{"title":"To Intermix with Our White Brothers: Indian Mixed Bloods in the United States from Earliest Times to the Indian Removals","authors":"J. W. Parins","doi":"10.2307/40031086","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/40031086","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":51953,"journal":{"name":"ARKANSAS HISTORICAL QUARTERLY","volume":"65 1","pages":"310"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2006-01-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://sci-hub-pdf.com/10.2307/40031086","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"68736211","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
In the summer of 1862, President Lincoln called General Henry W. Halleck to Washington, D.C., to take command of all Union armies in the death struggle against the Confederacy. For the next two turbulent years, Halleck was Lincoln's chief war advisor, the man the President deferred to in all military matters. Yet, despite the fact that he was commanding general far longer than his successor, Ulysses S. Grant, he is remembered only as a failed man, ignored by posterity. In the first comprehensive biography of Halleck, the prize-winning historian John F. Marszalek recreates the life of a man of enormous achievement who bungled his most important mission. When Lincoln summoned him to the nation's capital, Halleck boasted outstanding qualifications as a military theorist, a legal scholar, a brave soldier, and a California entrepreneur. Yet in the thick of battle, he couldn't make essential decisions. Unable to produce victory for the Union forces, he saw his power become subsumed by Grant's emergent leadership, a loss that paved the way for Halleck's path to obscurity. Harnessing previously unused research, as well as the insights of modern medicine and psychology, Marszalek unearths the seeds of Halleck's fatal wartime indecisiveness in personality traits and health problems. In this brilliant dissection of a rich and disappointed life, we gain new understanding of how the key decisions of the Civil War were taken, as well as insight into the making of effective military leadership.
1862年夏天，林肯总统召集亨利·w·哈勒克将军到华盛顿特区，指挥所有联邦军队与南方邦联进行殊死搏斗。在接下来动荡的两年里，哈勒克是林肯的首席战争顾问，总统在所有军事问题上都听从他。然而，尽管他指挥将军的时间比他的继任者尤利西斯·s·格兰特长得多，但人们只记得他是一个失败的人，被后人忽视。在哈勒克的第一本全面传记中，获奖的历史学家约翰·f·马萨莱克(John F. Marszalek)再现了一个功成名就却搞砸了最重要任务的人的一生。当林肯把他召到国家的首都时，哈勒克自诩为一名杰出的军事理论家、法律学者、勇敢的士兵和加州企业家。然而，在激烈的战斗中，他无法做出重要的决定。由于无法为联邦军队带来胜利，他看到自己的权力被格兰特的新兴领导所吞没，这一损失为哈勒克走向默默无闻铺平了道路。利用以前未使用的研究，以及现代医学和心理学的见解，Marszalek挖掘出哈勒克在性格特征和健康问题上致命的战时优柔寡断的种子。在这本对一个富有而又失望的人生的精彩剖析中，我们对内战的关键决策是如何做出的有了新的理解，也对有效的军事领导的制定有了新的认识。
{"title":"Commander of all Lincoln's armies : a life of General Henry W. Halleck","authors":"John F. Marszalek","doi":"10.2307/27649111","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/27649111","url":null,"abstract":"In the summer of 1862, President Lincoln called General Henry W. Halleck to Washington, D.C., to take command of all Union armies in the death struggle against the Confederacy. For the next two turbulent years, Halleck was Lincoln's chief war advisor, the man the President deferred to in all military matters. Yet, despite the fact that he was commanding general far longer than his successor, Ulysses S. Grant, he is remembered only as a failed man, ignored by posterity. In the first comprehensive biography of Halleck, the prize-winning historian John F. Marszalek recreates the life of a man of enormous achievement who bungled his most important mission. When Lincoln summoned him to the nation's capital, Halleck boasted outstanding qualifications as a military theorist, a legal scholar, a brave soldier, and a California entrepreneur. Yet in the thick of battle, he couldn't make essential decisions. Unable to produce victory for the Union forces, he saw his power become subsumed by Grant's emergent leadership, a loss that paved the way for Halleck's path to obscurity. Harnessing previously unused research, as well as the insights of modern medicine and psychology, Marszalek unearths the seeds of Halleck's fatal wartime indecisiveness in personality traits and health problems. In this brilliant dissection of a rich and disappointed life, we gain new understanding of how the key decisions of the Civil War were taken, as well as insight into the making of effective military leadership.","PeriodicalId":51953,"journal":{"name":"ARKANSAS HISTORICAL QUARTERLY","volume":"64 1","pages":"450"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2005-12-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://sci-hub-pdf.com/10.2307/27649111","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"68440249","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
EFFORTS TO CREATE STATE POLICE FORCES in the United States during the first four decades of the twentieth century faced a number of practical and ideological obstacles. This proved especially true in the South where state governments tended to be poorer than their northern counterparts and thus less able to afford the cost of such a force. A more important factor working against the creation of state police forces was the South's traditional preference for local control. This preference for localism, or, as Edward Ayers more precisely described it, "localistic republicanism," opposed any attempts, no matter how noble minded, to invest an outside entity with authority over community affairs.1 The clearest expression of Arkansans' longstanding desire for local control can be seen in the 1874 state constitution, which has been described by one scholar of Arkansas politics as "specifically designed to protect citizens from possible oppression by their own state government." "Pervasive distrust of government," Diane Blair said, "is expressed in almost every section of the 1874 document."2 The document, for example, sharply limited the governor's power to appoint officials and allowed his vetoes to be overridden by a simple majority, while rendering the legislature a part-time institution with strictly limited taxing authority. With a constitution that marginalized state government, power and influence fell to local elites who wielded a significant amount of control over elected officials at the local and state levels.3 That Arkansans proved particularly stubborn in their adherence to localistic republicanism is suggested by the fact that Arkansas remained one of the few states without a statewide law enforcement agency in January 1935. Tracing the repeated efforts to create a state police force shows just how deep this ideology ran, even though such a body, like many other Progressive-era agencies, had the potential to provide numerous benefits for the state's residents. The ultimate success of the state police movement, therefore, represented a significant turning point, both symbolic and actual, in Arkansans' understanding of state government and its role in their daily lives. As 1935 dawned, few obvious signs existed that Arkansans' suspicion of a statewide police force would be overcome, especially considering the dire financial straits in which many of the state's residents found themselves. Arkansas had never been a rich state and the decline of cotton prices in the 192Os coupled with the advent of the Great Depression in 1929 led to economic and social disaster by the early 1930s. The outlook for impoverished Arkansans darkened even further in late 1934 when the Federal Emergency Relief Administration threatened to cut off all federal assistance to more than 400,000 people within the state unless the legislature committed $1.5 million in matching funds by March 1935.4 While resolving the state's financial crisis and locating matching funds were
在二十世纪的头四十年里，美国建立州警察部队的努力面临着一些实际的和意识形态的障碍。事实证明，这一点在南方尤其正确，因为那里的州政府往往比北方的州政府更穷，因此负担不起这样一支部队的费用。反对建立州警察部队的一个更重要的因素是南方对地方控制的传统偏好。这种对地方主义的偏爱，或者如爱德华·艾尔斯更准确地描述的那样，“地方共和主义”，反对任何企图，无论多么高尚的思想，赋予一个外部实体对社区事务的权力阿肯色州长期以来对地方控制的渴望最清晰地体现在1874年的州宪法中，一位研究阿肯色州政治的学者将其描述为“专门设计来保护公民免受本州政府可能的压迫”。“对政府的普遍不信任，”黛安·布莱尔说，“几乎在1874年的文件的每一个部分都表达了出来。”例如，该文件严格限制了州长任命官员的权力，并允许他的否决被简单多数推翻，同时使立法机构成为一个兼职机构，拥有严格限制的征税权。由于宪法将州政府边缘化，权力和影响力落到了地方精英手中，他们对地方和州一级的民选官员有很大的控制权1935年1月，阿肯色州仍然是少数几个没有全国性执法机构的州之一，这一事实表明，阿肯色州人特别顽固地坚持地方共和主义。追溯建立州警察部队的多次努力，可以看出这种意识形态有多么根深蒂固，尽管这样一个机构，就像许多其他进步时代的机构一样，有可能为该州的居民提供许多好处。因此，州警察运动的最终成功代表了阿肯色州人对州政府及其在日常生活中的作用的理解的一个重要转折点，无论是象征性的还是实际的。随着1935年的到来，几乎没有明显的迹象表明阿肯色州人对全州警察部队的怀疑会被克服，特别是考虑到该州许多居民发现自己陷入了可怕的财政困境。阿肯色州从来就不是一个富裕的州，20世纪20年代棉花价格的下跌，加上1929年大萧条的到来，导致了20世纪30年代初的经济和社会灾难。1934年底，联邦紧急救济署威胁要切断对该州40多万人的所有联邦援助，除非立法机关在1935年3月之前承诺提供150万美元的配套资金。而随着第五十届大会的召开，解决该州的财政危机和找到配套资金是州长和立法机关面临的最紧迫的问题1935年1月，另一件事在全州范围内引起了极大的兴趣和争论:试图废除该州的禁酒令。对于州长J. M. Futrell来说，州财政、酒和建立州警察部队的问题是紧密交织在一起的。将酒精的消费、生产和运输合法化，有可能通过征收消费税带来巨大的新收入流入，避免财产税增加可能造成的政治损害。然而，Futrell显然怀疑国家是否有足够的手段来监管这样一个系统。他还认识到目前的法律体系在充分和公正地执行州法律方面存在缺陷，并认为纠正这些缺陷的最佳途径是建立州警察部队。他对一名支持者说:“有些治安官是值得信任的，有些则不然。…
{"title":"Localism and the Creation of a State Police in Arkansas","authors":"M. G. Lindsey","doi":"10.2307/40023349","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/40023349","url":null,"abstract":"EFFORTS TO CREATE STATE POLICE FORCES in the United States during the first four decades of the twentieth century faced a number of practical and ideological obstacles. This proved especially true in the South where state governments tended to be poorer than their northern counterparts and thus less able to afford the cost of such a force. A more important factor working against the creation of state police forces was the South's traditional preference for local control. This preference for localism, or, as Edward Ayers more precisely described it, \"localistic republicanism,\" opposed any attempts, no matter how noble minded, to invest an outside entity with authority over community affairs.1 The clearest expression of Arkansans' longstanding desire for local control can be seen in the 1874 state constitution, which has been described by one scholar of Arkansas politics as \"specifically designed to protect citizens from possible oppression by their own state government.\" \"Pervasive distrust of government,\" Diane Blair said, \"is expressed in almost every section of the 1874 document.\"2 The document, for example, sharply limited the governor's power to appoint officials and allowed his vetoes to be overridden by a simple majority, while rendering the legislature a part-time institution with strictly limited taxing authority. With a constitution that marginalized state government, power and influence fell to local elites who wielded a significant amount of control over elected officials at the local and state levels.3 That Arkansans proved particularly stubborn in their adherence to localistic republicanism is suggested by the fact that Arkansas remained one of the few states without a statewide law enforcement agency in January 1935. Tracing the repeated efforts to create a state police force shows just how deep this ideology ran, even though such a body, like many other Progressive-era agencies, had the potential to provide numerous benefits for the state's residents. The ultimate success of the state police movement, therefore, represented a significant turning point, both symbolic and actual, in Arkansans' understanding of state government and its role in their daily lives. As 1935 dawned, few obvious signs existed that Arkansans' suspicion of a statewide police force would be overcome, especially considering the dire financial straits in which many of the state's residents found themselves. Arkansas had never been a rich state and the decline of cotton prices in the 192Os coupled with the advent of the Great Depression in 1929 led to economic and social disaster by the early 1930s. The outlook for impoverished Arkansans darkened even further in late 1934 when the Federal Emergency Relief Administration threatened to cut off all federal assistance to more than 400,000 people within the state unless the legislature committed $1.5 million in matching funds by March 1935.4 While resolving the state's financial crisis and locating matching funds were","PeriodicalId":51953,"journal":{"name":"ARKANSAS HISTORICAL QUARTERLY","volume":"64 1","pages":"353"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2005-12-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://sci-hub-pdf.com/10.2307/40023349","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"68704721","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
HISTORIANS AND THE WIDER PUBLIC often view the civil rights movement primarily as a struggle for black freedom and equality unfolding between the mid-1950s and mid-1960s and led by Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. This King-centered narrative begins with such seminal events as the U.S. Supreme Court's 1954 Brown v. Board of Education school desegregation ruling and the 1955-56 Montgomery bus boycott, which, along with the subsequent formation of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC), propelled King into a national leadership position. It takes in landmark events that include the 1957 Little Rock crisis, the 1960 lunch-counter sit-in movement and the formation of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC), the 1961 Freedom Rides launched by the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE), the 1963 March on Washington, the 1964 Mississippi Freedom Summer, and various community-based campaigns run by King and the SCLC, most notably in Birmingham (1963) and Selma (1965). The narrative culminates in the passage of the 1964 Civil Rights Act, which ended segregation in public facilities and accommodations, and the 1965 Voting Rights Act, which removed obstacles to the black franchise in some southern states and provided active federal assistance to many southern black voters.1 While these achievements are important and quite rightly celebrated, this narrative tends to highlight the movement's successes and downplay its limitations and failures. Community studies have deepened our understanding of civil rights activism at local and state levels, exploring the origins of the movement prior to the 1950s and its legacies beyond the 1960s. But such studies often mirror the national civil rights narrative by focusing on the same principal issues of desegregation and voting rights.2 A different approach by urban historians has offered an important challenge to the way that we conceptualize the civil rights movement. Studies by Thomas Sugrue, Arnold Hirsch, and others, have explored the role of race and urban development in cities across the United States.3 In doing so, they have shifted the focus of historians from the short-term battles for desegregation and voting rights to the longer-term structural issues of urban planning and neighborhood development. This shift has in turn forced attention both on areas in which the civil rights movement failed to have a decisive impact and to relatively neglected episodes within the civil rights canon. These include, for example, Martin Luther King, Jr. and the SCLC's 1965-66 Chicago campaign, which failed in its bid to win "open housing" for blacks in that northern city, and the failure of a 1966 civil rights bill that contained fair housing proposals.4 Studies by urban historians suggest that to understand the wider implications of the civil rights struggle we need to broaden our focus beyond what have been traditionally perceived as the key issues and to pay more attention to those areas where the move
{"title":"\"A Study in Second Class Citizenship\": Race, Urban Development, and Little Rock's Gillam Park, 1934-2004","authors":"J. A. Kirk","doi":"10.2307/40028048","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/40028048","url":null,"abstract":"HISTORIANS AND THE WIDER PUBLIC often view the civil rights movement primarily as a struggle for black freedom and equality unfolding between the mid-1950s and mid-1960s and led by Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. This King-centered narrative begins with such seminal events as the U.S. Supreme Court's 1954 Brown v. Board of Education school desegregation ruling and the 1955-56 Montgomery bus boycott, which, along with the subsequent formation of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC), propelled King into a national leadership position. It takes in landmark events that include the 1957 Little Rock crisis, the 1960 lunch-counter sit-in movement and the formation of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC), the 1961 Freedom Rides launched by the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE), the 1963 March on Washington, the 1964 Mississippi Freedom Summer, and various community-based campaigns run by King and the SCLC, most notably in Birmingham (1963) and Selma (1965). The narrative culminates in the passage of the 1964 Civil Rights Act, which ended segregation in public facilities and accommodations, and the 1965 Voting Rights Act, which removed obstacles to the black franchise in some southern states and provided active federal assistance to many southern black voters.1 While these achievements are important and quite rightly celebrated, this narrative tends to highlight the movement's successes and downplay its limitations and failures. Community studies have deepened our understanding of civil rights activism at local and state levels, exploring the origins of the movement prior to the 1950s and its legacies beyond the 1960s. But such studies often mirror the national civil rights narrative by focusing on the same principal issues of desegregation and voting rights.2 A different approach by urban historians has offered an important challenge to the way that we conceptualize the civil rights movement. Studies by Thomas Sugrue, Arnold Hirsch, and others, have explored the role of race and urban development in cities across the United States.3 In doing so, they have shifted the focus of historians from the short-term battles for desegregation and voting rights to the longer-term structural issues of urban planning and neighborhood development. This shift has in turn forced attention both on areas in which the civil rights movement failed to have a decisive impact and to relatively neglected episodes within the civil rights canon. These include, for example, Martin Luther King, Jr. and the SCLC's 1965-66 Chicago campaign, which failed in its bid to win \"open housing\" for blacks in that northern city, and the failure of a 1966 civil rights bill that contained fair housing proposals.4 Studies by urban historians suggest that to understand the wider implications of the civil rights struggle we need to broaden our focus beyond what have been traditionally perceived as the key issues and to pay more attention to those areas where the move","PeriodicalId":51953,"journal":{"name":"ARKANSAS HISTORICAL QUARTERLY","volume":"64 1","pages":"262"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2005-10-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://sci-hub-pdf.com/10.2307/40028048","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"68724008","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Radio and the Struggle for Civil Rights in the South. By Brian Ward. (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2004. Pp. xiv, 437. Foreword by John David Smith, acknowledgements, abbreviations, introduction, illustrations, notes, bibliography, index. $39.95.) At the height of the civil rights movement, radio, more so than television or print media, served as African Americans' main source of news and entertainment. Scholars, however, have generally overlooked this essential element of African-American life. Brian Ward, in Radio and the Struggle for Civil Rights in the South, fills this significant gap in the historiography of the civil rights movement with a richly detailed analysis of the role radio played in the black freedom struggle during the middle decades of the twentieth century. Ward's book is divided into three chronological parts. In part one, he examines the ways national civil rights organizations, namely the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People and the National Urban League, attempted to use radio between 1930 and 1960 to rally white support for the fight against Jim Crow. He also looks at efforts by white organizations, specifically the Commission on Interracial Cooperation and the Southern Regional Council, to better race relations through racially progressive programs. Ward's exhaustive research makes clear that the programs that these groups sponsored challenged racial stereotypes and social norms. His claim that these programs "helped to change the nation's attitudes toward African Americans and southern racial practices," however, is less than convincing given the near total refusal of southern radio stations to air them and the enduring indifference to problems confronting African Americans in places where these programs were broadcast (p. 22). Also, while the effort of civil rights organizations to win airtime for black programs is both important and fascinating, to say that it was "foundational" for black protest, as does Ward, is a stretch in light of the fact that those who participated in the bus boycotts of the 1950s and the students who ignited the direct action protests of the 1960s were unlikely to have heard many, if any, of these broadcasts. Part one, therefore, tells us less about the origins of the civil rights movement than Ward maintains. Part two considers how civil rights groups, individual activists, and sympathetic broadcasters used radio to support and report on southern black activism during the peak years of the civil rights struggle. …
{"title":"Radio and the Struggle for Civil Rights in the South","authors":"H. Jeffries, Brian Ward","doi":"10.2307/27649462","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/27649462","url":null,"abstract":"Radio and the Struggle for Civil Rights in the South. By Brian Ward. (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2004. Pp. xiv, 437. Foreword by John David Smith, acknowledgements, abbreviations, introduction, illustrations, notes, bibliography, index. $39.95.) At the height of the civil rights movement, radio, more so than television or print media, served as African Americans' main source of news and entertainment. Scholars, however, have generally overlooked this essential element of African-American life. Brian Ward, in Radio and the Struggle for Civil Rights in the South, fills this significant gap in the historiography of the civil rights movement with a richly detailed analysis of the role radio played in the black freedom struggle during the middle decades of the twentieth century. Ward's book is divided into three chronological parts. In part one, he examines the ways national civil rights organizations, namely the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People and the National Urban League, attempted to use radio between 1930 and 1960 to rally white support for the fight against Jim Crow. He also looks at efforts by white organizations, specifically the Commission on Interracial Cooperation and the Southern Regional Council, to better race relations through racially progressive programs. Ward's exhaustive research makes clear that the programs that these groups sponsored challenged racial stereotypes and social norms. His claim that these programs \"helped to change the nation's attitudes toward African Americans and southern racial practices,\" however, is less than convincing given the near total refusal of southern radio stations to air them and the enduring indifference to problems confronting African Americans in places where these programs were broadcast (p. 22). Also, while the effort of civil rights organizations to win airtime for black programs is both important and fascinating, to say that it was \"foundational\" for black protest, as does Ward, is a stretch in light of the fact that those who participated in the bus boycotts of the 1950s and the students who ignited the direct action protests of the 1960s were unlikely to have heard many, if any, of these broadcasts. Part one, therefore, tells us less about the origins of the civil rights movement than Ward maintains. Part two considers how civil rights groups, individual activists, and sympathetic broadcasters used radio to support and report on southern black activism during the peak years of the civil rights struggle. …","PeriodicalId":51953,"journal":{"name":"ARKANSAS HISTORICAL QUARTERLY","volume":"64 1","pages":"338"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2005-10-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://sci-hub-pdf.com/10.2307/27649462","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"68440473","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
DURING THE CIVIL WAR, Arkansas contributed an estimated 60,000 soldiers to the Confederate States of America. Union sentiment remained strong in northwest Arkansas, however, and the state is also credited with sending approximately 10,000 men to the Federal army, constituting ten infantry regiments or battalions, four cavalry regiments, and two artillery batteries.1 The most famous of these unionist regiments was the 1st Arkansas Cavalry, an organization composed mostly of refugees from northwest Arkansas and southwest Missouri. Marcus LaRue Harrison, a thirty-two-year-old New Yorker and member of the 36th Illinois Infantry, was authorized to recruit the 1st Arkansas Cavalry in 1862. Commissioned a colonel, Harrison began organizing the regiment in June at Springfield, Missouri, and by October had raised the required twelve companies.2 During the unit's three-year existence, the "Mountain Feds" of the 1st Arkansas spent the majority of their time patrolling the region between Fayetteville, Arkansas, and Springfield as scouts for Federal forces.3 They also fought Confederate guerrilla bands and regular forces and actively protected pro-Union civilians. Despite being routed at the battle of Prairie Grove in December 1862, the troopers of the 1st Arkansas quickly recovered and, in the words of a recent historian of the guerrilla war in Arkansas, "became the primary counter-guerrilla unit in the northern part of the state. "4 Yet, apart from scattered official reports and a few other contemporary pieces of evidence, little is recorded of the activities of the 1st Arkansas. Fortunately for historians, Priv. William E. McDowell, a member of Company G, penned his recollections of army life for a small Missouri newspaper, the Crane Chronicle, in 1915 and 1916. In his nine letters to the Chronicle, McDowell did not attempt to write a comprehensive unit history but instead recalled certain incidents during his service with Union forces, first as a member of the Stone County (Missouri) Home Guards in 1861 and then as part of the 1st Arkansas from 1862 until 1865. Despite the selective and inevitably retrospective nature of McDowell's recollections, his short newspaper contributions provide details about the experience of an ordinary soldier in Arkansas and help capture the unique character of the Civil War in southwest Missouri and northwest Arkansas. One of twelve children, William E. McDowell was born on January 31, 1840, in Stone County, Missouri. His parents, Wiley and Margaret Williams McDowell, had moved to southwest Missouri from Kentucky in 1838. They began farming along Flat Creek, one mile northeast of the town of Cape Fair. In 1852, McDowell s mother died. Two years later, his father married a widow, Nancy Dennis, and moved to a farm near Galena. A staunch Democrat and well-known member of the community, Wiley lived on that farm until his death in 1875.5 As a young boy, McDowell worked on the family s Ozarks farms and in a sawmill. In spring 1861
在南北战争期间，阿肯色为美利坚联盟国贡献了大约6万名士兵。然而，在阿肯色西北部，联邦情绪仍然很强烈，该州也向联邦军队派遣了大约1万人，包括10个步兵团或营、4个骑兵团和两个炮兵连这些联合主义团中最著名的是第一阿肯色骑兵团，这个组织主要由来自阿肯色西北部和密苏里州西南部的难民组成。马库斯·拉鲁·哈里森，一个32岁的纽约人，伊利诺斯州第36步兵团的一员，1862年被授权招募阿肯色第1骑兵。6月，哈里森任命一名上校在密苏里州的斯普林菲尔德开始组织这个团，到10月，他已经召集了所需的12个连在这支部队存在的三年里，第1阿肯色“山地联邦军”大部分时间都在阿肯色费耶特维尔和斯普林菲尔德之间的地区巡逻，为联邦部队充当侦察兵他们还与邦联游击队和正规军作战，并积极保护亲联邦的平民。尽管在1862年12月的草原格罗夫战役中溃不成军，但阿肯色第一师的骑兵们很快就恢复了战斗力，用一位研究阿肯色游击战的历史学家的话来说，他们“成为了该州北部主要的反游击战部队”。然而，除了零星的官方报告和一些同时代的证据，关于第一代阿肯色人的活动几乎没有记录。对于历史学家来说，幸运的是，G连的成员威廉·e·麦克道尔(William E. McDowell)在1915年和1916年为密苏里州的一家小报纸《克莱恩纪事报》(Crane Chronicle)撰写了他对军队生活的回忆。在他写给《纪事报》的九封信中，麦克道尔并没有试图写一篇全面的部队历史，而是回忆了他在联邦部队服役期间的一些事件，先是1861年作为密苏里州斯通县家庭卫队的一员，然后是1862年至1865年作为阿肯色州第一团的一员。尽管麦克道尔的回忆具有选择性和不可避免的回顾性，但他在报纸上发表的简短文章提供了阿肯色州一名普通士兵经历的细节，并有助于捕捉密苏里州西南部和阿肯色州西北部内战的独特特征。威廉·e·麦克道尔于1840年1月31日出生在密苏里州的斯通县，家里有12个孩子。他的父母威利和玛格丽特·威廉姆斯·麦克道尔于1838年从肯塔基州搬到密苏里州西南部。他们开始在开普费尔镇东北一英里的平坦溪(Flat Creek)沿岸耕种。1852年，麦克道尔的母亲去世了。两年后，他的父亲娶了一位寡妇南希·丹尼斯，并搬到了加利纳附近的一个农场。威利是一个坚定的民主党人，也是社区的知名成员，他一直住在那个农场，直到18755年去世。小时候，麦克道尔在奥扎克家族的农场和一家锯木厂工作。1861年春，随着地区危机席卷全国，麦克道尔宣布他忠于联邦，加入了威廉·a·卡尔上尉的B连——斯通县家庭卫队。该公司在斯通县和巴里县服务，但于1861年11月6日解散。许多国民自卫军成员后来在其他联邦组织服役(一份资料甚至声称，斯通县国民自卫军的每个人都参加了在阿肯色州西北部和密苏里州西南部组建的其他一个团)。由于斯通县离阿肯色州很近，许多居民加入了第一阿肯色军团。6 1862年春天，麦克道尔回到了农场，在怀特河沿岸种下了庄稼。然而，他发现照料庄稼很困难，因为他总是要躲避偷猎者。事实上，他曾两次被俘，并被叛军暂时扣押。麦克道尔很快就厌倦了这种“农业和战争的混合”，决定再次拿起武器保卫联邦。．．．
{"title":"Life with the Mountain Feds: The Civil War Reminiscences of William McDowell, 1st Arkansas Cavalry","authors":"J. L. Patrick, M. Price, W. McDowell","doi":"10.2307/40028049","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/40028049","url":null,"abstract":"DURING THE CIVIL WAR, Arkansas contributed an estimated 60,000 soldiers to the Confederate States of America. Union sentiment remained strong in northwest Arkansas, however, and the state is also credited with sending approximately 10,000 men to the Federal army, constituting ten infantry regiments or battalions, four cavalry regiments, and two artillery batteries.1 The most famous of these unionist regiments was the 1st Arkansas Cavalry, an organization composed mostly of refugees from northwest Arkansas and southwest Missouri. Marcus LaRue Harrison, a thirty-two-year-old New Yorker and member of the 36th Illinois Infantry, was authorized to recruit the 1st Arkansas Cavalry in 1862. Commissioned a colonel, Harrison began organizing the regiment in June at Springfield, Missouri, and by October had raised the required twelve companies.2 During the unit's three-year existence, the \"Mountain Feds\" of the 1st Arkansas spent the majority of their time patrolling the region between Fayetteville, Arkansas, and Springfield as scouts for Federal forces.3 They also fought Confederate guerrilla bands and regular forces and actively protected pro-Union civilians. Despite being routed at the battle of Prairie Grove in December 1862, the troopers of the 1st Arkansas quickly recovered and, in the words of a recent historian of the guerrilla war in Arkansas, \"became the primary counter-guerrilla unit in the northern part of the state. \"4 Yet, apart from scattered official reports and a few other contemporary pieces of evidence, little is recorded of the activities of the 1st Arkansas. Fortunately for historians, Priv. William E. McDowell, a member of Company G, penned his recollections of army life for a small Missouri newspaper, the Crane Chronicle, in 1915 and 1916. In his nine letters to the Chronicle, McDowell did not attempt to write a comprehensive unit history but instead recalled certain incidents during his service with Union forces, first as a member of the Stone County (Missouri) Home Guards in 1861 and then as part of the 1st Arkansas from 1862 until 1865. Despite the selective and inevitably retrospective nature of McDowell's recollections, his short newspaper contributions provide details about the experience of an ordinary soldier in Arkansas and help capture the unique character of the Civil War in southwest Missouri and northwest Arkansas. One of twelve children, William E. McDowell was born on January 31, 1840, in Stone County, Missouri. His parents, Wiley and Margaret Williams McDowell, had moved to southwest Missouri from Kentucky in 1838. They began farming along Flat Creek, one mile northeast of the town of Cape Fair. In 1852, McDowell s mother died. Two years later, his father married a widow, Nancy Dennis, and moved to a farm near Galena. A staunch Democrat and well-known member of the community, Wiley lived on that farm until his death in 1875.5 As a young boy, McDowell worked on the family s Ozarks farms and in a sawmill. In spring 1861","PeriodicalId":51953,"journal":{"name":"ARKANSAS HISTORICAL QUARTERLY","volume":"217 1","pages":"287"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2005-10-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://sci-hub-pdf.com/10.2307/40028049","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"68724090","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
BETWEEN 1930 AND 1970, almost fifteen million Americans left their homes and farms to seek new opportunities in other states, one of the largest population movements in American history.1 When popular literature and television documentaries describe this migration, the story usually involves black migrants who ride the Illinois Central out of the Mississippi Delta in a desperate escape from the malevolent effects of the mechanical cotton picker.2 Yet this population movement involved more white migrants than black, and they headed to destinations all over the country. These migrants were searching for better jobs rather than fleeing mechanization. Arkansas's role in the Great Migration has been a closely guarded secret, or just ignored. Perhaps because migrants made a statement about Arkansas that is unsettling, most Arkansas historians have paid little attention to their leaving, though the migration was the largest domestic event of World-War-II-era and postwar Arkansas. C. Calvin Smith's study of Arkansas during World War II focuses on economic hardship and injustice and criticizes the failure of the state government to address these issues. By neglecting to mention migration, he ignores what people themselves did to better their lives. For all its encyclopedic coverage, Michael Dougan's Arkansas Odyssey makes only casual references to migration and twentiethcentury population changes. The textbook Arkansas: A Narrative History, by Jeannie Whayne, Thomas DeBlack, George Sabo, and Morris Arnold, does not even include the terms "migration" or "population" in the index, surely an indication of perceived lack of importance.3 Other historians have treated migration at somewhat greater length. S. Charles Bolton has, in an essay, briefly commented on population losses during World War II and their effect on the state's economic development. In Arkansas in Modern America, Ben Johnson declares, "The state's most dramatic net loss was its people," thereby placing migration more firmly within the framework of Arkansas history. Brooks Blevins's Hill Folks presents a valuable discussion of migration both into and out of the Arkansas Ozarks, showing how population changes shaped the region.4 Yet we still lack a comprehensive treatment of migration's impact on the state as a whole. Migration represents one of the most enduring forces shaping Arkansas history. Pioneers emigrating mostly from Tennessee, Alabama, and Georgia settled the state in the first half of the nineteenth century.5 After the Civil War, Arkansas continued to gain population from in-migration. The state government, planters, and railroads encouraged settlement during this period, soliciting people from as far away as China, Germany, and Italy.6 Unfortunately, good land soon ran out, leaving many of the state's rural areas overpopulated in relation to arable soil. The earliest out-migration, beginning in the 1890s, was in part a response to this fundamental problem. Population losses continu
1930年至1970年间，近1500万美国人离开家园和农场到其他州寻找新的机会，这是美国历史上规模最大的人口流动之一当通俗文学和电视纪录片描述这种迁移时，故事通常涉及黑人移民，他们骑着伊利诺伊中央号汽车离开密西西比三角洲，绝望地逃离机械采棉机的恶劣影响然而，这次人口流动涉及的白人移民多于黑人，他们前往全国各地的目的地。这些移民是为了寻找更好的工作，而不是为了逃离机械化。阿肯色州在大迁徙中的作用一直是一个严守的秘密，或者只是被忽视了。也许是因为移民对阿肯色州的看法令人不安，大多数阿肯色州历史学家很少关注他们的离开，尽管移民是二战时期和战后阿肯色州国内最大的事件。C.卡尔文·史密斯对第二次世界大战期间阿肯色州的研究关注于经济困难和不公正，并批评州政府未能解决这些问题。由于忽略了移民，他忽略了人们自己为改善生活所做的一切。迈克尔·杜根(Michael Dougan)的《阿肯色奥德赛》(Arkansas Odyssey)虽然内容丰富，但对移民和20世纪的人口变化只字片语。由珍妮·韦恩、托马斯·德布莱克、乔治·萨博和莫里斯·阿诺德编写的教科书《阿肯色:一段叙事性的历史》甚至没有把“移民”或“人口”这两个词包括在索引中，这无疑是一种被认为不重要的迹象其他历史学家对移民问题的研究更为详尽。S. Charles Bolton在一篇文章中简要评论了第二次世界大战期间的人口损失及其对该州经济发展的影响。在《现代美国的阿肯色州》一书中，本•约翰逊(Ben Johnson)宣称，“该州最引人注目的净损失是它的人口”，从而将移民问题更牢固地置于阿肯色州历史的框架内。布鲁克斯·布莱文斯的《山民》对迁入和迁出阿肯色奥扎克地区的移民进行了有价值的讨论，展示了人口变化如何塑造了该地区然而，我们仍然缺乏对移民对整个国家影响的全面处理。移民是影响阿肯色州历史的最持久的力量之一。19世纪上半叶，主要来自田纳西州、阿拉巴马州和乔治亚州的拓荒者在该州定居下来内战结束后，阿肯色州继续从移民中获得人口。在这一时期，州政府、种植园主和铁路都鼓励移民，从遥远的中国、德国和意大利吸引来移民。不幸的是，良田很快就耗尽了，导致该州许多农村地区人口过剩，相对于可耕地而言。最早的外迁始于19世纪90年代，在一定程度上是对这一根本问题的回应。在二十世纪的头二十年，人口继续减少。在20世纪20年代，阿肯色州失去了近20万人，创下了当时的最高纪录。在经济萧条的20世纪30年代，移民的速度略有放缓，但到了20世纪40年代，当国民经济转向战争生产时，以前一直稳定的移民流变成了洪水泛滥。事实上，从1890年到1970年，阿肯色州的人口每十年就会减少一次。尽管如此，移民问题仍然是该州过去最缺乏研究的话题之一。我们对这些20世纪的移民所知甚少:他们去了哪里，为什么离开，他们是谁，他们做什么工作，或者他们的离开对他们的祖国产生了什么影响。事实上，我们忽略了移民对战后农业、政治甚至民权的影响。在移民高峰期，观察阿肯色州情况的人对该州的人口流失感到震惊。1940年，阿肯色大学农村经济学家威廉·H. ...
{"title":"Leaving the Land of Opportunity: Arkansas and the Great Migration","authors":"D. Holley","doi":"10.2307/40028047","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/40028047","url":null,"abstract":"BETWEEN 1930 AND 1970, almost fifteen million Americans left their homes and farms to seek new opportunities in other states, one of the largest population movements in American history.1 When popular literature and television documentaries describe this migration, the story usually involves black migrants who ride the Illinois Central out of the Mississippi Delta in a desperate escape from the malevolent effects of the mechanical cotton picker.2 Yet this population movement involved more white migrants than black, and they headed to destinations all over the country. These migrants were searching for better jobs rather than fleeing mechanization. Arkansas's role in the Great Migration has been a closely guarded secret, or just ignored. Perhaps because migrants made a statement about Arkansas that is unsettling, most Arkansas historians have paid little attention to their leaving, though the migration was the largest domestic event of World-War-II-era and postwar Arkansas. C. Calvin Smith's study of Arkansas during World War II focuses on economic hardship and injustice and criticizes the failure of the state government to address these issues. By neglecting to mention migration, he ignores what people themselves did to better their lives. For all its encyclopedic coverage, Michael Dougan's Arkansas Odyssey makes only casual references to migration and twentiethcentury population changes. The textbook Arkansas: A Narrative History, by Jeannie Whayne, Thomas DeBlack, George Sabo, and Morris Arnold, does not even include the terms \"migration\" or \"population\" in the index, surely an indication of perceived lack of importance.3 Other historians have treated migration at somewhat greater length. S. Charles Bolton has, in an essay, briefly commented on population losses during World War II and their effect on the state's economic development. In Arkansas in Modern America, Ben Johnson declares, \"The state's most dramatic net loss was its people,\" thereby placing migration more firmly within the framework of Arkansas history. Brooks Blevins's Hill Folks presents a valuable discussion of migration both into and out of the Arkansas Ozarks, showing how population changes shaped the region.4 Yet we still lack a comprehensive treatment of migration's impact on the state as a whole. Migration represents one of the most enduring forces shaping Arkansas history. Pioneers emigrating mostly from Tennessee, Alabama, and Georgia settled the state in the first half of the nineteenth century.5 After the Civil War, Arkansas continued to gain population from in-migration. The state government, planters, and railroads encouraged settlement during this period, soliciting people from as far away as China, Germany, and Italy.6 Unfortunately, good land soon ran out, leaving many of the state's rural areas overpopulated in relation to arable soil. The earliest out-migration, beginning in the 1890s, was in part a response to this fundamental problem. Population losses continu","PeriodicalId":51953,"journal":{"name":"ARKANSAS HISTORICAL QUARTERLY","volume":"64 1","pages":"245"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2005-10-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://sci-hub-pdf.com/10.2307/40028047","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"68723965","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"Rough Justice: Lynching and American Society, 1847-1947","authors":"Vincent Vinikas, Michael J. Pfeifer","doi":"10.2307/40028060","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/40028060","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":51953,"journal":{"name":"ARKANSAS HISTORICAL QUARTERLY","volume":"64 1","pages":"337"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2005-10-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://sci-hub-pdf.com/10.2307/40028060","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"68724572","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
No one knew the truths of slavery better than the slaves themselves, but no one consulted them until the 1930s. Then, recognizing that this generation of unique witnesses would soon be lost to history, the Works Progress Administration's Federal Writers' Project acted to interview as many former slaves as possible. In a continuation of the project's interest in the life histories of ordinary people, writers interviewed over two thousand former slaves, over a third of them in Arkansas. These oral histories were first published in the 1970s in a thirty-nine-volume series organized by state, and they transformed America's understanding of slavery. They have offered crucial evidence on a variety of other topics as well: the Civil War, Reconstruction, agricultural practices, everyday life, and oral history itself. But some former Arkansas slaves were interviewed in Texas, Oklahoma, and other states, so their narratives were published in those other collections. And more than half of the testimonies in the Arkansas volume were interviews with people who had moved to Arkansas after freedom. Folklorist George Lankford combed all of the state collections for the testimonies properly belonging to Arkansas and deleted from this state's collection the testimony of later migrants. This new collection brings together all 176 of the Arkansas slave narratives for the first time. Lankford's introduction describes how the Arkansas Writer's Project worked. He also evaluates how twenty-first-century readers might encounter the 1930s of interviews and the 1860s of memories. Challenges include the facts that the interviews were transcribed in dialect and that the circumstances of the interviews, includingthe race of the interviewers, might have shaped testimonies. Appendices include an alphabetical index of the former slaves and a list matching interviewers with narrators, noting the race of the interviewers.
{"title":"Bearing Witness: Memories of Arkansas Slavery Narratives from the 1930s WPA Collections","authors":"G. Lankford","doi":"10.2307/40031062","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/40031062","url":null,"abstract":"No one knew the truths of slavery better than the slaves themselves, but no one consulted them until the 1930s. Then, recognizing that this generation of unique witnesses would soon be lost to history, the Works Progress Administration's Federal Writers' Project acted to interview as many former slaves as possible. In a continuation of the project's interest in the life histories of ordinary people, writers interviewed over two thousand former slaves, over a third of them in Arkansas. These oral histories were first published in the 1970s in a thirty-nine-volume series organized by state, and they transformed America's understanding of slavery. They have offered crucial evidence on a variety of other topics as well: the Civil War, Reconstruction, agricultural practices, everyday life, and oral history itself. But some former Arkansas slaves were interviewed in Texas, Oklahoma, and other states, so their narratives were published in those other collections. And more than half of the testimonies in the Arkansas volume were interviews with people who had moved to Arkansas after freedom. Folklorist George Lankford combed all of the state collections for the testimonies properly belonging to Arkansas and deleted from this state's collection the testimony of later migrants. This new collection brings together all 176 of the Arkansas slave narratives for the first time. Lankford's introduction describes how the Arkansas Writer's Project worked. He also evaluates how twenty-first-century readers might encounter the 1930s of interviews and the 1860s of memories. Challenges include the facts that the interviews were transcribed in dialect and that the circumstances of the interviews, includingthe race of the interviewers, might have shaped testimonies. Appendices include an alphabetical index of the former slaves and a list matching interviewers with narrators, noting the race of the interviewers.","PeriodicalId":51953,"journal":{"name":"ARKANSAS HISTORICAL QUARTERLY","volume":"64 1","pages":"214"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2005-07-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://sci-hub-pdf.com/10.2307/40031062","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"68735571","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
LIKE EVERY STATE, ARKANSAS is represented by two figures in Statuary Hall at the U.S. Capitol. One is a statue of U. M. Rose. Perhaps best known in modern times as the namesake of a Little Rock law firm that by the 1990s had become nationally famous, Rose was recognized by his contemporaries as one of Arkansas's greatest lawyers. His career placed him at the center of key political and legal developments from the Civil War well into the Progressive Era. Uriah Milton Rose's ancestors hailed from Virginia, where Rose's father, Joseph Rose, was born. But upon receiving his medical degree, Dr. Rose moved to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and established a practice. While there, Dr. Rose invested in a glass company that failed, leaving the family deeply in debt. His father's struggle to pay that debt over the next twenty-five years left a great impression on U. M. Rose, who recalled, "My earliest recollections are painfully connected with that terrible debt, the skeleton in the family closet."1 Dr. Rose moved to Kentucky in 1824, acquired a 400-acre farm near Bradfordsville, and, a few years later, met and married Nancy Simpson. U. M. Rose remembered his mother as "a very domestic woman, of delicate constitution, but of untiring energy, and a most affectionate wife and mother."2 Rose was born on the farm in Bradfordsville, the third son (and the fifth child of his father), on March 5, 1834. Dr. Rose, a member of the Christian Church, then known as "Campbellites," and preoccupied with the Old Testament, named his son for the prophet Uriah. U. M. Rose disliked the name intensely and never used his full name when he could avoid it. Life changed dramatically for U. M. Rose when his mother died in 1848. His father quickly sank into depression and died the following April. The home place then went into the hands of an administrator, and the children were thrown out. Rose found work and a place to stay in the village store but soon realized that with his hours extending late into the night he had no time for education. He took work as a field hand for board and five dollars a month. Years later, in an address to graduates of the University of Arkansas, he reminisced: I can bring those days back to my mind with a good deal of clearness, and can remember that, with all the elasticity that belongs to youth, I spent in them a good many sad and despondent hours. My father and mother, upon whom I might have relied for assistance and advice, had died long before. I had neither wealth nor influential friends, nor any of those aids that smooth one's way towards success in life .... Every man and woman and child needs a home, a place of refuge, something to fall back on for new strength in case of misfortune or temporary defeat.... This I had not.3 After struggling several years, Rose hit upon a bit of luck. Rutherford Harrison Roundtree, an attorney traveling through the area (whom Rose later described as an "eminent, very intelligent and kindhearted lawyer"), called on h
{"title":"U. M. Rose: Arkansas Attorney","authors":"Allen W. Bird","doi":"10.2307/40031058","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.2307/40031058","url":null,"abstract":"LIKE EVERY STATE, ARKANSAS is represented by two figures in Statuary Hall at the U.S. Capitol. One is a statue of U. M. Rose. Perhaps best known in modern times as the namesake of a Little Rock law firm that by the 1990s had become nationally famous, Rose was recognized by his contemporaries as one of Arkansas's greatest lawyers. His career placed him at the center of key political and legal developments from the Civil War well into the Progressive Era. Uriah Milton Rose's ancestors hailed from Virginia, where Rose's father, Joseph Rose, was born. But upon receiving his medical degree, Dr. Rose moved to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and established a practice. While there, Dr. Rose invested in a glass company that failed, leaving the family deeply in debt. His father's struggle to pay that debt over the next twenty-five years left a great impression on U. M. Rose, who recalled, \"My earliest recollections are painfully connected with that terrible debt, the skeleton in the family closet.\"1 Dr. Rose moved to Kentucky in 1824, acquired a 400-acre farm near Bradfordsville, and, a few years later, met and married Nancy Simpson. U. M. Rose remembered his mother as \"a very domestic woman, of delicate constitution, but of untiring energy, and a most affectionate wife and mother.\"2 Rose was born on the farm in Bradfordsville, the third son (and the fifth child of his father), on March 5, 1834. Dr. Rose, a member of the Christian Church, then known as \"Campbellites,\" and preoccupied with the Old Testament, named his son for the prophet Uriah. U. M. Rose disliked the name intensely and never used his full name when he could avoid it. Life changed dramatically for U. M. Rose when his mother died in 1848. His father quickly sank into depression and died the following April. The home place then went into the hands of an administrator, and the children were thrown out. Rose found work and a place to stay in the village store but soon realized that with his hours extending late into the night he had no time for education. He took work as a field hand for board and five dollars a month. Years later, in an address to graduates of the University of Arkansas, he reminisced: I can bring those days back to my mind with a good deal of clearness, and can remember that, with all the elasticity that belongs to youth, I spent in them a good many sad and despondent hours. My father and mother, upon whom I might have relied for assistance and advice, had died long before. I had neither wealth nor influential friends, nor any of those aids that smooth one's way towards success in life .... Every man and woman and child needs a home, a place of refuge, something to fall back on for new strength in case of misfortune or temporary defeat.... This I had not.3 After struggling several years, Rose hit upon a bit of luck. Rutherford Harrison Roundtree, an attorney traveling through the area (whom Rose later described as an \"eminent, very intelligent and kindhearted lawyer\"), called on h","PeriodicalId":51953,"journal":{"name":"ARKANSAS HISTORICAL QUARTERLY","volume":"64 1","pages":"171"},"PeriodicalIF":0.0,"publicationDate":"2005-07-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://sci-hub-pdf.com/10.2307/40031058","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"68735688","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
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