes and performed traditional activities for audiences, which could include anything from building a teepee, to dancing, to “traditional” attacks on wagon trains. The message was clear: the era of such Indians was over. Fear and anxiety had been replaced by curiosity and nostalgia.5 The federal government during this same period, however, was firmly committed to the idea that Indians not only were part of the nation’s past but also must be made part of its future. One consequence of this competing “image” of Indians was government-operated boarding schools, which sprang up in significant numbers in the trans-Mississippi West in the late nineteenth century, representing the next step in a nearly four...

Book Review| November 01 2021 Review: Objects of Survivance: A Material History of the American Indian School Experience, by Lindsay M. Montgomery and Chip Colwell Objects of Survivance: A Material History of the American Indian School Experience by Lindsay M. Montgomery and Chip Colwell. Boulder: University Press of Colorado, 2019. 250 pp.; 166 illustrations, index; clothbound, $37.95; eBook, $30.35. Farina King (Diné) Farina King (Diné) Northeastern State University Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar The Public Historian (2021) 43 (4): 132–134. https://doi.org/10.1525/tph.2021.43.4.132 Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data Peer Review Share Icon Share Twitter LinkedIn Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation Farina King (Diné); Review: Objects of Survivance: A Material History of the American Indian School Experience, by Lindsay M. Montgomery and Chip Colwell. The Public Historian 1 November 2021; 43 (4): 132–134. doi: https://doi.org/10.1525/tph.2021.43.4.132 Download citation file: Ris (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 All ContentThe Public Historian Search Anthropologists Lindsay M. Montgomery and Chip Colwell collaborated to reframe the Jesse H. Bratley Collection at the Denver Museum of Nature & Science, which led them on a journey to trace hundreds of pieces and glass-plate photographs and determine how Bratley gathered them from diverse Native American communities. According to the co-authors, the collection embodies “objects of survivance,” especially as “material memories” for Native American communities from which the objects originated, such as those of S’Klallam, Lakota, Cheyenne, Arapaho, Havasupai, Hopi, and Seminole peoples (30–31). While Montgomery and Colwell aim to align with Anishinaabe scholar Gerald Vizenor’s tenets of survivance in which “Native actors become the protagonists” (31) that not only survive but thrive, their book presents several missed opportunities.1 The “protagonist” of the book predominately remains Bratley, the white assimilationist instructor, rather than the Native American progenitors of the objects. Instead of focusing more on the relationships between... You do not currently have access to this content.

IN MARCH 1875, A CHICAGO TRIBUNE CORRESPONDENT reported that a miners’ strike in Brazil, Indiana, continued with conditions worsening and the “breach between labor and capital widen[ing].” The year-long labor dispute found the striking miners “dogged and sullen” and was taking a dreadful toll on the men and their families. Many of the town's merchants initially supported the strike, but they increasingly feared violence would ensue as the striking miners became more vigilant and defiant. One merchant stated that he had witnessed other strikes, but none of them had “men so determined not to yield,” and he believed it would be necessary to bring in the military to prevent an outbreak of violence. The Tribune correspondent predicted that a “revolution in labor” was imminent because the desperate mine operators were willing to hire Black workers to take the place of the striking miners. The mine operators were “confident that, if negro labor [was] adopted unanimously, it [would] completely and effectively crush strikes, which [had] become so frequent and arrogant of late as to make any dependence on white labor impracticable.” African American workers, according to the correspondent, were more dependable than white laborers, and they would not become “turbulent at trifles, and for many other reasons that are apparent.” As a result, some midwestern mine operators had already arranged to fill their mines with Black workers, and “others will follow suit.”1The newspaper correspondent's prediction about a “revolution in labor” was accurate—during the height of labor unrest in the late 1870s, Northern industrialists sought measures to undercut the burgeoning labor movement by importing African American workers from the South into their predominantly European American worksites. Industrialists were encouraged by two overarching factors: first, Black workers from the South traditionally earned lower wages than their Northern counterparts and would therefore cost less; and more importantly, due to racist exclusionary measures, as well as the relatively small African American population in the North, semi-skilled and skilled worksites were dominated by European American workers. Industrialists correctly assumed that the racism of their workers would cause an exceedingly vitriolic reaction to the idea of Black workers replacing them. In addition to the typical labor conflict issues, racialized violence would invariably ensue. Industrialists then found justification to utilize draconian measures on the strikers—enforced by local militia or police—to ensure that the replacement workers would be allowed to work in relative safety, and to ensure that industrialists continued to make profits.2This racial dynamic became increasingly prevalent throughout the Midwest as rapid industrialization and massive population growth created whole new categories of workers. European American workers braced themselves for the possibility of a chaotic economic transformation by frantically jockeying for occupational viability within the racial hierarchy. In the environment of an increasingly racialized labor movement, Black and other non-white workers, with few exceptions, were forced to the bottom of the economic ladder.Among midwestern states, Illinois was particularly distinct due, in part, to the massive growth of Chicago as a central industrial hub for the region. In comparison to adjacent midwestern states, Illinois was also unique because of its relatively small African American population. By 1890, the African American population in Illinois was only 57,028 (1.5 percent of the state population); in 1900, 85,078 (1.8 percent of the state population). The dearth of a substantial Black population, coupled with a significant rise in anti-Black sentiment throughout the state, helped to create the perception that African American workers were unable to perform technologically advanced labor. Thus, Black Illinoisans of the late nineteenth century were often forced out or excluded from more desirable occupations and, subsequently, forced to the periphery of the labor movement.This article explores the labor activism of Black Illinoisans during the tumultuous late nineteenth century in the context of this relatively new phenomenon—that is, the racialization of labor. Of course, historians generally acknowledge this period as the Second Industrial Revolution in the United States. Yet for African Americans, the period also signified a time in which their racial “character” was under severe scrutiny—not only in labor, but also in virtually every aspect of Black American life. Notions of white racial superiority invariably circumscribed Black people as inferior outsiders—undeserving of a place within mainstream American life. Thus, to most European Americans, it made perfect sense within the twisted logical framework of white supremacy to categorize labor based upon race.In the context of heightened anti-Black sentiment, Black Illinoisans were faced with a difficult decision: should they remain with the larger labor movement that increasingly viewed them as “inferior” workers? While the European American working class famously fought for labor issues such as unionization, safer working conditions, and the eight-hour workday, Black Illinoisans during the nineteenth century also supported these issues. Yet Black workers were forced into a hybrid labor activism—an activism where they fought for their rights not only as workers but also as workers who were gradually excluded from higher-skilled occupations based upon their race. In addition to the racialized occupational environment, Black workers were also forced into a battle for their civil rights during the late nineteenth century as they fought against the inimical rise in white supremacy throughout the United States.The concept of racializing labor was not entirely novel to Northern industries. As historian Jacqueline Jones explained, white Northerners had always expressed their apprehension over emancipating Black people from slavery in moralistic terms. As early as the eighteenth century, they claimed that free Black laborers had shown a lack of restraint in public—displaying “racial” behavior that European American city dwellers found galling. Various groups of African American workers came under attack by the early nineteenth century for advertising for services in a supposedly unseemly fashion. For European American workers, their goal was to maintain their advantageous position in the workplace, and any other socio-political aspect in which there was the perception of losing ground within the racial hierarchy. Thus, European American workers developed new forms of self-definition that would establish a sharper distinction between “white” and “Black” labor.3One of the earliest and staunchest proponents for disrupting the burgeoning labor movement through racialization was co-owner of the Chicago, Wilmington, and Vermillion Coal Company (CW&V) Alanson Sweet. He quickly developed a reputation for slashing wages and firing workers when he forced workers at the Michigan Central Railroad Company to take a pay cut during a dispute in 1862. Workers that protested were fired and replaced with African American workers from the South.4 Sweet believed that the reaction of his predominantly white workforce would be intensified with the importation of an all-Black strikebreaking unit that would likely lead to violence. When violence inevitably ensued, Sweet and his co-owners were then able to utilize state-sponsored protection to ensure the protection of both his imported workers and his property.5As a co-owner of the CW&V in Braidwood, Illinois, during an economic depression, once again, Sweet reduced workers’ wages. Predictably, the unionized miners refused any pay cuts and went on strike. After some convincing, the CW&V co-owners acquiesced to Sweet's ideas on importing African American men to disrupt the conflict. “With the mines filled with colored men,” he assured his fellow owners and stockholders, “it is believed that the Company will not be burdened with the expense of another strike for many years.”6 The CW&V co-owners may have been willing to agree to Sweet's concept due to their past failures. In an 1874 labor dispute with their workers, both recently arriving European immigrants and white workers were recruited as strikebreakers. Instead of being a disruptive force, the replacement miners met with the striking Braidwood miners, became informed of the ongoing labor dispute, and were subsequently convinced to leave. Significantly, the workers left relatively peaceably within days of their arrival.7The nation was in the throes of a massive railroad strike starting in July 1877. Wage cuts, and generally poor conditions and treatment touched off a nationwide strike that shut down most of the nation's railroads. The Chicago Times observed that the arrival of African American workers, combined with the news of the national railroad strike created an “anxious mood” among the Braidwood miners, and “it would take but very little to cause an outbreak in this place.” When the African American workers arrived in Braidwood, there were no friendly meetings. Instead, the striking Braidwood miners gave them an ultimatum: leave town “peaceably or forcibly.” Fearing trouble, some of the miners left town.8 However, when Sweet and the CW&V ownership alerted Illinois governor Shelby Cullom of the intimidation tactics, the state militia was brought in to restore the Black miners to their jobs. The next day, 1,250 Illinois state militia were called into Braidwood to quell the conflict, and if the strikers resisted, “the troops [would] make short work of them.” The CW&V owners understood that an escalation in violence could possibly lead to such measures—and these measures would ensure that the African American workers would be protected and allowed to work in the mines.9Convinced that order could be maintained, and the African American miners would be allowed to remain in the mine shafts, the state militia left Braidwood several weeks later. Although relative peace did prevail after the departure of the state militia, the strike continued another four months. The Braidwood strike of 1877 was the longest strike in United States’ history (to that date) and took an enormous toll on the lives of the strikers and their families. With winter approaching in November 1877, the weary miners finally gave in and ended the strike. The owner's desire to destroy the miners’ union was successful, and the company refused to hire the union leaders as well. Feeling victimized by the CW&V owners, many miners complained bitterly about working alongside the African American strikebreakers who they believed had done “all they possibly could to assist capital to crush labor.”10 For the CW&V owners, the reaction of the Braidwood miners to the importation of African Americans into the mines was the crucial element in their victory. If white and immigrant miners did not react violently, the owners would not have brought in the state militia to see that their mines and their replacement workers were protected.Race relations remained strained in the Braidwood mines during the immediate years after the strike. Nevertheless, African American miners remained in Braidwood and continued to work in the mines. At least half of the seven hundred miners in Braidwood were African American; by 1880, there were 703 Black men and their families living in the surrounding area (compared to 242 in 1870). Institutions such as the Colored Odd Fellows lodge and the First Baptist Church were established in 1878 to support the town's African American community. Reverend T. C. Fleming, who was one of the strikebreakers during the 1877 strike, was the pastor of the church.11 Despite establishing themselves as viable workers in the mines, and decent citizens in Braidwood, the small African American population continued to experience difficulties in town and the workplace.While the African American miners at Braidwood established a reputation for being viable workers and willing union men, their white counterparts insisted on following national racist trends in the workplace. Moses Gordon, an African American miner among those imported from Virginia, observed: “[African Americans] could no more get work here until the year 1877 than they could fly. . . . [I]t was the miners themselves who would come out on strike before they would allow the negro to earn his daily bread.” White workers increasingly drew the color line in the workplace and the major labor unions in the late nineteenth century. Significantly, Gordon also noted that CW&V owners fired African American workers that joined unions. Thus, the racialization of labor worked as a two-pronged attack against Black workers during the industrial era: As discriminatory policies against non-white citizens in the United States became the norm, and therefore accepted by the dominant racial group, employers increasingly utilized African Americans as strikebreakers in order to disrupt unionization. African American workers were either shunned from major labor unions by white union members who refused to allow them to join, or, as in the case in Braidwood, African American workers were threatened with termination. On the other hand, white workers—embracing the full social Darwinism of the late nineteenth century—and thus, completely accepting their collective place at the top of the racial hierarchy in American society—readily rejected African American workers from the most desirable occupations. As white workers wielded more bargaining power in the last decade of the nineteenth century, they insisted on the racialization of both the workplace and their labor unions. Gordon remarked on how this racist process in Braidwood would affect the working class: “Every nationality on the face of the globe can come here and go to work wherever there is work to be had, except for the colored man, and in nine cases out of ten the miners are to blame for it. A house divided against itself cannot stand. If the laboring class fights capital for their rights, they have enough to do without fighting against six millions [sic] of people that have got to earn their bread by the sweat of their brow.”12Strikebreaking served as an occupational and economic weapon against the racialization of labor for men like Moses Gordon. As labor historian Eric Arnesen explained, strikebreaking was a viable form of working-class activism for African Americans as they sought to strengthen their economic position during the labor upheaval of post-Reconstruction America. The most important coal mining towns in Illinois followed the practice of racial exclusion. Strikebreaking not only allowed African American workers to gain entry into desirable industrial positions, but it also represented chances for low paid Southern African Americans to earn higher wages. Their decisions to become strikebreakers were often informed choices, rationalized by a complex and changing worldview that balanced their experiences as industrial workers, farmers, and African Americans. Indeed, these Black men were neither willing tools nor ignorant serfs—rather, they were poor and ambitious men who were often recruited by coal company agents, sometimes under false pretenses. During the nineteenth century, African Americans were never the only workers used as strikebreakers in Illinois or any other Northern state. Moreover, they were never the most used strikebreakers during the height of labor turbulence of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. However, African Americans were usually the most visible strikebreakers because of American racism, and therefore, they were almost always the easiest targets for white working-class rage during the tumultuous labor disputes of this era.13As the Chicago Tribune correspondent predicted, other industrialists throughout the region adopted racialization as a weapon to squelch unionization among the working class. For example, in 1880, approximately one hundred African Americans were hired to replace striking coal miners in Rapids City, near Rock Island, Illinois. Tragedy struck immediately—one of the African American strikebreakers was shot and killed by a striking miner. That same year in Springfield, Illinois, mine owners resisted demands made by union officials and proceeded to import African American miners from Richmond, Virginia. The predominantly European American workforce was ordered to remove their tools from the mines and evacuate company houses. If any violence ensued, the mine operators, their property, and the African American workers, were all protected by local police officials. These drastic actions led to the demise of the union.14 In the summer of 1886, a strike for higher wages occurred in Vermillion County at Grape Creek. In this case, there was a small African American presence in the mines—yet they refused to strike with their European American coworkers. The African American miners belonged to the biracial Knights of Labor (KOL) union and refused to participate because it was “a white man's fight.” The Grape Creek operators brought in African American men from Tennessee and Kentucky under police protection. The conflict dragged out and defeated the strikers, as the mine operators brought in five to fifteen new African American workers each day.15 This pattern of racialization continued throughout Illinois during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. According to data compiled by economic historian Warren Whatley, Illinois industrialists utilized Black strikebreakers more than any state during this period. However, while Black strikebreaking increased substantially during this period—especially in high-profile conflicts—they remained a relatively small percentage of the nation's strikebreaking force.16While Northern industrialists continued to recruit Black workers from the South during the late nineteenth century, they virtually ignored Northern Black workers. This omission was particularly glaring in Illinois and other midwestern states due to the dearth of African Americans living in the region. Approximately 90 percent of the African American population remained in the South, and it was simply easier to find and recruit Black labor in the South. Another more compelling reason had to do with the collective attitudes of African Americans living in the North. While Southern Black workers were cajoled relatively easily due to precarious economic condition or general lack of knowledge of a particular labor conflict in the North, Northern African Americans simply had more exposure to Northern labor strife. Although the Black population of Illinois was quite small, they gained a reputation as ferocious labor agitators during the late nineteenth century. Like their European American working-class counterparts, they also battled for workers’ rights. To be sure, African American workers in Illinois were occasionally used as strikebreakers during the late nineteenth century—there would be a collective shift in their attitude toward the labor movement by the turn of the twentieth century as white working-class racism became more pronounced. Yet prior to the full implementation of white supremacist ideas about allegedly inferior and superior workers based upon race, Black Illinoisans were not only a part of the labor movement, in some cases they were at the vanguard of the movement.During the summer of 1877, while the Braidwood mine operators were importing African American workers into their labor fracas, more than 150 Black longshoremen from Illinois disputed recent wage cuts against the Mississippi Valley Transportation Company (MVTC). Like their Braidwood counterparts, they too were inspired by the “Great Railroad Strike” and organized their own all-Black union. In solidarity with the national movement, the workers arranged a general strike against all Illinois, employers due to the recent wage When the owners were of the strike, they hired strikebreakers. The next the striking longshoremen on the and their and that they leave the When they refused to the longshoremen them by a of in their The longshoremen then after the to ensure that none of the strikebreakers would only a few but it created quite a throughout The observed that the longshoremen may well have been within their rights to strike for higher but they no to prevent from working who willing . . . to work for the The noted that by the strikebreakers off the the Black longshoremen were a for which they be a significant in how the African American workers were in When African American workers for their rights, they were often as or workers. In Black labor activism was often viewed as chaotic and While strikebreaking was generally in white working-class when Black workers fought to their economic the they should be a that [would] last them for all time to the Braidwood which and supported striking miners during their African American workers were viewed with throughout and as workers throughout Illinois sought the same measures in unionization as other workers prior to the full of racialization in labor. As early as 1877, the Knights of Labor (KOL) established as many as seven in Illinois that African American men and into their For many Black workers, the was more than a labor the of leaders and as a than any other union in their the were able to the for African American After the national railroad strike in 1877, labor leaders recruited Black workers to the to racist to workers. goal of the labor leaders was also to the of Black workers during an 1878 African Americans the supported the and the city and with the white Chicago continued to into one of the nation's industrial the of the city was for African Americans. The battle for skilled labor in a environment, was often a losing for African American for from the South. African American men often to racist racist white and workers with the of racist to Black men out of viable As a result, Black workers in Chicago were left with occupational and often found themselves to with national of the racialization of labor was in Chicago by the last of the nineteenth century. By 1890, African Americans were as the to be laborers, workers, or to the During that decade they represented only percent of the population percent of all in the occupational for Black of or no higher than railroad or were also tools for the of such as or who were who or the of and dwellers more and the to their To ideas of racial and economic the their to an One noted that African American men of slavery . . . and became a of to the of the African American men, as a Chicago were the they are by and to were not always to ideas of racial if it in wages. A could a sense of and the of the of the South, which could lead to a was a relatively novel idea in the nineteenth Yet any that these men would allow these to into their in labor issues of the would be an Black in were the of hybrid labor activism of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Black over pay In 1875, they out of throughout the during and in some of At the out because their new to He informed the all-Black that they would be to at the an before their and they would no be allowed to left over by practice that allowed workers to their out in during the and workers of all and were toward labor unionization in the Yet European American workers to follow nationwide discriminatory in labor unions by Black workers from union Black often with their own of labor activism that all-Black unions or biracial unions. For example, after the of the five Black from the in Chicago, were to their of the that were to citizens of every and and were informed that it was against the to of their in the The the men a in the where the and their while on The by the left for another where they were and served without in Chicago were to find a labor union that would their in fighting for their labor and civil rights. The them with the of unionization that they In 1886, created the Colored local and more than four hundred Black and during a The Chicago Times the the Knights had on the Black the union the colored and gave the with This represented the entry of African Americans into organized labor in Chicago and was followed within two years by a Black the which organized after from the of the Black in Chicago little time in their reputation as labor In two hundred African American joined nine hundred white in of the of and in wages. The biracial an of substantial for The owners to a through the workers by importing African American replacement workers to replace the white The between the workers was and the Black were enough to the strikebreakers to A year during another Black labor conditions, and they also the to become more about their rights and the labor was not one African American predicted, by would for their working-class men and in Illinois for more biracial union during the late nineteenth century. an African American of the that more Black workers to the union to themselves as a within the labor than a within the the for laboring men and was an of wages. have been

Journal Article Assimilation's Agent: My Life as a Superintendent in the Indian Boarding School System Get access Assimilation's Agent: My Life as a Superintendent in the Indian Boarding School System. By Chalcraft Edwin L.. Edited by Collins Cary C.. (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2004. lxvi + 360 pp. Illustrations, appendix, notes, bibliography, index. $59.95.) Laura Woodworth-Ney Laura Woodworth-Ney Idaho State University Search for other works by this author on: Oxford Academic Google Scholar Western Historical Quarterly, Volume 36, Issue 4, Winter 2005, Page 511, https://doi.org/10.2307/25443245 Published: 01 November 2005

New York History Summer 2014© 2014 by The New York State Historical Association 408 Fighting a Two-Front War: Dr. Albert D. Lake, Thomas Indian School Physician, 1880–1922 Laurence Marc Hauptman, SUNY Distinguished Professor Emeritus of History Amajor omission from the literature on Native American health in New York is an analysis of the role of state-appointed physicians in the state’s Indian schools. Records held by the New York State Archives and New York State Library offer a valuable picture of the medical practice of an extraordinary physician among the Iroquois [Hodinöhsö:ni’] in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. From 1880 until 1922, Albert D. Lake attended to the medical care of children and adolescents at the state-administered Thomas Asylum for Orphan and Destitute Indians. This institution, which was renamed the Thomas Indian School in Figure 1. Dr. Albert D. Lake (1846–1923). Lake was the physician at the Thomas Asylum and School and health care advocate for the Senecas and other Hodinöhsö:ni’ from 1880 until 1922. New York State Archives. Hauptman Dr. Albert D. Lake, Thomas Indian School Physician, 1880–1922 409 1905, was located at the center of the Seneca Nation’s Cattaraugus Indian Reservation in western New York. Dr. Lake served the Native American children residing at the institution for over forty years. Over the course of his career, he fought a two-front war: first against the ever-present contagions that beset children at the school; and second, against state legislative inertia and bureaucratic resistance to supporting improvements in Indian health care delivery. Despite the frustrations caused by these two struggles, Lake made major contributions, which in some instances far outdistanced those of his medical contemporaries in the federal boarding school system.1 1. The best study of federal Indian health policies in this period is Diane T. Putney, “Fighting the Scourge; American Indian Morbidity and Federal Policy, 1897–1928,” (Ph.D. dissertation, Marquette University, 1980); see also David H. DeJong, “If You Knew the Conditions”: A Chronicle of the Indian Medical Service and American Indian Health Care, 1908–1955 (New York: Lexington Books, Rowman and Figure 2. The Cattaraugus Reservation in 1890. From: Thomas Donaldson, Comp., The Six Nations of New York. Extra Census Bulletin for the Eleventh Census of the United States, 1890. Washington, D.C.: United States Census Printing Office, 1892. 410 ■ NEW YORK HISTORY While federal Indian health policies have long been the focus of scholars , the history of medical care provided to Native Americans by New York State has yet to be written.2 The Thomas Asylum and School never operated as a federal institution, although at times it received a small allocation from Washington in its stated educational mission to bring “civilization” to the Indians. In the 1870s, the federal government hired doctors to vaccinate the Senecas, temporarily appointed the agency physician , and opened short-lived, underfunded, and undermanned infirmaries. Nevertheless, Washington officials almost entirely deferred to Albany in providing medical care to Native American communities. Indeed, the Indian Health Service (IHS), which was founded as the Indian Medical Service in 1908, did not enter the picture of providing health care delivery in the state until the Seneca Nation of Indians successfully lobbied for and secured these federal services in 1976. Long before Hodinöhsö:ni children were sent to the Carlisle Indian Industrial School in Pennsylvania, Native American students in New York were being instructed in district schools operated and administered by state administrators. The first state district schools were established in 1846. From the mid 1850s onward, orphaned and impoverished Hodinöhsö:ni, as well as a few Shinnecock children from Long Island, were sent to reside at and attend the Thomas Asylum and School. Still other children were Littlefield, 2008), 1–58. For health concerns and policies in the federal Indian boarding school system in this era, see Jean A. Keller, Empty Beds: Indian Student Health at Sherman Institute, 1902–1922 (East Lansing: Michigan State University Press, 2002); David H. DeJong, “‘Unless They are Kept Alive’: Federal Indian Schools and Student Health, 1878–1918,” American Indian Quarterly 31 (Spring, 2007): 256–282; David Wallace Adams, Education for Extinction...

ASSIMILATION'S AGENT:MY LIFE AS A SUPERINTENDENT IN THE INDIAN BOARDINGSCHOOL SYSTEM byEdwin L. Chalcraft editedandwithan introduction byCaryC. Collins University ofNebraska Press, Lincoln, 2004. Illustrations, notes, bibliography, index. 368 pages. $59.95 cloth. INTHE LATE-NINETEENTH and early twentieth centuries, a singular drama unfolded in Indian Country. The tale of federal Indian boarding schools depended on a varietyoffigures. Ameri can Indian children appeared first,surrounded by familyand kin groups. Federal bureaucrats marched onto stage next, as if responding to the "Cry of theMacedonian." During the first act, school superintendents and staffstepped in from thewings, ready to perform roles pre scribed by theworld views of late-Victorian America. Between 1879 and 1928, reservation and off-reservation Indian Service schools taught thousands of Indian youth thevalues of white, ProtestantAmerica, including the"three R's" and pre-industrial revolution vocational skills. In thismemoir, editor Cary C. Collins reminds us thatthe most obscure players in this drama remain those Indian Service employees who carried outWashington's mandates within theboarding school's tightconfines. Since few of these employees' recollections have survived,Edwin L. Chalcraft'smemoir, As similation's Agent: My Lifeas a Superintendent in theIndian Boarding School System,gains signifi cance. In an account penned shortlybefore his death in 1943,Chalcraft has reminded us of the dogma of his times, one predicated on Indian assimilation into the dominant society,while simultaneously deflecting readers' eagerness to stereotype these agents of federalpower. Chalcraft's recollection begins in 1881, when he and his wife Alice took the trainfrom their hometown ofAlbion, Illinois, to Seattle. Within twoyears of their move, theyoungmidwestern ers had shifted their residence to theChehalis reservation, in southwestern Washington Terri tory, where Chalcraft became superintendent of thetribeand itsboarding school. Serving indual rolesofbureaucrat and school teacher,likeother Office of Indian Affairs (oia) employees, they remained among theChehalis for sixyears. Accustomed tomoving its employees from one Indian nation to another, as in a chess game, the oia transferredChalcraft many times.His peripatetic career,covering fourdecades (1883 1925), reflected thispattern aswell as national political party affiliation, aggressive competi tors,and Chalcraft's persistent use of corporal punishment in the schools. Hence, sometimes he foundhimself exiledfrom his adopted Pacific Northwest and, on occasion, from hiswife and children. During the 1890s, the oia dismissed him for a five-year intervalbefore he and his network of oia friends could engineer a new appointment. Chalcraft could almost be called a name dropper. He knew all of the leading figures in the Indian Service at the turnof the twentieth century,and theirassistance helped his survival. Richard Henry Pratt, founder ofCarlisle Indian School, supported Chalcraft, and Estelle Reel, superintendent of oia schooling, stopped to visitwhen shewas touring schools. Although dissension within the Indian Service disrupted many employees' lives,all remained bound by theirassimilationist creed. In his introduction, Collins observes thatChalcraft did not receive any "formal training" forhis oia career,but I would argue thathis immersion in the values of middle-class, mainstream America served as the equivalent (p. xxvi). As Collins points out, Chalcraft neverwavered inhis commitment to assimilation. Collins portraysChalcraft and his colleagues in the oia as pioneers of "social engineering," a characteristic of Progressivism. JohnCollier, later commissioner of Indian Affairs (1933 1945), followed thispath inhis pre-WorldWar Iwork with New York's immigrants.Bearing in common theneed to alter the cultures of other people, these reformers shared the colonialist mentality. InChalcraft's case,however, the storyretains a complexity thatCollins could have empha 148 OHQ vol. 107, no. 1 sizedmore fully. Although Chalcraft remained glued to assimilation, exemplified inhis efforts to squash the Indian Shaker faithwhen itfil tered into theChehalis culture, in a number of instances he also defended various Indian peoples against the infractions of outsiders, such as land thieves.Yet,Chalcraft would have been astonished towitness tribal defense of the federal Indian schools during the largely successful closures during Ronald Reagan's administration. Chalcraft recalled that during his first su perintendency at Chemawa Indian School, the students saved their earnings from hop picking during vacation and donated them to the federal government to enable thepurchase of eighty-fiveadditional acres for the school. In thisway, theNative children initiated their claim over the school thatwould be echoed in theirdescendants' struggleto exemptChemawa from thedraconian...

In the past decade, the study of American Indian boarding schools has grown into one of the richest areas of American Indian history. The best of this scholarship has moved beyond an examination of the federal policies that drove boarding school education to consider the experiences of Indian children within the schools, and the responses of Native students and parents to school policies, programs, and curricula. Recent studies by David Wallace Adams, K. Tsianina Lomawaima, Brenda Child, Sally Hyer, and Esther Burnett Home and Sally McBeth have used archival research, oral interviews, and photographs to consider the history of boarding schools from American Indian perspectives. In doing so, they have begun to uncover the meaning of boarding school education for Indian children, families, and communities, past and present. Perhaps the most fundamental conclusion that emerges from boarding school histories is the profound complexity of their historical legacy for Indian people's lives.The diversity among boarding school students in terms of age, personality, family situa tion, and cultural background created a range of experiences, attitudes, and responses. Boarding schools embodied both victimiza tion and agency for Native people, and they served as sites of both cultural loss and cultural persistence. These institutions, intended to assimilate Native people into mainstream society and eradicate Native cultures, became integral components of American Indian identities and eventually fueled the drive for political and cultural self determination in the late twentieth century. David Wallace Adams has provided the most useful general overview of Indian boarding schools in Education for Extinction: American Indians and the Boarding School Experience, 1875-1928. The strength of Adams's book lies in its attention to several key aspects of boarding school history across a broad spectrum of schools. He begins by outlining the political and intellectual context that shaped the attitudes and assumptions of politicians, reformers, and educators and became translated into federal educational policy. Adams also discusses the implementation of that policy through a federal bureaucratic system and within individual institutions, and he explores the ways in which Indian students and parents experienced and responded to boarding school education. Adams's story of Indian people's boarding school experiences is largely one of cultural struggle. He argues that through the boarding schools, reformers, educators, and federal agents waged cultural, psychological, and intellectual warfare on Native students as part of a concerted effort to turn Indians into Americans. School admin istrators and teachers cut children's hair; changed their dress, their diets, and their names; introduced them to unfamiliar conceptions of space and time; and subjected them to militaristic regimentation and discipline. Educators suppressed tribal languages and cultural practices and sought to replace them with English, Christianity, athletic activities, and a ritual calendar intended to further patriotic citizenship. They instructed students in the industrial and domestic skills appropriate to European American gender roles and taught them manual labor. For many Indian children, this cultural assault led to confusion and alienation, homesickness and resentment. Yet Adams insists that Indian students and parents were not passive victims of the government's assimilation campaign; rather, they helped define the terms of their educational experiences in unanticipated ways. Many students accommodated themselves to the process of cultural change, some wholeheartedly, most ambivalendy and selectively. Others resisted institutional authority through covert strategies such as devising insulting nicknames for teachers, writing manipulative letters to school administrators, or perpetuating tribal traditions in secret through storytelling, dances, and games. Some students practiced overt resistance by running away, fighting, or setting fire to school buildings. Parental resistance to cultural assimilation also took several forms: refusing to send their children to school, sending orphaned or less desirable children, complaining to agents or educators about aspects of their children's educational experiences, or reinforcing tribal relationships and cultural values during visits home. In addition to Adams's overview, other scholars have researched American Indian boarding school experiences within specific insti tutions. Even more so than Adams's work, studies by K. Tsianina Lomawaima, Brenda Child, and Sally Hyer have highlighted Indian people's own perspectives on their experiences in boarding schools. Both Lomawaima and Child have personal connections to the

Capitalism, Protectionism, and Beer Wars in Rock Island, 1880–1900

Reviewed by: Education beyond the Mesas: Hopi Students at Sherman Institute, 1902-1929 Roger L. Nichols Education beyond the Mesas: Hopi Students at Sherman Institute, 1902-1929. By Matthew Sakiestewa Gilbert. (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2011. Pp. 272. Notes, bibliography, index. ISBN 9780803216226, $40.00 cloth.) This modest study of Hopi students' experiences with Anglo-American boarding schools joins the growing list of books that examine the U.S. program of forced Indian detribalization and acculturation through education. It traces tribal experiences with American actions from the 1882 creation of the Hopi Reservation in northern Arizona through the establishment and operation of the Sherman Institute in Riverside, California, a generation later. Although more isolated from most of late nineteenth-century American society than most tribal people, the mesa dwellers could not avoid the government's determination to bring them into the national mainstream. Their early confrontations with federal troops and the imprisonment of some village leaders at Alcatraz prison during the 1880s and 1890s persuaded them to end resistance to U.S. demands. The author's central thesis is that by using the concept of "turning the power," the Hopi sought to use the knowledge and skills acquired at Anglo schools to strengthen and protect their tribal culture. In using this approach he makes clear that most, if not all, Hopi opposed sending their children to BIA schools. Yet the issue led to the Orayvi Split, which divided the villagers into two distinct groups: those willing to accommodate white demands and those adamantly opposed to them. Labeled as "friendlies" and "hostiles" by local officials, the author uses "accommodators" and "resistors" to place his analysis in a Hopi framework. This intra-tribal focus works well early in the narrative, but slips from view as the story develops. After the first chapter that presents tribal resistance to the new school program, the emphasis turns to the experiences of village families and their children with its operations. The analysis of the accommodationists' role in accepting and using the California school places their early actions clearly within Hopi tradition. Their history included stories of repeated migrations during which they gathered knowledge and skills that they brought back to their desert home. Author Gilbert states that they expected similar benefits from education at Sherman Institute. To gain that, Tawaquaptewa, one of the village leaders, and his family accompanied the first large contingent of Hopi students to Sherman. There, acting in a traditional leadership role, he encouraged the students to learn, helped them practice traditional songs and dances, and led them in using their tribal language. While some Indian adults may have attended other boarding schools with children from their villages, his actions appear to have been distinct. The rest of the narrative follows a topical-chronological path as it presents students' experiences with academics, homesickness, physical ailments, personal accomplishments and feelings about their time at Sherman. These echo similar treatment and responses to Indian boarding schools across the country. The author's research is thorough. He relates this analysis to existing studies [End Page 95] of federal acculturative programs, individual tribal experiences and other Indian boarding schools. His thesis suggests that he will show how Hopi students returning from Sherman used their new-found knowledge to strengthen tribal culture, but the narrative gives little evidence to support his claim. Careful readers might look for some more data about how many Hopi students attended at any one time, or about the differences in how children from accommodating or resisting families responded to time at Sherman. They would be more impressed had it offered any examples of what made Sherman unique, or even substantially different from other similar schools. One hopes that the author will examine these issues in his forthcoming work. Roger L. Nichols University of Arizona Copyright © 2012 The Texas State Historical Association

1 J O U R N A L O F A M E R I C A N I N D I A N E D U C A T I O N — 5 7 , I S S U E 1 Editors’ Introduction to the Special Issue Native American Boarding School Stories Welcome to JAIE’s first issue of the 2018 volume year, a special issue on the history and legacies of the boarding and residential schools developed in the United States and Canada to allegedly “civilize” Indigenous peoples. The special issue was developed in concert with the planning for an exhibit, Away From Home: American­ Indian Boarding School Stories, planned to open at the Heard Museum in Phoenix, Arizona, in early 2019. Inception of the Heard exhibit dates to the late 1990s, with planning for an exhibit titled Remembering Our Indian School Days, which opened in 2000. Originally envisioned as a five-­ year installation, what quickly became known as “the boarding school exhibit” attracted a degree of public interest and engagement by Native and non-­ Native audiences that kept it open year after year. In 2015, Heard staff began to plan an updated, refreshed, and renewed boarding school exhibit. That story is told in the article in this special issue titled “Remembering Our Indian School Days: A Landmark Exhibit at the Heard Museum.” Before we dive into the stories of boarding schools, it is important to note that this special issue and the Heard exhibits to which it is linked primarily focus on boarding schools and Native communities in the United States. The history and legacies of Canadian residential schools that enrolled First Nations, Métis, and Inuit peoples are intimately linked with U.S. federal and mission boarding schools, but also have had their own distinctive trajectory. Most notably, Canada in the past few decades has grappled publicly with the serious abuses documented in the residential school system through litigation in the courts, a massive court-­ ordered settlement, and the work of the National Centre for Truth and Reconciliation (NCTR). More information and an extensive set of reports on the work and findings of the NCTR can be found at http://www.trc.ca/websites/trcinstitution/index.php?p=905. Scholarship in this issue, particularly Jon Reyhner’s overview in “American Indian Boarding Schools: What Went Wrong? What Is Going Right?” includes references to the Canadian context, but an in-­ depth comparison 2 J O U R N A L O F A M E R I C A N I N D I A N E D U C A T I O N — 5 7 , I S S U E 1 of the educational systems and Indigenous experiences in the two settler nations is beyond our scope and demands further attention.1 Native experiences and histories are rooted in place—­ including the places we know as boarding schools. We turn now to discuss the place we—­ the Heard Museum and Arizona State University, home to the Center for Indian Education and the Journal of American Indian Education—­ share in Phoenix, the Valley of the Sun. The City of Phoenix Is a Native Place In the early 20th century, Phoenix was a small southwestern town established in a valley that had been home to Native peoples for millennia . The low desert valley was watered by the Gila and Salt Rivers, which enabled a flourishing agricultural economy for centuries before Spanish , and later U.S. settlers arrived. The ancient peoples known to us today as the Hohokam, or Huhugam, engineered miles of canals crisscrossing the valley floor, irrigating “between 65,000 and 250,000 acres in the Salt River Valley alone” and supporting dozens of villages (Sheridan , 1995, p. 12). Spanish colonial expansion impacted the Native peoples who farmed the valley in the centuries after the Hohokam, but new crops, especially winter wheat and barley, bolstered agricultural and trade opportunities. By the 1840s, Native nations including the Akimel O’odham (also known as Pima) and Pee-­ Posh / Xalychidom Piipaash (Maricopa) were supplying U.S. military garrisons and settlers with thousands of bushels of wheat every year, and their produce sustained gold rushers flocking to California (DeJong, 2005).2...

Reviewed by: Education at the Edge of Empire: Negotiating Pueblo Identity in New Mexico’s Indian Boarding Schools by John R. Gram Rick Hendricks Education at the Edge of Empire: Negotiating Pueblo Identity in New Mexico’s Indian Boarding Schools. By John R. Gram. (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2015. Pp. 256. Notes, illustrations, bibliography, photograph. index.) From the growing bibliography of scholarly studies of the Indian boarding school experience, the reader has come to expect a tragic story of cultural genocide and forced assimilation. Pueblo Indian students of Albuquerque Indian School (AIS) and Santa Fe Indian School (SFIS) certainly experienced the trauma of military regimentation and uniforms, rigid restrictions on food consumption, long absences from kith and kin, and attempts to prevent their participation in traditional ceremonies. They did not, however, lose their names or languages as did most other students at Indian boarding schools around the country, and their culture is alive and well. This intimate portrait of AIS and SFIS was only possible because the author consulted previously ignored archival material, especially the papers of former superintendent John David DeHuff and records from the two schools. His use of oral history interviews by Sally Hyer, which informed her book, One House, One Voice, One Heart (Museum of New Mexico Press, 1990), provides invaluable insight into the student experience at SFIS. The founders of AIS (in 1881) and SFIS (in 1890) and their superintendents through the years typically held the values of East Coast Protestants. When they found themselves in the midst of a predominately Hispano and Roman Catholic population and in close proximity to the Pueblo villages that were to provide most of the schools’ students, they had to compromise and compete to survive. This situation presented challenges not encountered in most places where Indian boarding schools were located. Moreover, public education, to the rather limited extent it existed at the time, was largely under the Catholic Church’s control. The very existence of the schools depended on having as many students as possible, and it fell to the school superintendents to negotiate with Pueblo leaders to deliver students for each term. These negotiations took place in the context of competition between AIS and SFIS, with other Indian boarding schools around the country, and with the Catholic Church in New Mexico. AIS and SFIS were not in a position to dictate terms. To ensure that Pueblo communities would supply students, superintendents acquiesced to demands from village leaders for the students to spend summers at their home pueblos and permit frequent visits by family members, practices that Indian boarding schools usually frowned upon. These and other concessions gave the Pueblos the opportunity to influence the direction of the schools. As the author notes, “the Albuquerque [End Page 524] and Santa Fe Indian School were not merely something that happened to the Pueblos, but also something that they profoundly shaped” (21). Although most of the students at AIS and SFIS over time were Pueblo, there were students from other Indian groups. One unintended consequence, as the author and other scholars have noted, was the emergence of pan-Indian awareness and identity, as the local students interacted with students from other tribal areas. The schools also provided Pueblo students something more. “For some Pueblo students who attended AIS or SFIS, the boarding schools served as gateways to new careers, new friendships, new romances, new ideas, and a new perspective on themselves and the world” (174). The AIS campus, which the All Indian Pueblo Council had operated since 1977, was closed permanently in 1989. The students, staff, and equipment were relocated to SFIS, which the council continues to operate. This book offers a fascinating and unexpected view of the Indian boarding experience. It is a welcome addition to Native American historiography and should be of interest to anyone who values a deeper understanding of the way in which Pueblo people in New Mexico were able to make an institution dedicated to destroying their way of life work instead for them. Rick Hendricks State Historian of New Mexico Copyright © 2017 The Texas State Historical Association

This article examines the centrality of mobility within student experiences at Sherman Institute, a federal Indian boarding school in Riverside, California. Archival information and autobiographical accounts show that during the early twentieth century, students at Sherman moved between their campus and surrounding cities and towns to work odd jobs, take classes at local colleges and universities, and socialize. Narratives from beyond the walls of Sherman Institute join a growing chorus of scholarly voices that push back against popular and scholarly depictions of Indigenous people during the so called Reservation Era, which have often painted Native communities as isolated within the confines of boarding schools and reservations, frozen in time and space. I argue that Native people at Sherman Institute and elsewhere made mobility a central component of their lives and cultures as they faced head-on the challenges of life at a boarding school. Exploration of this student mobility reveals new layers of Indigenous agency within boarding school experiences and exposes yet-unexplored forms of neglect by administrators who failed to protect students from the dangers they experienced beyond the walls of Sherman Institute.

I This paper will trace the evolution of the attitudes expressed by the Scottish Clerks' Association (SCA) towards women in clerical work in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. For women trying to establish careers in office work it was necessary to be accepted as colleagues by men in organisations like the SCA. But, as Sylvia Walby noted, explanations of the increasing presence of women in clerical work in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century have emphasised the role of employers as the main actors in the feminisation of clerical work, while the resistance (or acceptance) by male clerks has been given less attention.' The evolution of the SCA's attitudes illustrates such resistance and then the growth of a kind of acceptance of women clerks in the early twentieth century; but this acceptance was within the context of male clerks' attempts to restructure their occupational group in order to preserve the better jobs for themselves. Clerical work as an occupation was ripe for restructuring due to the changes it was undergoing by the late nineteenth century. Earlier in that century, clerical work had been work mainly for men, in small offices, in close proximity to the owner of the firm. Men in clerical work would expect to support their families through that work, possibly to rise to become businessmen themselves, and to feel secure in their masculinity throughout their working lives. But by the end of the nineteenth century, the intimate, secure, small offices so often portrayed by Dickens were changing dramatically. Expanding enterprises in large-scale manufacturing, finance and transport required much larger offices and many more clerks than Dombey or Scrooge ever required. Even in small enterprises, increasing competitive pressures prompted greater attention to business decisions like costing and purchasing, and thus more thorough and careful record keeping and reporting were needed. In addition, a greater interest by the state in profitability and employment also created the need for increased record keeping and reporting. All of

Reviewed by: White Man's Club: Schools, Race, and the Struggle of Indian Acculturation Clifford Trafzar White Man's Club: Schools, Race, and the Struggle of Indian Acculturation. By Jacqueline Fear-Segal. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. 2007. They came from many regions of the United States, boys and girls, bringing with them their own civilizations. American Indian children came from numerous tribes that had their own languages, laws, literatures, religions, families, music, dances, educational systems, and philosophies of life and death. But many non-Indian reformers believed they knew what was best of these children: to assimilate them into the dominate culture of the nation and transform them into the mainstream. Their method proved to be a segregated educational system that tore children from their cultures, parents, grandparents, and communities. During the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, American officials brought Indian students to their schools to destroy aspects of Native American culture and supplant it with white civilization that included a large dose of Christianity. Some non-Indians argued that forced assimilation was crucial to Native American survival, while others wanted Indian students to become "useful" laborers. Indian schools became the mechanism by which white reformers could effectuate cultural genocide and assimilation. This is the subject of Fear-Segal's scholarly study. Reformers used the white man's club to transform Indian children, and Fear-Segal uses the statement as a starting point for her unique and insightful volume. She approaches the book topically fashion, using multiple fields of research, sources, and methodologies to examine the influence of race in the creation and execution of Indian schools, particularly off-reservation boarding schools. Fear-Segal draws on historical theories about race, power, and social control to begin her book but does not belabor these keen points at the expense of in-depth content and her own astute analysis. Fear-Segal knows her topic well and she invites readers into the Carlisle Indian Industrial School, Dakota Mission, Santee Normal Training School, and other similar institutions to illuminate issues of race. She demonstrates the origin and continuance of the assault on Indian civilization by focusing on the educational philosophies and consequences of key individuals, including Richard Henry Pratt, Samuel Chapman Armstrong, Stephen Riggs, Marianna Burgess, and others. Her use of biography and autobiographies of Indians and non-Indians alike is a strong contribution of the book, and her careful reading of these sources provides a fresh look at familiar participants in the Indian school system. Fear-Segal compares and contrasts the educational philosophies and approaches of Hampton Institute, Carlisle Industrial School, and the Santee Normal Training School, and her use of comparisons throughout the volume enriches the study and contributes to our understanding of complex educational systems forced on many Indians. The author does not make victims of Indians but uses examples of individual Indian students like Thomas Wildcat Alford, Zitkala-sa, Charles Eastman, Kesetta Roosevelt, Jack Mather, Susie Rayos Marmon, and others central to the book. Fear-Segal offers wonderful examples of how selected American Indian students acted and reacted to their situation, and, in some cases, how they survived after their boarding school days. She makes clear that all of the students, whether they are known well or not, had a tremendous impact on American history and culture through their participation in the schools. The families of former students know the stories of their kin very well, and they continue to [End Page 160] have personal knowledge, memories, and interpretations that influence the development of new literature on the history of Indian schools. Fear-Segal draws on Native American knowledge in framing her work. She provides a moving chapter on the student cemetery at Carlisle and its long-term meaning to Indians and non-Indians alike. Fear-Segal has brought together numerous topics central to the Indian school experience in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, including race, gender, assimilation, education, and power. She concludes her outstanding study with an analysis of the inter-tribal pow wow at Carlisle in 2000, held on the grounds of the former Indian school. The pow wow brought together Native Americans from many regions of the country, including Alaska, where relatives of former students...