Stories From The Stacks

Young urban professional (yuppies for short) emerged as an archetype close to the heart of transformations taking place in American society during the 1970s and 1980s. These highly-educated individuals were products and architects of a new American economy geared toward financial services and willing cannibalize much of the rest of the economy for short-term profit. While elite universities had once turned out managers for manufacturing firms in midsize cities, by the 1980s their graduates were flocking into banking in major urban centers such as Chicago where the term yuppy originated, but most markedly New York. In his book project, Dr. Dylan Gottlieb, assistant professor at Bentley University and former NEH-Hagley postdoctoral fellow, uncovers a social history of financialization through the lens of yuppies, their economic position, and their cultural proclivities. Among the markers of yuppiedom were an obsession with fitness, an interest in fine dining, and a drive to command cultural symbols as means o

Yugoslavian planners considered themselves to be architects of a third way “between the blocs,” aligned neither with the capitalist West nor the Communist East, but rather masters of their own socio-economic destiny. This ramified in the economy and on the streets of Yugoslav cities in the form of supermarkets and their larger kin department stores. Ivana Zimbrek, PhD candidate in history at Central European University, investigates the history of Yugoslav department stores as the product of professional imagination in a markedly international context. While the department store as a retail technology had its origins in the explicitly capitalist United States, Yugoislav planners admired its efficiency and “cultural level,” and believed that they could turn it toward state-socialist purposes. As a result, indigenized department stores populated the new neighborhoods of growing capital cities, and later gained a place in the historic centers of smaller towns throughout Yugoslavia. Zimbrek studied a diverse arc

Since World War II the old industrial cities of the northeast and Midwest USA have repeatedly sought to end periods of decline by seeking to renew their downtowns. Convention centers, sports stadiums, hospitals, and tourist-oriented investment have all been deployed in an effort to restore a tax base and reinvigorate urban areas. Just as repeatedly the efforts have failed to bring benefits to the residents of these cities, especially African Americans. Mark Rose, Professor of History at Florida Atlantic University, talks with Roger Horowitz about these dynamics, drawing on his recent book A Good Place to Do Business: The Politics of Downtown Renewal Since 1945 co-authored Roger Biles. Their book chronicles efforts to reinvigorate the downtowns of major American cities in order to reverse the process of urban decline focusing on St. Louis, Philadelphia, Detroit, Chicago and Cleveland. As city officials and business elites determined to reorganize their downtowns, deeply racialized politics sacrificed neighbor

Hilton Hotels started in Texas and swelled into a globe-straddling hospitality behemoth. Along the way company founder Conrad Hilton kept ideas about affordable luxury at the center of his business model. Among the affordable luxuries on offer in Hilton Hotels was an “eclectic modernist” design sensibility that placed the American consumer at the apex of a global cultural hierarchy. In her book project, Megan Elias, associate professor and director of the Gastronomy program at Boston University, traces a design history of Hilton Hotels. To uncover this story, Elias conducted research in multiple Hagley Library collections, such as the William Pahlmann Associates papers, and the Ernst Dichter papers. Among her key findings are how design decisions bore upon the business of hospitality at every turn. From architecture to furniture, food, and art, every aspect of the experience of a Hilton Hotel was crafted to appeal to consumer desires. Whereas hospitality had traditionally been an ersatz affair with uncomfor

America at the dawn of the twentieth century ran on anthracite coal. Burning the hard, lustrous fossil fuel heated millions of homes and powered locomotives, steamships, foundries, and factories. Nearly all of this coal came out of the hills of eastern Pennsylvania, mined by an army of workers who labored in the most dangerous industry in American for the lowest wages in the country. At about $1/day, anthracite coal miners in 1900 earned the same wage as ad their forebears eighty years previously. Hardship led some miners to organize for the United Mine Workers of America (UMWA) union, but divisions along ethnic and class lines among miners limited their effectiveness. That is, until 1902. As shown in the research of Daniel Correia, professor of American Studies at the University of New Mexico, the alignment of the interests of the Eastern European immigrant mine “laborers” with those of the native and systemically favored mine “contractors” under the umbrella of the UMWA in 1902 created a uniquely advantage

Railroads unite. Across time and space the railroad has tied together diverse peoples and places with literal and figurative bonds. An outstanding example of this historical process is the transfer and elaboration of a railroad technocracy from origins in the United States to efflorescence in the People’s Republic of China. In his dissertation project, Benjamin Kletzer, PhD candidate in modern Chinese history at the University of California at San Diego, explores the post-WWII history of the China national railway, its embrace of technocratic management, it relationship to the Chinese Communist Party, and its technical and organizational roots in the Pennsylvania Railroad. Using Hagley Library collections, Kletzer traces the story of a cohort of Chinese engineers who studied in the United States, funded in part by the U.S. military, and transferred their newly acquired expertise to the developing railway system in China. This cohort had a unique historical opportunity to shape Chinese railways due to the de

Sometimes, oral history makes up for a shortfall in the archival record, or adds depth and greater context to existing archival records. RCA had many short-lived projects in the 1960s and 1970s which aren’t as well documented as some of their other developments. Kevin Bunch is a writer and communications specialist for the International Joint Commission and an independent researcher of video game history, centered his research at Hagley on RCA in the 1970s. In 1977 RCA released their own home video game console, the RCA Studio II. The device, which played games in black and white, had five built-in games and 11 cartridges released over the course of its short life- it was discontinued in 1978. Bunch interviewed several members of the Studio II development team, as well as developers who worked on RCAs other endeavors including some 1960s arcade machines, and a short-lived virtual reality project in the 1990s. Bunch’s interviews included one with Joyce Weisbecker, an independent game developer and the daught

Historians of technology once famously asked, “does technology drive history?” Their answer was, “it depends.” The phenomena of history do not float atop of the changes within material practices and technology, but neither do they stand apart from them; the two are intimately entwined in the contingent, intermittent unfolding of history. The challenge for the historian is to open the black box of technology, and to make its social setting and connection explicit to allow for a better understanding of its role in continuity and change over time. Alexander Liebman, geographer and PhD candidate at Rutgers University, asks how this complicated set of interrelated factors have ramified upon the ground in agricultural spaces as twentieth-century engineers, planners, and others applied the technologies of computation and automation to farming. Among the major figures in this story was Arthur Hall, an engineer at Bell Laboratories and innovator in computerized agriculture. His patented 1970s-era “autofarm” aimed to

Long before automobiles roll off the assembly line, their many components are manufactured by a sprawling constellation of smaller businesses that supply the makers of finished automobiles. This automobile supply chain began in the 1920s within the Detroit metropolitan area, and by the 1960s had swollen to embrace an area roughly 600 miles in radius with its core remaining in southeast Michigan. The story of how the automobile supply chain developed during the first half of the twentieth century, and why it took the specific spatial and economic form that it did, are the subjects of a dissertation project by Kevin Moskowitz, PhD candidate at the University of Texas at Arlington. To uncover his story, Moskowitz dug into the archives of the American Iron & Steel Institute and the National Bronze & Aluminum Company at the Hagley Library. The latter firm supplied cast cylinder heads and other engine components to Detroit automakers from its location in Cleveland. The company boomed when orders were large, but st

Scholars have written histories of public relations. Scholars have written histories of labor. Scholars had yet to bring the two histories into conversation with one another, that is until Patricia Curtin, professor at the University of Oregon, started her latest book project. Dr. Curtin’s research illustrates the many connections between public relations and American labor in the early twentieth century. Whereas capital had its public relations gurus, such as Ivy Lee, so too did the labor movement, with Mother Jones and the IWW leading the way. The struggle for control over firms, economic resources, and business management pivoted, at least in part, on public opinion. Neither capital nor labor could afford to lose the opportunity to cultivate public support, and both sides went at it with gusto. Over the long term, capital had the upper hand. But successful and popular unionization efforts in the twenty-first century, such as that organized by Starbucks workers, may indicate a turning tide in the story. I

DuPont was in the fashion business. The industrial giant cultivated markets for its novel synthetic textiles, such as Rayon, by interfacing with the wider world of fashion. This process brought one Alexis Ureyvitch Sommaripa, later known as “The Mad Russian,” to prominence. This elegant, cultured man was born in the Russian Empire in Odessa, Ukraine, fled the revolution as a teenager, and migrated to the United States with the goal to become “a rich American.” From there, his path led him through Harvard, Alabama, Lowell, Buffalo, to New York City. Along the way, he shaped the ways in which DuPont did business, and how American women preferred to dress. Professor Regina Blaszczyk, business historian at the University of Leeds, tells the story of Sommaripa as part of her book project, The Synthetics Revolution. Sommaripa developed statistical methods to describe the textile and fashion markets, used this information to influence production techniques, and eventually headed the DuPont Fabric Development Servic

Corporate futurists made a living with their imaginations. These professional prognosticators spent their time looking at the world around them, observing its apparent changes and trends, and reporting to business and political leaders proscribed methods for interpreting and preparing for the future. Dr. Gavin Benke, senior lecturer at Boston University, dug into multiple Hagley Library collections, including those of the Chamber of Commerce, National Association of Manufacturers, and Conference Board, to explore the careers and influence of twentieth-century corporate futurists. Beginning in the 1960s, corporate futurists extrapolated from social trends to predict a future business environment where people would demand a higher level of service from corporations, and turn to corporations for leadership, structure, and meaning in the post-national world economy then developing. Whereas during the 1970s this vision found eager listeners in major American corporations, trade associations, and perhaps especial

The Empire of Bethlehem Steel stretched from a small eastern-Pennsylvania city across the United States and down to Cuba, Mexico, Venezuela, Chile, and Brazil. It encompassed dozens of plants, concerns, and subsidiary firms, and touched the lives of millions of people across multiple continents. During a century (1880s-1980s) of involvement in Latin America, Bethlehem Steel Company imported cheap materials (iron, manganese) while exporting technical, corporate, and social practices developed in the United States. Telling this story is Dr. Cory Fischer Hoffman, visiting assistant professor at Lafayette College, whose research into the Bethlehem Steel Company uncovers the global connections that underpinned company success over the twentieth century. Company interests in the mineral economy of Latin America persisted from wholly-owned iron mines in Cuba Chile, through their loss during the period of “resource nationalism” in the region, to minority-stake ownership of manganese mines in Mexico and Brazil. Usin

From humble beginnings wholesaling at a small tobacconist-hairdresser shop in 1915, the London Rubber Company rapidly became the UK's biggest postwar producer and exporter of disposable rubber condoms. A first-mover and innovator, the company's continuous product development and strong brands (including Durex) allowed it to dominate supply to the retail trade and family planning clinics, leading it to intercede in the burgeoning women's market. When oral contraceptives came along, however, the company was caught in a bind between defending condoms against the pill and claiming a segment of the new birth control market for itself. In this first major study on the company, Jessica Borge shows how, despite the "unmentionable" status of condoms that inhibited advertising in the early twentieth century, aggressive business practices were successfully deployed to protect the monopoly and squash competition. Through close, evidence-based examination of LRC's first fifty years, encompassing its most challenging dec

During the 1920s, major American corporations established in-house labor unions to address worker agitation. Labor historian Alex John Fleet, PhD candidate at Wayne State University, explores the phenomenon in his dissertation research. Seeking to uncover how company unions intersected with changing labor-management relations, and broader changes in the workplace social environment, Fleet explored the archives of several large firms of the era, notably Goodyear rubber held in Ohio, and Bethlehem Steel held at the Hagley Library. Both companies established in-house labor unions, and organized means for worker representatives to air and possibly seek redress of grievances. Company unions were not all made the same. Goodyear based its “industrial assembly” on the United States Congress, and endowed it with the capacity to discuss wages and other matters critical to worker satisfaction. Nevertheless, assembly representatives received additional pay from the company, locking them into a conflict of interests bet

Which is better for business, keeping workers happy, or keeping workers in line? The movement for corporate social responsibility (CSR) argued that management and workers shared a partnership that could multiply productivity and profits if properly nurtured. While labor unrest had roiled the business world for a generation, many leading American firms reacted by maintaining paramilitary private police forces. Not only was this expensive, but it was also ineffective and often counterproductive to managerial goals. During the early twentieth century a new set of ideas about how to manage workers for company benefit emerged with an opposite set of techniques. Dr. Jeffrey Muldoon examines this turn toward CSR, or “welfare capitalism,” as enacted by the E.I. du Pont de Nemours & Company firm, among the leading lights of the movement in the United States. By diving especially into the John J. Raskob papers, Muldoon uncovered the many social and financial methods deployed by DuPont management to create a more sati

In "A Medicated Empire," Dr. Timothy Yang, associate professor at the University of Georgia, explores the history of Japan's pharmaceutical industry in the early twentieth century through a close account of Hoshi Pharmaceuticals, one of East Asia's most influential drug companies from the late 1910s through the early 1950s. Focusing on Hoshi's connections to Japan's emerging nation-state and empire, and on the ways in which it embraced an ideology of modern medicine as a humanitarian endeavor for greater social good, Yang shows how the industry promoted a hygienic, middle-class culture that was part of Japan's national development and imperial expansion. Yang makes clear that the company's fortunes had less to do with scientific breakthroughs and medical innovations than with Japan's web of social, political, and economic relations. He lays bare Hoshi's business strategies and its connections with politicians and bureaucrats, and he describes how public health authorities dismissed many of its products as pl

What happens to jobs when technology changes? How do new technologies change the ways people experience and think about work? Economic historian Ben Schneider, Postdoctoral Fellow at the Work Research Institute at Oslo Metropolitan University, explores these questions and more in his research on technology and work. Taking textile manufacturing and transportation as his case studies, Dr. Schneider developed a novel matrix for analyzing changes in work over time as measured not only quantitatively by wages and hours, but also qualitatively by security, satisfaction, safety, and similar social metrics. This framework allows him to recover and analyze changes in work regimes brought about or otherwise influenced by changes in technology. Dr. Schneider used multiple Hagley Library collections to uncover his story, including materials from our world-class archive of United States railroad companies, like the Pennsylvania Rail Road, the Reading Rail Road, and others. Reading this archive through his framework, Sch

Hudson Maxim wanted his lake, and he didn’t mind twisting some arms to get it. The early-twentieth-century investor in Lake Hopatcong property wished to make it a destination for well-heeled travelers and pleasure seekers. Making his plans difficult were a cadre of challenges from intransigent executives, to the Morris Canal, to the hydrography of the lake itself. Environmental scholar Peter Astras, PhD candidate at St. Johns University, tells the tale of Lake Hopatcong as an object of desire, development, and indeterminate outcomes. Astras came to the Hagley Library to explore the Hudson Maxim papers, a collection that ranges across the wide array of the man’s business and personal interests. Through careful reading of the archive, he was able to piece together a story that situates the lake in broader context of economic and environmental change. For more Hagley History Hangouts, and more information on the Center for the History of Business, Technology, & Society, visit us on line at www.hagley.org.

What did the Cold War sound like? How did political ideologies shape the differing experiences of musicians and consumers in the capitalist versus the communist world? Did the Iron Curtain muffle the raucous sounds of western popular music? Or were consumers in communist countries able to access capitalist pop? All these questions and more find answers in the work of cultural historian, and 2022 Hagley-NEH Postdoctoral Fellow, Dr. Sven Kube. Blending archival research with oral history and personal experiences, Kube uncovers the fascinating story of a worldwide youth culture of popular music bisected by the geopolitical divisions of the Cold War period. From the 1960s to the 1980s, the grassroots innovation taking place in western popular music could not be replicated in the centrally-planned economies of the east. Nevertheless, eastern consumers, especially in the German Democratic Republic, got their hands (and ears) on novel music and sonic forms emanating from the west. Kube traces these connection throu