On May 27, 1937, over 200,000 pedestrians streamed over the bridge in a festive display of wonder and enthusiasm.

Dallas Morning News (May 28, 1937)

It was a week-long celebration, with bands playing and naval plane flyovers. On May 28th, President Franklin D. Roosevelt, from the White House, flipped the switch activating the traffic controls that permitted vehicular traffic to flow. In the first 24 hours, 31,500 vehicles crossed the span. 

Dallas Morning News (May 29, 1937)

As a man-made edifice that enhances, rather than blights, a beautiful landscape, the Golden Gate Bridge is a symbol of the heyday of American engineering. The project was managed and brought to fruition by Joseph B. Strauss with an “impossible” suspension bridge designed by Leon Moisseiff and Charles Alton Ellis.

Augusta Chronicle (May 24, 1987)

The 4,200-foot-long span was suspended from three-foot thick main cables between two towers as tall as 60-story buildings. The shape of the towers, the streetlights, the railings and walkways were part of a unified Art Deco design conceived by Irving Morrow to be beautiful and utilitarian.

Springfield Republican (Sept. 12, 1934)

Even though the design was streamlined to the essentials, it still required 55,000 tons of steel. The size of the various girders and beams was so great that special cranes were built to facilitate loading in Philadelphia and unloading in Oakland, California.

Times-Picayune (June 4, 1933)

Pennsylvania’s Bethlehem Steel, the largest steel mill in the world at the time, produced the structural steel for the bridge towers and span. The total tonnage eventually exceeded 100,000 tons.

The Oregonian (May 26, 1937)

A suspension bridge is designed to be flexible enough to withstand the weight of traffic, temperature extremes, and strong winds. The Golden Gate Bridge cables provide that flexibility and use 80,000 miles of high tensile steel wire.

Seattle Daily Times (May 27, 1937)

The towers that hold the cables (seen here under construction) are themselves capable of shifting according to weight load and weather conditions. 

Morning Oregonian (Jan. 3, 1934)

On the 50th anniversary in 1987, more than a million citizens turned out for the celebrations, surging on to the bridge before any ceremonies could commence. The weight of the 250,000 pedestrians completely flattened the curve of the span, demonstrating its flexibility and causing alarm.

Springfield Morning Union (May 25, 1987)

Aberdeen American News (May 26, 1987)

The Golden Gate Bridge has near mythic status as an emblem of both San Francisco and American engineering. As the 75th anniversary of its opening approaches, the Golden Gate Bridge is safe in its place as one the world’s most admired human achievements—perhaps because it is both utilitarian and beautiful.

Dallas Morning News (June 24, 1984)

For more information about American Newspaper Archives, the source for the news articles and photographs in this post, please write to readexmarketing@readex.com.

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“It was downright indecent.  I saw women go out after the creatures had begun what they call their dance.  I did not stay it through. I just couldn’t.”¹

(A woman’s indignant account of her visit to the World’s Columbian Exposition of 1893)

From America's Historical Newspapers

Danse du ventre, oriental dance, the hoochie coochie, coochie coochie, muscle dance, or better known to us as belly dance, was almost unknown in the United States until 1893 when brightly colored dancers dressed in exotic garb from the Middle East appeared at the World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago.  Their dancing both fascinated and scandalized Victorians. 

The Exposition, also known as the Chicago World’s Fair, commemorated the 400-year anniversary of Christopher Columbus’s discovery of the New World.  It was the first world’s fair with an area of amusements set aside from exhibitions.  This area was known as the Midway Plaisance.  One of the most popular attractions on the Midway was “A Street in Cairo,” where the dancers performed.  Over 27 million people attended the Exposition during its six-month run.² “The Streets of Cairo” was one of its more memorable attractions for many visitors, as well as one of its most controversial.

Victorian visitors often viewed the dancers, now identified from the published descriptions of their costumes as gypsy ghawazi from Egypt³, with a mixture of fascination, amusement and moralistic revulsion:

Fatima, the girl in blue, doesn’t prance up and down the stage, or go into mad gyrations, or try to kick a hole in the ceiling.  She keeps time in timid little steps, and occasionally sidles about the stage in slow, gliding circles.  It seems to be her pet ambition to disjoint herself at the hips, though a man in yesterday’s audience thought she was suffering from an overdose of green apples.  At any rate, her anatomy below the waist and the knees performs a series of violent tremors, spasms and contortions.⁴

A heavy footed and heavy featured girl, who takes a few, short, labored steps, snaps her fingers and accomplishes a muscular contortion not unlike that of the Newfoundland when, after a swim, he shakes his shaggy coat, is, to our eyes, an absurd and ugly spectacle.⁵

Bellydancer, circa 1893. Photographed by Benjamin Falk.

Unlike the tightly corseted ladies of the age, the dancers dressed in loose-fitting costumes, their skirts hanging low on their hips. In the words of one reporter, “the skirt and the waist are not on speaking terms, and the yawning breach is bridged by an unmentionable nether garment, which permits a free play of the abdominal muscles.”⁶ 

Like today’s dancers, early belly dancers often exposed their midriffs to demonstrate isolation of the muscles so key to the dance (see photo).  Their legs and arms were often exposed as well.  But what was likely so shocking and also entrancing to Victorian visitors was the joy and freedom that found its expression in belly dance, which is mostly improvisational—very unlike the formalized steps of most dancing of the time.  The direct gaze and uninhibited happy smile of the dancer (as seen in the photo) was something fresh, unexpected, and frankly scandalizing to a society where the rules of decorum and modesty for women were firmly established. 

From America's Historical Newspapers. Click to open in PDF.

The girls were brought to the fair by a 22-year-old opportunist named Sol Bloom.  He had seen the dance performed to acclaim a few years before at the 1889 Paris Exposition Universelle, and hoped to duplicate its success in America.  Bloom is also credited with writing a tune for his Exposition dancers that has since become emblematic of belly dance: “The Snake Charmer Song.”⁷  The song was also known as “The Streets of Cairo” or “Little Egypt” after a dancer who supposedly was one of the attraction’s biggest stars.  Unfortunately, no record exists of a dancer known as “Little Egypt” at the Expo, although numerous dancers later took the name, hoping to relive her legendary success.

The show’s popularity soon drew the eyes of the censors.  The act of Congress that had originally awarded Chicago the fair had mandated that a Board of Lady Managers be created as part of the Exposition’s governing structure.  Their role was to make sure that women were properly represented.  Unofficially, they set moral guidelines and the tone for the fair.  Scandalized by what they had heard of the performances, the Board asked for an investigation “to be made on behalf of public morality.”  They were supported in their efforts by Anthony Comstock, the nation’s self-proclaimed moralist and censor. 

Comstock is most famous for creating the New York Society for Suppression of Vice and for convincing Congress to pass the Comstock Law.  This law made the delivery or transportation of “obscene, lewd, or lascivious” material, as well as any methods of, or information pertaining to, birth control illegal.  Comstock labeled the dance “hoochie coochie” and called for it to be shut down.⁸  A full investigation into the performances was launched.

Several of the Lady Managers went to inspect the performances for themselves.  Some returned many times, much to the outrage of the show’s manager, Mr. Debbas, who complained to The Philadelphia Inquirer: 

They go to the park and say my entertainment is vulgar. They say no good woman should countenance the dancing of my lovely girls. But they come again the next day and sit for hours in the best seats in my theatre and drink my coffee and applaud my dancers…

Then they go out, and when they get to the entrance of my theatre they put into their looks disgust and outraged modesty.⁹

From America's Historical Newspapers. Click to open in PDF.

It appears that while some women appreciated the dancers, they also feared the social repercussions of publicly enjoying performances that went against Victorian ideals of feminine decorum, modesty and restraint.

The dance did have its bold defenders, including Kate Field, a prominent female journalist and lecturer. Field touted its health benefits:

Such development and control of abdominal muscles as are exhibited by the dancing girls in Chicago-Cairo would, if possessed by American women, be the salvation of the race. Invalidism would be impossible, and children would be born healthy.¹⁰

Ultimately, the spectacle of belly dancing for Western audiences proved too commercial an attraction to ban but the performances at Midway Plaisance were somewhat modified.  Attempts to take the performances to New York failed, largely due to the efforts of Comstock who lived in that city.

After the World Fair ended, similar performances were held all over the United States despite the efforts of local “vice hunters”  to stop them.   A number of dancers, both Middle Eastern and American, of varying skills, also adopted the name “Little Egypt,” trying to capitalize that dancer’s mythological success at Midway.  “Hoochie coochie,” or belly dance, eventually became an accepted part of art and entertainment in the United States.

To learn more about the early history of belly dance in the United States, search on “danse du ventre,” “oriental dance,” “muscle dance” or “hoochie coochie” in America’s Historical Newspapers.

Notes

¹“Lady Managers Shocked,” The New York Herald (8-5-1893), p. 10.

²The World’s Columbian Exposition: Idea, Experience, Aftermath http://xroads.virginia.edu/~ma96/wce/title.html Accessed 2-22-2012.

³Dance scholar Donna Carlton identified the dancers as gypsy ghawazi (traveling dancers) in her book, Looking for Little Eqypt (Bloomington, Indiana: IDD Books, 1994).

⁴“Poetry of Motion: Exhibition of Dancing in the Midway Plaisance,” The Sunday Inter Ocean (6-4-1893), p. 13.

⁵ “La Danse du Ventre: Its Continuance and Suppression a Problem of the Hour,” The Charlotte News (8-21-1893), p. 2.

⁶“Poetry in Motion,” ibid.

⁷See “Streets of Cairo: That Snake Charmer Song” http://www.shira.net/streets-of-cairo.htm Accessed 2-22-2012.

⁸The term “hoochie coochie” comes from the French word hochequeue (“to shake a tail”) which refers to a small bird that shakes its tail feathers. It is not clear exactly when the word became associated with a dance.

⁹“Mr Debbas and the Lady Managers,” The Philadelphia Inquirer (8-7-1893), p. 4.

¹⁰“The Danse du Ventre: Kate Field on the Oriental Style of Dancing,” The Evening Times (9-9-1893), p. 6.

From Library Journal (May 1, 2012) —

“A collection of the full text and indexing for more than 270 19^th- and 20^th-century U.S. newspapers from 37 states (plus the District of Columbia) published by and for African Americans….The subject matter encompasses ethnic studies, cultural studies, literature, social history, and political studies from the antebellum South to the civil rights movement and beyond….

“This extraordinary content—both deep and broad—is the main reason to acquire the file.  It’s a treasure trove of African American culture and history.  But the power of the search and display system also delivers that content beautifully….

“Verdict: Enthusiastically recommended for public and academic libraries serving serious researchers in African American studies and American history.”

— Cheryl LaGuardia, Harvard University

From Reference Reviews (Vol. 26, No. 3. 2012) —

“The early black press served a unique purpose, articulating the social and political aspirations of African Americans in their own words. Although many of these publications were short lived, lasting only a few years or months, they reveal a point of view not often communicated by the mainstream press.

“In the past, librarians aiding scholars in identifying black newspapers and periodicals were often limited to consulting bibliographies but now librarians can direct scholars to digital full text versions of these critical primary resources….Readex should be commended for including James Danky as the Senior Advisor for African American Newspapers 1827-1998 and making selections based on Danky’s seminal bibliography….

“African American Newspapers, 1827-1998 adds to the current selection of historical newspaper databases available, filling an important gap for libraries….libraries should consider a subscription to this Readex database to provide the broadest access to nineteenth and twentieth century African American newspapers.”

— Carmelita N. Pickett, Texas A&M University

From Choice: Current Reviews for Academic Libraries (January 2011)

“…students and faculty will discover firsthand reports of major events and issues such as the Civil War, presidential elections, business and trade, the arts, and religion. Influential publications include The Cleveland Gazette (Cleveland, OH), The New York Age (New York, NY), L’Union (New Orleans, LA), and The Washington Bee (Washington,DC)….

“Covering more than a century and a half, this collection offers unique perspectives and rich historical context surrounding the African American experience. Summing Up: Highly recommended. Upper-division undergraduates through professionals; general readers.″

— L. A. Ganster, University of Pittsburgh

For more information about African American Newspapers, 1827-1998, please email sales@readex.com.

No novelist would dare to picture such an array of beautiful climatic conditions—the rosy dawn, the morning star, the moon on the horizon, the sea stretching in level beauty to the skyline—and on this sea to place an ice-field like the Arctic regions and icebergs in numbers everywhere—white and turning pink and deadly cold,—and near them, rowing round the icebergs to avoid them, little boats coming suddenly out of the mid-ocean, with passengers rescued from the most wonderful ship the world has known. 

—Lawrence Beesley, The Loss of the S.S. Titanic (June 1912)

The Titanic. Source: George Grantham Bain Collection (Library of Congress).

In the hours after the Titanic sank, the press was faced with the task of telling a story about what had been thought impossible—the sinking of an unsinkable ship. Without substantive information—before the rescuing Carpathia returned to the United States—news bureaus around the world started running speculative accounts about the disaster.

View from the Carpathia of iceberg that sank the Titanic. Source: Library of Congress

For four days, as the Carpathia sailed to New York from the site of the sinking, carrying her original vacationing passengers and newly boarded Titanic survivors, three men—each instrumental to our knowledge of the event today—were embedded in one of the century’s most shocking stories: Arthur Rostron, English captain of the Carpathia; Lawrence Beesley, English scientist and Titanic survivor; and Carlos Hurd, an American reporter and Carpathia passenger who had been on vacation with his wife. Their sense of the tragedy, and their response to the news world during the days that followed, show us the different ways that individuals define and experience extreme trauma. 

In all of his years at sea, Arthur Rostron, 40 years old, had never needed to respond to a distress call. He had 23 years of naval experience, but was captain of the Carpathia for only three months when he was roused by Harold Cottam, his ship’s radio operator, in the early hours of April 15, 1912. Cottam awoke an annoyed Rostron in his cabin to convey the frantic QCD (or Quick Come Distress) call from the Titanic: “Hurry. Hurry! …. “sinking by the head.”

Carpathia Capt. Arthur Henry Rostron. Source: George Grantham Bain Collection (Library of Congress).

Captain Rostron responded immediately—moving full speed ahead toward the accident site. By the time the Carpathia arrived at the Titanic’s last reported location, Rostron had organized his ship and readied its passengers for the hysteria he anticipated. Electric lights were rigged along the Carpathia; gangway doors were opened; pilot ladders, nets, and ropes were ready to be dropped; hot drinks, soup, warm clothing, and blankets were on deck. Cargo cranes were ready to haul in the mail and the passengers’ luggage. The three doctors on board were set up at first aid stations in the ship’s dining rooms.

Rostron made sure Carpathia passengers would be segregated from Titanic survivors. He established a check-in process to create adequate documentation as survivors boarded. He told his crew to drink coffee before they had reached the disaster, warning it was going to be a long night ahead. Starting at 2:45 a.m., Rostron had the Carpathia blast “encouragement rockets” every 15 minutes to signal Titanic passengers and crew that help was on the way.

At 4:00 a.m., arriving at the Titanic’s last reported position, Captain Rostron stopped the Carpathia, shut down its engines—and felt sick. He saw nothing. No ship. No lights. No lifeboats or passengers. Nothing. Moments later, however, he spotted a dim green light on the horizon—a lifeboat with two passengers aboard. As the first survivor boarded the Carpathia, she confirmed to the stunned crew the shocking, horrific truth: the Titanic had sunk. As daylight broke, several lifeboats and a number of icebergs filled Rostron’s view. With icebergs visible in every direction, Rostron, a religious man, would later look back at the Carpathia’s speedy rescue dash and say that he, like the captain of the Titanic, was moving dangerously fast through the icebergs that morning, and the only thing to save his ship from being sliced open like the Titanic was “the hand of God.”

From the Cleveland Plain Dealer, April 17, 1912. Click to open full article. (Source: America's Historical Newspapers)

Lawrence Beesley, the rescued English scientist who had been a second-class Titanic passenger, described the morning of April 15 in his memoir The Loss of the S.S. Titanic:

As far as the eye could reach to the north and west lay an unbroken stretch of field of ice, with icebergs still attached to the floe and rearing aloft their mass as a hill might suddenly rise from a level plain. Ahead and to the south and east huge floating monsters were showing up through the waning darkness, their number added to moment by moment as the dawn broke and flushed the horizon pink. It is remarkable how “busy” all those icebergs made the sea look: to have gone to bed with nothing but sea and sky and to come on deck to find so many objects in the sight made quite a change in the character of the sea: it looked quite crowded; and a lifeboat alongside and people clambering aboard, mostly women, in nightdresses and dressing-gowns, in cloaks and shawls, in anything but ordinary clothes! Out ahead and on all sides little torches glittered faintly for a few moments and then guttered out—and shouts and cheers floated across the quiet sea. It would be difficult to imagine a more unexpected sight than this that lay before the Carpathia’s passengers as they line the sides that morning in the early dawn… 

Photocopy of handwritten account by Captain Roston. Source: George Grantham Bain Collection (Library of Congress).

By 8:30 a.m., with survivors on board and their lifeboats hauled on deck, Captain Rostron surveyed the exact site of the Titanic’s descent. All that remained of the once marvelous, unsinkable ship was a dense litter field of floating debris. Rostron asked an Episcopalian minister aboard to lead a service that morning—a prayer “out of respect to those who were lost and of gratitude for those who were saved.” In over four hours of searching the vicinity, Captain Rostron saw only one body floating on the ocean’s surface. 

Earlier that morning, Carlos Hurd, an American news reporter for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, and his wife were second-class Carpathia passengers, traveling on vacation from the U.S. to Fiume (now Croatia). Hurd was awakened by a strange feeling. His cabin was cold, and the Carpathia was not moving. Confused by the silence of the engines and the clamor of hallway voices, he decided to investigate. He walked to what was the dining room the evening before but that morning appeared to be an infirmary. A Carpathia crewmember, pointing to a disheveled group of shivering refugees in the makeshift hospital, broke the news to Hurd: “From the Titanic; she’s at the bottom of the ocean.”

Carlos Hurd. Source: Missouri History Museum

From the Carpathia’s deck, Hurd then saw a number of approaching lifeboats filled with traumatized survivors. As they boarded—numb and in shock, and searching for loved companions—Carlos Hurd stopped his vacation and got to work.

Finding any scraps of paper he could, he began to interview survivors, many of whom were devastated women and children. Immigrants whose life savings fell to the bottom of the sea, women who could not speak English, all now were being towed to a new world without the men who had been guiding their futures. Hurd wrote down their various, sometimes contradictory, accounts of the Titanic’s descent. One survivor said Titanic captain E.J. Smith was last sighted standing atop the sinking ship’s bridge, as her decks washed away, before jumping into the sea—with no life preserver evident—and swimming away from a rescue attempt. Another account claimed Smith had shot himself on board as the ship went down. Hurd wrote of both accounts.

Yes, the Titanic’s string band played until the ship’s last moments. However, based on Hurd’s record of the sentiment of survivors, who, hearing the music, knowing the words of the last ballad—“So by my woes I’ll be, Nearer my God, to Thee”—some watching loved ones clinging to the rails of the sinking ship or flailing helplessly in the frigid sea—the music brought out more “strain” than relief. The combination of the music, the wretched groans of death, the beauty of the stars above, and the horrendous sight of the ship slowly ripping in two before sinking was too much to bear.

From the Salt Lake Evening Telegram, April 19, 1912. Click to open full article. Source: America's Historical Newspapers

From surviving Titanic quartermaster J.H. Moody, Hurd obtained some reasons for the accident. The Titanic had been moving full steam ahead, ignoring warnings from other vessels about the presence of icebergs. The trip was less a maiden voyage and more a race to reach New York in the best time. According to Moody, “…officers were striving to live up to the orders to smash the record.” 

In his account Beesley took issue with the way survivors were portrayed by the press, believing the scene on the Carpathia was intentionally over-blown for effect. He felt his own sense of the survivors’ states of mind was much more truthful than the press’s depiction:

Much that is exaggerated and false has been written about the mental condition of passengers as they came aboard: we have been described as being too dazed to understand what was happening, as being too overwhelmed to speak, and as looking before us with ‘set, staring gaze’ with the shadow of the dread event….scenes of women weeping and brooding over their loses hour by hour until they were driven mad by grief—all this has been reported to the press by people on board the Carpathia…the one thing that matters in describing an event of this kind is the exact truth…and my own impression of our mental condition is that of supreme gratitude and relief at treading the firm decks of a ship again.

From the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, April 19, 1912. Click to open full article. Source: America's Historical Newspapers

On board the Carpathia, Beesley and other Titanic survivors formed a committee to establish, among other things, a general fund for survivors from steerage, to present a loving cup to Captain Rostron, and to write a public letter suggesting better safeguards for ocean travel. Beesley felt it critical to accurately describe the accident—“to inform the English public”—and to bring perspective to the American press’s histrionic tendencies in reporting disasters:

It seemed well, too, while on the Carpathia to prepare as accurate an account as possible of the disaster and to have this ready for the press, in order to calm public opinion and to forestall the incorrect and hysterical accounts which some American reporters are in the habit of preparing on occasions of this kind. The first impression is often and most permanent, and in a disaster of this magnitude, where exact and accurate information is so necessary, preparation of a report was essential. It was written in odd corners of the deck and saloon of the Carpathia, and fell, it seemed very happily, into the hands of the one reporter who could best deal with it, the Associated Press. I understand it was the first report that came through and had a good deal of the effect intended.

As the Carpathia made its way back to its harbor with Hurd, Beesley, and the survivors on board, the fate of the Titanic was unknown to newsrooms around the world. A number of papers ran speculative accounts of what had happened: There was an accident, and the Titanic and all its passengers were being towed back to safety; the amazing Titanic sank but all on board were safe; the Titanic hit an iceberg and all passengers died at sea. Meanwhile, on board the Carpathia, Captain Rostron had forbidden his crew from talking to reporter Carlos Hurd. In addition, Hurd was not allowed to send his press dispatches via the ship’s wireless telegraph. In fact, although Rostron testified later that “absolutely no censorship” took place, much of the communication from the Carpathia was held back. In addition, messages to the Carpathia from the press on the mainland were intercepted.

From the Idaho Daily Statesman, April 19, 1912. Click to open full article. Source: America’s Historical Newspapers

Joseph Pulitzer, Hurd’s boss at the time, knew that Hurd was on board the Carpathia, and sent several radio messages to the Carpathia urging Hurd to interview Titanic survivors. Charles E. Chapin, city editor of New York’s Evening World, also knew Hurd was on board, and wanted to run Hurd’s first-hand story immediately upon the Carpathia’s return. Chapin had attempted to send a message to Hurd, asking the reporter to throw his dispatch from the ship’s deck to Chapin who would be in a tug boat in New York Harbor as the Carpathia arrived. Hurd never received any of these messages. In fact, Rostron had all messages intercepted and, in effect, had instituted a media blackout on his ship. Rostron apparently went so far as to confiscate all stationery aboard the Carpathia so that the reporter would be unable to capture accounts. Hurd was resourceful, using toilet paper, among other items, to write his story. His wife, who was also writing about the surviving women, took her husband’s scraps, accumulating shards of chronicles, which she brought to the bed in their cabin and sat on to avoid confiscation.

On the evening of April 18, 1912, the Carpathia approached New York. By this time, Carlos Hurd understood he would never be allowed to leave the ship with his story. As the New York lights became evident in a storm-filled sky, a number of tug boats filled with reporters approached the Carpathia. Hearing Hurd’s name being called through a megaphone from a tug, the Carpathia’s officers ordered Hurd to stay away from the rails. Ignoring their command, Hurd wrapped his story in a cigar box, sealed it closed, and attached champagne corks to the outside. Spotting Chapin in a tug, Hurd chucked the cigar box over the side of the Carpathia towards the city editor, but the box became ensnared in guy wires securing a Titanic lifeboat to the Carpathia. A sailor aboard the Carpathia, watching the drama unfold, worked his way to where the boxed dispatch had been snagged, grabbed the box, and threw it on to Chapin’s tug to the cheers of the Titanic survivors.

From the Miami Herald, April 30, 1912. Click to open full article. Source: America's Historical Newspapers

Beesley also described the media’s presence as the Carpathia entered New York Harbor:

Surrounded by tugs of every kind, from which (as well as from every available building near the river) magnesium bombs were shot off by photographers, while reporters shouted for news of the disaster and photographs of passengers, the Carpathia drew slowly to her station at the Cunard pier, the gangways were pushed across, and we set foot at last on American soil, very thankful, grateful people.

Carlos Hurd’s 5,000 word chronicle was immediately published, as were his wife’s interviews with Titanic survivors. Many New York papers ran first-hand accounts of what had happened aboard the Titanic in special editions on the day of the Carpathia’s arrival in New York. Hurd’s notoriety as a dedicated journalist who stopped at nothing to write of the tragedy of the century followed him for years to come. Captain Arthur Rostron received a number of prestigious awards for his rescue dash to the Titanic survivors. And, two months after its sinking, Lawrence Beesley’s memoir, The Loss of the SS Titanic, was published.

Beesley’s and Rostron’s apprehension about the role of the American press in such a major world event may have represented a general British regard for U.S. media. London, after all, was the hub of global news up until the sinking of the Titanic. Had the Carpathia picked up the survivors and brought them back to England, rather than New York, what would have become of Carlos Hurd’s story? Would Captain Rostron have been more cooperative about news dispatches coming and going to his ship if the correspondence to the Carpathia had come from London? Did New York newspapers become an established voice of international news simply because the Carpathia delivered the survivors of the Titanic to the news reporters of New York rather than London?

Lawrence Beesley in the Gymnastics Room of the Titanic

What is to be made of Lawrence Beesley’s sense that there was minimal drama in the immediate aftermath of the wreck of the century—an accident in which only 31% of those on board survived, and those survivors witnessed the stunning, horrific loss of so many lives? How could Beesley describe the response of survivors as reflecting “gratitude” and “relief,” without any prevalence of shock and hysteria on board the Carpathia? What effect does one’s cultural identity have on information portrayed—or not portrayed—during an epic international tragedy? Does a calamity really have an “exact truth,” as Beesley set out to provide in his memoir, or do multiple, disjointed, perspectives, such as those coming from Carlos Hurd, Captain Rostron, and Lawrence Beesley, give us a better understanding of the wreck of the Titanic and its aftermath?

Murder! Or the Remarkable Trial of Tommy Jemmy, 19th-Century Seneca Witch-Hunter and Defender of Indian Sovereignty

By Matthew Dennis, Professor of History and Environmental Studies, University of Oregon

I never read murder and mayhem stories in the newspaper.  Such sensationalist accounts have been a mainstay of the U.S. popular press since it was invented in the early American republic, and they remain a prominent feature today.  But the tawdry details of homicidal doings, breathlessly recounted, hold little appeal for me.  And yet a few years ago one such story caught my eye and drew me in, sending me on my own investigative journey. (read article)

The Untold Talent of Joseph Redding: Profiling a Polymathic Chess Expert

By Jerry Spinrad, Associate Professor of Computer Science, Vanderbilt University

The ability to access newspaper databases such as America’s Historical Newspapers has revolutionized research in the history and culture of chess. Some aspects of this research require detailed chess knowledge; for example, finding specific games of old masters or tracking changes in chess styles over the years. Other aspects of chess research require no specialized knowledge to appreciate: the atmosphere of chess clubs; rivalries between players, nationalities, and ethnic groups; and the often peculiar personalities of individual players. (read article) 

The Nanjing Atrocities Reported in the U.S. Newspapers, 1937-38

By Suping Lu, Professor and Library Liaison, University of Nebraska-Lincoln

The German invasion of Poland on September 1, 1939, is conventionally regarded as the starting point of World War II. However, war broke out much earlier in Asia. On July 7, 1937, after claiming that one its soldiers was missing, the Japanese launched attacks at the Chinese positions near the Marco Polo Bridge in a Beijing southwestern suburb. During the following weeks, the Japanese continued with their attacks in North China, capturing Beijing, Tianjin, and other cities in the region. (read article)

Loving the “City of Homes”… and its Historical Newspaper Archives

By Barbara Shaffer, Unofficial Historian of Springfield, Massachusetts

Many years ago my first drive through the residential neighborhoods of Springfield, Massachusetts, hooked me into a lifelong passion to know more of her and her people.  From viewing the 1870’s brick row houses on Mattoon Street to the gilded age mansions of Ridgewood and Maple Hill, it did not take a lot of imagination to conjure up a vision of the city’s glory days.  The architecture and beauty of the homes spoke clearly.  My research began. (read article) 

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The Boston Journal (Source: America's Historical Newspapers)

The Idaho Daily Statesman (Source: America's Historical Newspapers)

The Titanic was the largest, most luxurious steamer ever built. She had opulent state rooms, expansive dining rooms, elegant smoking rooms, and a grand staircase. She even had elevators, libraries, a gymnasium, a squash court and a full orchestra. The Titanic was at the leading edge of engineering. Her builders assured that she was absolutely unsinkable, and her maiden voyage was to celebrate the triumph of technology over nature. In its April 30, 1912 issue, the Kalamazoo Gazette covered the features of the doomed ship extensively: 

Nineteen-year-old Miss Helen Monypeny Newsom from Columbus, Ohio had been taken on the cruise as part of a European “Grand Tour” designed to separate her from a suitor her parents disapproved of.  He was Karl Behr, a champion tennis player. At 27 years old, Behr was much older than Helen, already somewhat of a notorious celebrity, and therefore not deemed a good match for the young wealthy heiress. But Behr had boarded the ship in secret after feigning a business trip to Paris. The pair met up again on the Titanic’s maiden voyage to New York, where they continued their courtship.

Cleveland Plain Dealer (Source: America's Historical Newspapers)

However, unlike the doomed couple in Cameron’s movie, this pair of lovers had a happy ending. Both Helen and Karl ended up in Lifeboat 5 together, supposedly after Helen pleaded for his presence. Some newspapers later reported that Behr had proposed to Helen in the lifeboat. After narrowly escaping death, Helen’s parents apparently reversed their decision and gave approval for the couple to marry.

The tale of the couple’s courtship and survival was covered extensively in the newspapers. As one of the few happy endings of the tragedy, the couple’s wedding was also celebrated widely.

Cleveland Plain Dealer (Source: America's Historical Newspapers)

It is the tales of those aboard her—upper class, lower class, survivors and non-survivors—that make the story of the Titanic so compelling. To explore the extensive and often heart-rending coverage of the Titanic and her passengers in America’s Historical Newspapers, simply search “Titanic” in the headline field.

Dr. James McCune Smith. Source: New-York Historical Society

In 2010 descendents of Dr. James McCune Smith, a prominent abolitionist leader and prolific author, discovered and dedicated his unmarked grave in Brooklyn, New York. Dr. Smith (1813–1865) was also the first professionally trained black surgeon in America. Although the dedication of his gravesite received some media coverage, Smith remains a surprisingly little-known pioneer in the struggle for professional and social equality for African Americans.

Smith died at the age of 52—five months after the end of the Civil War and less than three weeks before the 13th Amendment abolished slavery—keenly aware that African Americans still faced a long, hard struggle for equality. The New York draft riots of July 1863, in which mobs attacked not only the city’s wealthy but also black New Yorkers, had made that clear to him.

After troops quelled the three-day draft riots, which were the culmination of frustration over the unfairness of new laws drafting men to fight in the Civil War, Dr. Smith moved his medical practice and his family from Manhattan to Williamsburg, Brooklyn. He no longer felt safe in Manhattan’s lower 4th Ward, his life-long home. All across southern Manhattan, black neighborhoods like his were being attacked, and black-owned businesses, such as the pharmacy Dr. Smith had once owned and a boarding house owned by his childhood friend Albro Lyons, were being destroyed. His hard work for African American freedom and social equality, as well as the struggle to advance himself and his family, had suffered a violent blow.

New York Herald, Aug. 8, 1863

The mob had nearly destroyed the drugstore of Philip White, who had been an apprentice of Dr. Smith, but luckily White’s reputation in the neighborhood drew a sympathetic army of protectors. Shocking to many New Yorkers was the burning of the Colored Orphan Asylum, where Dr. Smith was acting physician. Luckily the children had escaped to safety by the time the rioters struck, largely due to the timely arrival of a military attachment from the battlefields of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.

It was happenstance that Dr. Smith was still in New York at the time of the riots. Not long before he had been offered a teaching position at Wilberforce College in Ohio, but he fell ill and felt the move would be too difficult. After the riots, he set up his new practice in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn and lived there for two years until his death in 1865, seven months after President Lincoln’s assassination. In spite of his discouragement over the riots, Dr. Smith had seen significant advancement for African Americans and could take pride in his own role.

James McCune Smith was born in New York City to a former slave mother and white father. He grew up in Manhattan’s lower 4th Ward, attending the African Free School #2 on Mulberry Street where he distinguished himself with good grades under the strict rule of his teacher Charles C. Andrews and the school’s Master Busby. Smith’s scholarship, however, could not overcome the bigotry of the times. Every American university he applied to forbid his entry. Undeterred, and with the strong backing of the African Free School’s administration, he was accepted at Glasgow University in Scotland. He sailed there in 1832, passed his exams with prizes for his BA in 1835, and stayed on to complete his MA in 1836 and medical degree in 1837.

Dr. Smith then returned to New York, sailing on a second choice of a ship after being denied passage on the Canonicus because of his race.

Colored American, Feb. 17, 1838

When Dr. Smith returned to New York as the first certified black surgeon in the U.S., he opened a general medical and surgical practice as well as the first black-owned pharmacy in the country. In addition to his distinguished career as a physician, Smith became an active organizer for the abolitionist movement and developed a reputation as a skilled debater and lecturer in both civil rights and medical issues.

The Philanthropist, Oct. 17, 1837

Smith published several passionate essays promoting racial equality and the abolition of slavery. He lectured before the American Anti-Slavery Society and later became its president.

Public Ledger, June 28, 1855

Smith was also involved with the National Council of Colored People. He worked closely with the famous abolitionist Frederick Douglass, his good friend, and he wrote a column in the North Star, Douglass’s newspaper which merged with the Liberty Party Paper and was renamed Frederick Douglass’ Paper. Smith eventually took over the newspaper’s editorial duties for a while.

North Star, May 4, 1849

In 1846, Dr. Smith became the medical director and only doctor of New York’s Free Negro Orphans Asylum, where he worked until leaving Manhattan after the race riots.

Nineteenth-century newspaper articles about Smith’s lectures and debates capture the esteem and excitement surrounding this key figure in the struggle for equality. How wonderful it would have been to have film, which became available just a few decades later, to capture the eloquence of his language and movement.

This year marks the 200th anniversary of Charles Dickens’ birth. America’s Historical Newspapers contains hundreds of contemporaneous articles about this genius of English literature, as well as reviews of his works and advertisements for his books. Here are a few samples, supplemented by the menu of a banquet held in his honor, found in American Broadsides and Ephemera.

Albany (New York) Evening Journal, June 10, 1865

In this speech before the Newspaper Press Fund, Dickens recalls his days as a Parliamentary reporter: 

“I went to the gallery of the House of Commons as a parliamentary reporter when I was a boy not eighteen, and I left it—I can hardly believe the inexorable truth—nigh thirty years ago….I have worn my knees by writing on them on the old back row of the old House of Commons; and I have worn my feet by standing to write in a preposterous pen in the House of Lords, where we used to be huddled like so many sheep (laughter), kept in waiting till the wool-sack might want restuffing.”

Daily National Intelligencer (D.C.), Oct. 4, 1836

After the publication of The Pickwick Papers, he was world famous. These comments introduced an excerpt reprinted in this country: 

A very droll and clever work is now in course of publication in London, in monthly numbers, edited by the capital humorist who calls himself “Boz,” and whose burlesque descriptions of incidents and odd characters are among the best things of the kind we have ever read.  

National Gazette (Philadelphia), Dec. 4, 1838

Mr. Charles Dickens, the author of the above works, is the most popular writer of his day. Since the publication of the poems and novels of Sir Walter Scott, there has been no work the circulation of which has approached that of the Pickwick Papers. Thirty thousand copies of it are said to have been sold….Great popularity is doubtless to be accepted as presumptive evidence of merit—and should at least induce us to regard with attention the qualities of one who can exhibit so many suffrages in his favour.

The Liberator (Massachusetts), March 4, 1842

Dickens came to the United States in 1842. Here’s a critique of the way Americans treated him:  

It is really humiliating, to witness the fawning, the sycophancy, the gross adulation, and the toadeyism, to which his arrival amongst us has given birth, and which must be as nauseous and unpalatable to him, as it is unworthy of us….Some, who are not obnoxious to the charge of sycophancy, have, nevertheless, seemed to consider him as some strange animal, some nondescript, some monstrosity, some raree show, to be stared at, commented upon and criticised. 

In cities that he visited, great banquets were held in his honor. This menu from one such banquet shows the amazing number of dishes offered to the assembled multitudes. 

From American Broadsides and Ephemera

Boston Courier, Aug. 8, 1842

His views of Americans, largely unflattering, are contained in two works: Martin Chuzzlewit and American Notes for General Circulation. His feelings were prefigured in a letter he reportedly sent in 1842 to the editor of the London Morning Chronicle and reprinted in the Boston Courier: 

Though in my travels from city to city, I saw of course much to be pleased with and astonished at—yet the total difference between our good old English customs and the awkwardness, the uncouth manners, and the unmitigated selfishness which meet you everywhere in America, made my journey one of a good deal of annoyance. I do not think the Americans, as a people, have much good taste….In the larger cities, the grand aim of the people seems to be money-making. Every good desire, every refined wish, every aspiration for the lofty, and the pure; and the holy is swallowed up in the great whirlwind of avarice. Before crossing the Atlantic, I had heard much of the thriftiness of our American offspring; but I must confess I was not prepared to see so much meanness. 

The National Era (Washington, D.C.), Aug. 6, 1857

Dickens was known in his day for his public readings. This article describes the first such reading of his classic work, A Christmas Carol: 

The reports respecting Mr. Dickens’s command over an audience have not been in the least exaggerated. It is no such easy matter to read for upwards of two hours a book with which the listeners are acquainted, and to keep them all the while in a state of breathless interest; but this is actually done by Mr. Dickens. He does not, indeed, impersonate the various characters of his tale, except in the single case of the Miser Scrooge, whose words he speaks in senile accents. All that is spoken by the other characters he delivers, like the narrative, in his own natural voice.…his command is equally potent over emotions of every kind; and during the whole of last evening, he held the sympathies of his hearers as firmly as one might grasp a tangible object. The very aspect of that crowd, composed of the most various classes, hanging on the utterance of one man, was in itself an imposing spectacle.  

Boston Daily Journal, June 11, 1870

Dickens died, relatively young, in 1870. Papers in this country carried the news from London, as well as quoting the obituaries in the London papers.

All the London papers have obituary articles this morning. The Times says: “The ordinary expressions of regret are now cold and conventional. Millions of people feel a personal bereavement. Statesmen…and benefactors of the race, when they die, can leave no such void; they cannot, like this great novelist, be an inmate of every house.”

The Daily News says: “Without an intellectual pedigree, his writings form an era in English literature. He was generous, loving and universally beloved. He leaves, like Thackeray, an unfinished story.” 

The Morning Post says: “Charles Dickens did more than any contemporary to make English literature loved and admired.” 

Troy Weekly Times (New York), Jan. 6, 1872

After his death, a secret was revealed that every student who reads David Copperfield is taught – that Dickens could so accurately render the labors of the blacking factory because he had worked in one himself while his father was in debtor’s prison. These facts were revealed after his death in a biography written by his friend John Forster: 

The incidents to be told now would probably never have been known to me, or the occurrences of his childhood and youth, but for the accident of a question I put to him one day in March or April of 1847….It was not however then, but some weeks after, that Dickens made further allusion to my thus having struck unconsciously upon a time of which he never could lose the remembrance while he remembered anything, and the recollection of which, at intervals, haunted him and made him miserable, even to that hour….

Dickens said of this period of his life: “The deep remembrance of the sense I had of being utterly neglected and hopeless; of the shame I felt in my position; of the misery it was to my young heart to believe that, day by day, what I had learned, and thought, and delighted in, and raised my fancy and my emulation up by, was passing away from me, never to be brought back any more; cannot be written. My whole nature was so penetrated with the grief and humiliation of such considerations that even now, famous and caressed and happy, I often forget in my dreams that I have a dear wife and children; even that I am a man; and wander desolately back to that time of my life.”

American newspapers celebrated his centenary in 1912: 

All the English speaking world as well as other nations which know Dickens through translations and love for him for his humanity will join in the tribute to his memory. Never before has so widespread an interest been manifested in the observance of the centennial of a writer. This is proportioned properly to the extent of the fame of Dickens and to the esteem in which his myriad readers hold him. No other author has so personal a following. To the men and women who read Dickens he is not merely a man who has afforded interest and amusement. He is the man who has created for each individual reader friends and enemies who are not only characters in books and actors in stories but living personalities, to be recognized in the men and women with whom one comes into daily contact or whom one passes on the street.”  

Trenton Sunday Advertiser, Jan. 28, 1912

Dickens is not the only European author who can be traced through the pages of America’s Historical Newspapers. Alexandre Dumas was a fixture in the press during his day. Only one of Dumas’ works, The Three Musketeers, seems to retain its enduring popularity, while many, if not all, of Dickens’ works do. There’s little doubt that the 300th anniversary of his birth will be widely celebrated. 

 

For more information about using America’s Historical Newspapers to research centuries of literary history, please contact readexmarketing@readex.com.

 

 

Barbara Shaffer, unofficial historian of Springfield, Massachusetts

From the online archive of the Springfield Republican and Union

Memories take many forms: stories of an older person, memorabilia preserved in a scrapbook, and even creative wonderings piqued by the sight of an old building. Reminiscences like these offer initial clues to local history, and—in my continual quest to learn more about my adopted hometown—I scour books, nose into diaries, sift through old records, and talk to long-time residents. In the end, electronic archives of local newspapers can provide a more complete chronicle.

Years ago, my grandmother gave me a menu she had preserved from a luncheon date in 1915 at Springfield’s Hotel Kimball.  Lobster cutlet for 40 cents and apricot farina pudding for 15 cents were a sampling of the intriguing delicacies offered. When I discovered a 1911 article in the online archive of the Springfield Republican and Union describing the new hotel in town, I better understood what a dazzling dining experience it must have been for a 17-year-old girl:

Representing an outlay of approximately $1,000,000, the Kimball stands as an example of all the latest ideas in hotel evolution….Everywhere there is splendor, yet it is splendor with refinement. (Springfield Republican, March 18, 1911)

The rose and gray décor of the dining room where Grandma had eaten lunch was illuminated by Roman gold chandeliers. Details of mahogany doors, marble counters, satin walnut furniture, and silk-covered walls were examples of the elegance throughout the eight-story hotel. 

The Hotel Kimball, Springfield, Mass.

There is no sample menu from Springfield’s Canton Restaurant in my collection, but the long-lasting reputation enjoyed by the city’s once-favorite eatery speaks for itself. Everyone loved The Canton. Well, everyone except Ng Hok Yeong, and it is fortunate that he has been forgotten by subsequent generations. According to the Republican (Sept. 13, 1915), on an otherwise quiet Sunday, Canton patrons were horrified to see him burst into the restaurant wielding a revolver which he fired deliberately at the proprietor’s son, Ng Hong. Hong was the perpetrator’s third victim that day.

From the online archive of the Springfield Republican and Union

All were cousins who had declined to help finance Mr. Yeong’s legal defense against charges of illegal immigration. Justice was swift. Officer Michael Kennedy apprehended the gunman as he fled the restaurant, and, he was sentenced the following spring to life imprisonment. Ironically,

…a pathetic feature of the case was that the proceeding against him was decided in his favor and that his fears of being sent back to China which had roused him to fury against his victims were groundless. (Springfield Republican, May 19, 1916)

A friend’s recollections about her former boss sparked my interest in researching pioneers of local aviation. The employer’s wife was a Springfield legend: Maude Irving Tait, a school teacher who had taken to the skies as a young woman. A front-page story in the Republican (August 17, 1929) told of her daring soar to New England’s highest elevation of 18,000 feet:

After the flight she declared she could have gone higher but had been warned against doing so without oxygen apparatus.

From the online archive of the Springfield Republican and Union

Her 16-year-old traveling companion Charles Percy had “collapsed when she reached the 18,000-foot level and did not revive until she had brought her plane out of the clouds at an altitude of 5000 feet over Willimantic, Ct.” Although the young Mr. Percy had not been able to make note as planned of meteorological measurements at the high altitude, he expressed pride that he was one of the few youngsters to have reached such heights.

Another tidbit of memory that coaxes exploration is the claim periodically touted by Springfield’s city leaders: Clarence Birdseye’s decision to test market his innovative frozen foods in our stores in 1930. Until the search engine of local newspaper archives made fact finding so simple, that boast seemed to be the extent of information at hand. A full-page ad in the March 2, 1930 issue of the Springfield Sunday Union and Republican described the scientist’s observations of naturally frozen foods in Labrador and enumerated ten different Springfield stores that would offer the inventor’s own commercially frosted foods.

From the historical archive of the Springfield Republican and Union

It was reported 16 days later that Mr. Birdseye arrived in town to personally

spend several days here studying the merchandising methods employed and inspecting the extensive organization established to introduce the new products. (Springfield Republican, March 18, 1930, p. 7)

As any American householder today can attest, the Birdseye trial run was a success.

Whispers of bygone days seem to whirl around the ornate entrance to Springfield’s old Court Square Theater. As the 20th century entered its second decade, theaters on every block provided amusement unparalleled in western Massachusetts. Entertainment was available in vaudeville, burlesque, and “legitimate” theaters as well as new-fangled moving picture houses. Giants of the performing arts appeared regularly and were documented in the daily newspapers. On January 5, 1911, the Springfield Union proclaimed bookings at the Court Square Theatre in one month of Mme. Sarah Bernhardt on her last tour of America, young Douglas Fairbanks in a comedy “The Cub,” and George M. Cohan in his original play, “The Lovesick Kings.”

Court Square Theatre Building, Springfield, Mass.

Readers of local papers were treated to detailed accounts of new theaters under construction. In a 1912 article about the Broadway on Bridge Street, the Springfield Union reported that:

to the men who have been behind the enterprise, there has never been the least doubt as to the ultimate building in Springfield of a theater that they say will be the handsomest in New England. (Sept. 23, 1912)

Likewise, when a once grand theater closed its doors, local researchers can count on finding a nutshell history of its fading glory in newspaper archives. A story in the Union (Oct. 30, 1969), preceding the demise of the Arcade Theater, added spice to the mix in reporting the manager’s arrest for showing the infamous film, “I am Curious, Yellow.” He was charged with “possession of an obscene print and presenting an immoral show.” In noting the show times in the previous day’s edition, it can be deduced that the vice squad felt compelled to view the first sitting in full and remain halfway through the second before completely assessing the offensive nature of the movie.

From the online archive of the Springfield Republican and Union

Whether memories come to us through the facades of old structures, oral tradition, bits of memorabilia, or some other happenstance, online newspaper archives have the power to lead the seeker of local history directly to a more comprehensive picture of the past.

About the author

Barbara Shaffer has been researching memories in Springfield, Massachusetts, since her college days. She speaks at historical societies, libraries, and schools and is presently compiling a collection of historical vignettes about the city she loves. Her forthcoming article titled “Loving the ‘City of Homes’…and its Historical Newspaper Archives” will appear in the April 2012 issue of The Readex Report. Follow her tweets of Springfield lore at www.twitter.com/SpfldHistorian.