It is growing late, and the crowd has somewhat thinned although there are still many hundreds in the street-some hurrying home to their wives ... some creeping reluctantly to their cold, narrow, bedrooms in private boardinghouses where they receive 'the comforts of a home' for five dollars a week, with breakfast and tea. So wrote George Foster, journalist and observer of urban life, in one of his best known works, New York by Gas-Light (1850).' Foster may well have rendered an accurate judgment of boardinghouse conditions. But the contrast he invoked between the welcoming conjugal home-to which one hurried-and the grave-like boardinghouse bedroom-to which one crept reluctantly- reflected a wider discourse that chronicled the disappointments, annoyances, and even danvers of boarding life. Foster was not alone. Commentators as diverse as Sarah Josepha Hale (a prolific author of domestic fiction and the editor of the genteel Godey's Lady's Book) and Walt Whitman agreed that boardinghouses were not and condemned them for precisely this reason. Far from being a mere place of residence, the home in antebellum America represented a relatively new but increasingly important cultural ideal. Preferably the private abode of the middle-class nuclear family, it furnished a refuge from a market-driven world, governed proper relations between the sexes, provided moral guidance and emotional support to its inhabitants, and upheld republican government and social order.2 Its antithesis-in theory if not in fact-was the boardinghouse, a public establishment where strangers (of both sexes) mingled freely, fueling crime, licentiousness, and social anarchy. Yet during periods of massive urban growth, city dwellers of all classes more likely lived in boardinghouses than in homes.3 Routinely described even by its detractors as an American institution, the boardinghouse, with its inhabitants and its larger social implications, remains largely unexplored by social and cultural historians. To be sure, boardinghouses show up in urban history monographs, receiving the most insightful treatment (for the antebellum period) in Elizabeth Blackmar's Manhattan for Rent. But no scholar has given boardinghouses exclusive attention, and few have fully appreciated their economic and cultural significance. Numbering in the thousands, providing for rural migrants and European immigrants, boardinghouses literally underwrote the growth of urban industry and commerce. To put it another way, what historians call the revolution could not have been accomplished in the absence of boardinghouses and the labor of those who kept them.4 Boardinghouses also performed important cultural work. As antebellum commentators of various stripes struggled to understand the meaning of home, boardinghouses provided them with a ready contrast, encompassing all that homes were not. Above all, boardinghouses were creatures of the marketplace. If the home furnished a refuge from the market-indeed if its very existence justified the ruthless pursuit of self-interest in the marketplace-what then of the boardinghouse? Paying cash for housekeeping services (and accepting cash for providing them) defied the social logic of an emerging sentimental, social ideal. In the period that enshrined the home as the foundation of moral life and simultaneously embraced the market as the overarching model for economic relations, distinguishing between home and boardinghouse provided Americans with a timely, if ultimately frustrating, lesson in political economy. It offered them one means of determining-to borrow Amy Dru Stanley's words-what was saleable and what was not.5 Women's labor stood at the heart of this social equation, for boardinghouse keeping was women's work. Even when a man owned the house or headed the household, the work of boarding fell to women. That this labor should have provoked hostility is at first surprising. …
Read full abstract