On the night of April 18, 1775, hundreds of British troops set off from Boston toward Concord, Massachusetts, in order to seize weapons and ammunition stockpiled there by American colonists. Early the next morning, the British reached Lexington, where approximately 70 minutemen had gathered on the village green. Someone suddenly fired a shot—it’s uncertain which side—and a melee ensued. When the brief clash ended, eight Americans lay dead and at least an equal amount were injured, while one redcoat was wounded…
The British continued on to nearby Concord, where that same day they encountered armed resistance from a group of patriots at the town’s North Bridge. Gunfire was exchanged, leaving two colonists and three redcoats dead. The British retreated back to Boston, skirmishing with colonial militiamen along the way and suffering a number of casualties; the Revolutionary War had begun.
The incident at the North Bridge later was memorialized by Ralph Waldo Emerson in his 1837 poem “Concord Hymn.” The opening stanza is: “By the rude bridge that arched the flood/Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled/Here once the embattled farmers stood/And fired the shot heard round the world.”
The first shots were fired at Lexington, but the first documented occasion on which colonial minutemen were ordered to fire upon British soldiers (and did) was on the North Bridge at Concord. That was what many would point to as the first official act of outright treason committed by the colonists and marked the beginning of open, violent rebellion in Massachusetts.
Your job is to read through the available primary sources and determine exactly what happened at Lexington and Concord. Who fired first? How do you know? And how do you explain any sources which don’t support your conclusions?
One of the most crushing things about doing summer training online this year was having to sacrifice some of my favorite and most effective activities. I haven’t found a meaningful way to do Causes, Triggers, Events, and Results in a long-distance format, nor did my “Oh No, Not Another Reading Strategy!” small group introduction to Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass pan out. I was especially distraught that there was no practical way to do any of the document activities of which I’m so proud and which have been so successful in class as well as with educators. I’m not saying none of these are possible, but I was unable to figure out a way to make them work in the time I had available.
(I know, you all feel so horrible for me right now. Clearly, my straight white male life is far more difficult and filled with suffering than others could even imagine. Boo, plus hoo.)
Still, I wanted to try to capture SOME of the benefits of a good document activity. I remembered references in some teacher book I’d read a few years ago to something similar involving the “Shot Heard ‘Round the World.” I did some poking around and found about a dozen variations of the activity, none of which quite fit what I wanted to do. The National Park Service has several of the better iterations for free on their website; the two I found most useful are available as PDF downloads from https://www.nps.gov/mima/learn/education/curriculummaterials.htm.
By way of introduction and skill-rehearsal, I added a “football game” document activity I lifted with only minor edits from an amazing AP World teacher and consultant named Jonathan Henderson. Several of his versions are posted to his website. I appreciate him not suing me for incorporating them; I think they set up the ‘legit’ part of the activity quite effectively. That’s no surprise – pretty much everything he shares is brilliant.
Because of time constrictions, I was only able to try the activity with one group, but they were amazing. I haven’t used this version with students yet, and this one won’t fit my current assignment anytime soon. So, if you decide to give this one a shot (no pun intended) as is or after making your own modifications, I’d love to hear what you did and how it went. I’ve intentionally decided not to offer too much else by way of “how” to run the activity, let alone offer a list of steps. As with any activity, how you use it depends less on knowing how I do and more on your style, your class, your goals, etc.
You should be able to easily make a copy for yourself which you can then edit as you see fit. I’d love to know how it goes.
These are complicated times, and in the interest of serving ALL students (and avoiding as many problems with parents as possible), I’m renewing my commitment to avoid pushing my own personal values and ideology and just sticking to the facts.
It’s not that hard in early American history. I mean, sure – there’s the issue of Columbus and whether he “discovered” America or not. Rather than give my own opinions, I just give kids facts. I’ve prepared a sheet of links to over 200 scholarly sources and primary documentation for them to peruse at their leisure, and they can decide for themselves whether or not what Columbus did was “good” or “bad,” or whether the Vikings got here first, or the Chinese, or that guy from Africa whose name I can never remember.
The whole clash of early settlers and the natives can be a little tricky, but no worries – I just present all sides of the issues and let my 8th and 9th graders figure out what it all means. It’s not my job to label something as “genocide” or “natural progress” or “God’s will.” Maybe smallpox blankets were a tacky move, maybe not. Maybe scalping and raping and burning down homes and bashing out babies’ brains was savage, maybe not. There were good people on both sides.
I’ve compiled some sketches from the impacted tribes along with a few scraps of sympathetic white accounts, some primary sources from European colonists, and deleted scenes from the Director’s Cut of Pocahontas. (I realize some would argue the Disney movie isn’t an accurate portrayal of history, but as I’ve already explained, I’m trying not to take sides.)
Young people are naturally interested in the Salem Witchcraft Trials. It’s a topic that’s become so sensationalized in our culture that it’s used as an analogy for everything from the anti-Communist hysteria of the mid-20th century to any effort to hold elected leaders accountable for poor behavior. You think I’m wading into THAT minefield when we cover it in class? No way!
Instead, I’ve got the trial transcripts in the King James English, some commentary from Cotton Mather, and Samuel Sewell’s apology years after. Were the condemned actually witches? Not my call to make! Should we burn people at the stake for acting strange or based on the testimony of teenagers faking seizures? Maybe. Maybe not. I’m suggesting students read the transcripts and consult the dozens of scholarly analyses available to decide what really happened on their own. I’m trying not to take sides.
The American Revolution! Independence! Freedom! Yeah, also not going there. We’ll cover the documents and discuss some of the main events happening around that time, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea for me inflict my own perception of what “caused” the Revolution, let alone whether or not the rebels made the right call. Better I just share some random facts for them to connect (or not) on their own and leave my personal patriotism out of it.
Maybe America was something new and special, maybe it wasn’t. Maybe the Declaration of Independence is the finest document ever written, maybe it’s not. Maybe the Bill of Rights turned out to be a pretty good idea, and maybe it’s all crap we can ignore when inconvenient. I love those documents, those ideals, and even how beautifully they were phrased – but… I’m paid by tax dollars. Not here to brainwash. Stick to the facts.
So I’m not pushing my patriotism on kids any more than I’d try to convert them to my faith or expect them to conform to my own narrow ideas about civility and human decency. It’s not my place to tell them what to believe, just to provide un-curated information related to state standards and stand back. They may then peruse mankind’s collected writings at their convenience and decide for themselves whether or not representation should or should not be considered a prerequisite for taxation. I’m trying not to take sides.
Indian Removal, slavery, the Age of Jackson, the Civil War, Westward Expansion, War with Mexico, Imperialism – I refuse to get sucked in to ethical, philosophical, or religious discussions about “right” and “wrong.” It’s not my place to refute the idea that the moon landing was faked, that the earth is flat, or that immunizations cause autism.
It’s entirely possible science isn’t even a thing that happens. Perhaps it’s a massive worldwide conspiracy run by antifa agents and Bill Gates to support their child sex slavery pizza parlors and brainwash our children into becoming gay Muslims. Personally, I suspect science is a real thing but gets stuff wrong sometimes and not all scientists are as objective as we’d like. But I’m not committing either way on any of these hot-button issues. That’s not my place. I’m trying not to take sides.
I remember a young man asking me last year whether or not it was true that Africans had evolved in such a way as to be “well-suited” for slavery – that they had the “mark of Cain” and God had set them aside to serve whites and play basketball and that’s why they were so good at both. I was personally horrified, of course, but race is a loaded issue and, as I’ve been reminded repeatedly over the years, it’s not my place to inject my personal opinions in class. For a moment, I wasn’t sure how I’d be able to maintain my professional distancing as I’ve been so often berated to do.
I asked him to give me a day to consider what he’d asked. That evening, I compiled the writings of Frederick Douglass, James Baldwin, and nearly a hundred other black intellectuals in American history, along with the speeches of famous southerners, Klan leaders, and transcripts from several Mel Gibson films. I also provided links to some of the more violent white supremacy websites along with a suggestion he Google #BlackLivesMatter. If he really cares about the issue, he can spend the next several decades pouring over the studies, experiences, opinions, and diatribes of those on all sides of the issue. It’s really not my place to take a position on the “humanity” or “equality” of this group or that – especially when it might offend certain stakeholders in the community.
Students complain that other history teachers “tell them stories” about events in history or talk about famous historical figures. I’m like, woah! Spoon-fed, much? Telling stories is just a euphemism for “putting your own spin” on historical events, not to mention it requires deciding which events are important enough to discuss in the first place. That sounds like a job for your pastor, parents, or local politicians to decide.
Talking about “famous” figures is even worse. Some people consider Thomas Jefferson a Founding Father and an icon of American History. Others believe he’s a monster for his relationship with Sally Hemmings (one of his slaves). One side treasures his words and ideals, the other condemns his hypocrisy. You think I’m going to so much as MENTION him when literal blood is being spilt over whether or not to tear down his statue? The last thing we want to do is connect anything in the news with something from history – the mere suggestion that we can potentially shed light on current events by considering comparable events in our past can quickly become both a very unpleasant local news story and a fireable offense. This is “history” class, kids – not “people alive today” class. Look it up.
Seriously. Look it up. Alone on your own time and without any guidance. It’s not my job to help you sift through the overwhelming volume of noise and nonsense out there and decide which parts form a common national narrative. I’m just here to teach you the facts. You’re 15 – work out the rest on your own.
Was John Brown right to decapitate those settlers in front of their wives and kids? Not my call. Should women have the right to vote? Hard to say – there are good arguments on both sides. How well did Communism actually work out in the Soviet Union? Gosh, I dunno… there are all sorts of reasons they may have decided to move away from the “U.S.S.R.” thing and tear down that wall. Who am I to say? Did “executive privilege” place President Nixon above the law? Maybe – have to ask your parents about that one, not really an appropriate question for American Government class.
Was it necessary to execute all those Jews to save Germany? Maybe – I mean, I have some opinions on the subject along with research by experts who’ve spent lifetimes studying such things and exploring how such evils occur and why we don’t do more to speak out against them. But, I mean… there was a reason they threw the intellectuals in there with the homosexuals and the Gypsies, so maybe it’s best I avoid taking sides.
As it turns out, even my last recourse of “facts only” education presents a political and social dilemma. Honestly, I thought tossing my kids unguided into a forest filled with yellow ribbons was about as fair and balanced as any educated person could be expected to attempt. My narrow-minded ideology, however, that some things in history are supported by “evidence” while others simply aren’t (even while acknowledging that many topics fall somewhere in between) is apparently just as hurtful as when I suggested that websites ending in .edu or .gov might be slightly more reliable than Bubba’sConfederateBasement.com with all of its misspellings and that bright red twinkling background with the synthesized version of “Dixie” playing far too loudly.
I’ll do better. From now on, we won’t just cover facts. We’ll give equal time and merit to anything anyone anywhere has ever made up, tweeted, posted on Facebook, ranted about at a family dinner, or wormed their way onto TV (or YouTube) to talk about. Out of “respect for the office,” we’ll prioritize the bizarre ramblings of anyone paid by our tax dollars, no matter how bizarre or destructive the content of their remarks.
It will be difficult, at first, fighting the urge to distinguish between propaganda, science, documented reality, cultish beliefs, and anything else that comes flying our way, but I’m sure I’ll get used to it along with everything else. Besides, I’m trying not to take sides.
There aren’t many advantages to being home for going on, what… seventeen months or so now? Considering all the extra time it seems we have, the kitchen and restrooms are dirtier than ever, my ‘To Do’ list is out of control, and I’m actually exercising LESS than I did when I was “busy.”
On the other hand, I’ve watched some fascinating documentaries (those things formatted like Tiger King, but with better-dressed subject matter) which I’d probably never have gotten around to otherwise. I’ve organized random sections of the basement and made sure my entire music collection has accurate album covers in Media Player. Somewhat less tragically, I’m also finally catching up on some reading I’ve been meaning to do since, well… sometime during the Obama Administration. (He was that quirky one that used full sentences and stuff.)
Each summer, I solicit suggestions from real live middle school teachers of books to use in social studies classes. I post them on Blue Cereal as a reference for other educators, and over the years it’s become one of the more visited sections of the site. I’m a huge fan of reading across the content areas, although I try not to call it that because it sounds too much like the name of an expensive curriculum being pushed on desperate districts, like “Literacy First!” or “Pre-AP.” I even try to actually read the books before I add them to the list. Given that most of them are written with 12-year olds in mind, you’d think I’d do a better job keeping up.
Several of the titles I’ve enjoyed during Duck-and-Covid have been wonderful surprises. By far my favorite, however, is The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate, by Jaqueline Kelly. I’d never heard of this book, although I’ve since learned it received something shiny from the Newbury folks and has several sequels – so clearly I’m behind the curve a bit here. It was suggested to me by a 7th Grade Texas History teacher, but its value goes well beyond that.
Hence this gushing post.
Calpurnia is an 11-year old girl surrounded by brothers, living in what we’d today consider an upper-middle class family in southern Texas. It’s 1899 and a new century is looming. This was a rich time period for several of the historical and cultural themes sneaking around in the text and an appropriate metaphor for the ways in which the times, they were a-changing, for Calpurnia as well as the world around her.
As it turns out, Calpurnia is not especially good at many of the things expected of young ladies of her standing but quite adept at observing and scientifically questioning the world around her. She’s also just rebellious enough to stay interesting:
I asked Mother if I could cut off my hair, which hung in a dense swelter all the way down my back. She said no, she wouldn’t have me running about like as shorn savage. I found this manifestly unfair, to say nothing of hot. So I devised a plan: Every week I would cut off an inch of hair – just one stealthy inch – so that Mother wouldn’t notice. She wouldn’t notice because I would camouflage myself with good manners. When I took on the disguise of a polite young lady, I could often escape her closer scrutiny… Plus, the heat aggravated her crippling sick headaches, and she had to resort to a big spoonful of Lydia Pickham’s Vegetable Compound, known to be the Best Blood Purifier for Women.
That night I took a pair of embroidery scissors and, with great exhilaration and a pounding heart, cut off the first inch… I was striding forth to greet my future in the shiny New Century, a few short months away. It seemed to me a great moment indeed.
I slept poorly that night in fear of the morning.
Calpurnia manages to utilize an impressive vocabulary while remaining entirely believable and her tale perfectly readable. Challenges to gender roles and, to a lesser extent, racial dynamics, unfold naturally. The issues are inherent to her story but never seem forced or preachy – a tricky balance these days. We quickly begin to genuinely care about Calpurnia and root for her at every stage, even when she’s being childish.
Of course, she’s actually a child. So there’s that.
Calpurnia could use our support as she a begins to pay attention to the world in ways most people around her – especially girls – do not.
What exactly was a naturalist? I wasn’t sure, but I decided to spend the rest of my summer being one. If all it meant was writing about what you saw around you, I could do that. Besides, now that I had my own place to write things down, I saw things I’d never noticed before.
My first recorded notes were of the dogs. Due to the heat, they lay so still in the dirt as to look dead. Even when my younger brothers chivvied them with sticks out of boredom, they wouldn’t bother to raise their heads. They got up long enough to slurp at the water trough and then flopped down again, raising puffs of dust in their shallow hollows. You couldn’t have rousted Ajax, Father’s prize bird dog… He lay with his mouth lolling open and let me count his teeth. In this way, I discovered that the roof of a dog’s mouth is deeply ridged in a backwards direction down his gullet, in order no doubt to encourage the passage of struggling prey in one direction only, namely that of DINNER. I wrote this in my Notebook.
I observed that the expressions of a dog’s face are mainly manifested by the movement of its eyebrows. I wrote, Why do dogs have eyebrows? Why do dogs need eyebrows?
Calpurnia’s powers of observation are encouraged by a developing relationship with her quirky grandfather despite the frustrated bewilderment of the rest of her family. Although we learn about the scientific method and related realities as the book progresses, the educational elements never take over the story or leave the reader feeling tricked into watching PBS. It’s not historical fiction in the sense of being packed with content, but the tale is so comfortably grounded in the times that I’m 100% confident recommending it for any American or Texas History class. It has enough literary value to work in ELA as well, possibly up through 9th or 10th grade, depending on your readers.
Note the way the author plays with perception and description in this scene, when Calpurnia’s favorite older brother is first showing interest in a female outsider:
Harry dashed out the front door to hand down two women from the buggy, one stout and one slender. He offered his arm to the slender one – the harpy – and they moved up the walk, their heads together, sharing some word, some laugh, some something that none of the rest of us would ever share. My parents met them at the door, and I could overhear the bright chatter of introductions before Mother led everyone into the parlor. I have to give my mother credit, she appeared more relaxed and cheerful than I would have expected under the circumstances. Maybe she’d taken some tonic.
And there She was: taller than I expected, and slender, and dressed in a fuzzy peach dress with too many jet buttons. There was the petulant mouth, the long neck, the buggy eyes, the massy hair. She carried a spangled peach-colored fan that she opened with a theatrical fwop as she met the other guests…
The peach fan beat the air like a giant moth. She looked at me with her big, buggy eyes and said with a trilling laugh, “Why, Calpurnia, what a sweet little girl you are…” And with this, she furled her fan and tapped me playfully on the check with it, a mite too hard. Was I in for such punishment all night long?
What I’d really like to see, however, is what could be done with Calpurnia Tate in a science class. Any science class. If any of you lab-coated types out there are being pushed to “read across the curriculum,” may I respectfully suggest you request a class set or seven of these. I’m sure there are English teachers nearby who’d love to share their strategies for using novels in class, and your administration will find you quite the go-getter.
My hope, of course, is that in addition to promoting reading in general, Calpurnia could enrich your class as well – sparking a few discussions and helping to strengthen the idea that science isn’t something other people do instead of real life, but an essential part of real life itself. Calpurnia’s Grandfather would agree with me:
“What can you tell me about the Scientific Method, Calpurnia?” The way he said those words, I knew they had capital letters.
“Um, not much.”
“’What are you studying in school? You do go to school, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. We’re studying Reading, Spelling, Arithmetic, and Penmanship. Oh, and Deportment. I got an ‘acceptable’ for Posture but an ‘unsatisfactory’ for Use of Hankie and Thimble. Mother was kind of unhappy about that.”
“Good God,” he said. “It’s worse than I thought.”
This was an intriguing statement, although I didn’t understand it…
“And I suppose they teach you that the world is flat and that there are dragons gobbling up the ships that fall over the edge.” He peered at me. “There are many things to talk about. I hope it’s not too late.”
Nothing about The Evolution of Calpurnia Tateis political or forced or inappropriate for little people. It is nevertheless timely, reminding us of the power of asking good questions and wrestling with them rather than simply accepting answers from others for sake of convenience.
It’s also a rather inspiring reminder, intentionally or not, that few things are more empowering than being loved and accepted by others, even when they have no idea what we’re talking about or why we do what we do.
NOTE: If you haven’t already done so, you should probably start with Part One of this post. I mean, I can’t force you or anything, but…
“Economic Substantive Due Process” in the Lochner Era
“School choice” wouldn’t emerge onto the national scene until after Brown v. Board of Education (1954) and the various forays into moral corruption and social decay wouldn’t become staples of the nation’s highest court until a decade after that. The rest of the Lochner Era was largely about how freedom meant letting corporations do whatever they wanted to workers because those being exploited had just as much theoretical control over the outcome as their gilded overlords did. (They didn’t put it in those exact terms.) Between 1897 – 1937, the Supreme Court struck down nearly 200 different statues, most as violations of “freedom of contract” or other violation of “economic substantive due process.”
The Court acknowledged in principle that state and even sometimes federal government had some limited authority to regulate workplaces in order to promote safety and the general welfare, but only in cases involving explicit physical danger. Efforts to regulate mining, for example, might have a chance; restricting the hours during which one could safely bake bread, on the other hand… not so much.
Any such regulations should avoid restricting “market choices”; they couldn’t interfere with the ability of men to sign up for whatever working conditions they choose at whatever wages are available. The Lochner Era had little use for Congress’s claims to expanding authority under the Commerce Clause, making it one of those rare periods in U.S. history during which federal power didn’t simply expand at will. The Court was particularly unsympathetic towards labor unions during this period, regularly striking down laws facilitating union activities or offering workers more leverage in negotiations.
Other Major Cases of the Lochner Era
Here are a few of the more frequently cited cases of the period, although there were dozens of others which could just as readily demonstrate the ideology of the era:
Adair v. United States (1908) – Congress passed legislation in 1898 prohibiting “yellow dog contracts” in which workers agreed to forego union membership in order to obtain employment. When an interstate railroad company nevertheless fired an employee for joining a labor union, they argued that the Fifth Amendment protected them from being deprived of their liberty or property without due process (no doubt meaning the “substantive” variety). The Supreme Court agreed. While Congress had the right to regulate interstate commerce, that didn’t give them the right to interfere in the “liberty of contract” between employers and employees.
Hammer v. Dagenhart (1918) – In 1916, Congress passed the Keating-Owen Bill, which attempted to standardize protections for children under the age of 16 (or 14 in some industries) working in factories or other labor-intensive industries. The Court declared Keating-Owen unconstitutional, insisting that Congress’s power to regulate interstate commerce was intended to facilitate trade among the States, not stretched to regulate labor and production itself. Besides, the Court pointed out, the States had already addressed the issue in their own ways, as the Tenth Amendment allowed.
Adkins v. Children’s Hospital (1923) – The District of Columbia passed a minimum wage law for women and minors, complete with provisions for investigation and enforcement. The Children’s Hospital of D.C. protested that this was a violation of their “freedom of contract” as clearly established in Lochner v. New York (1905). The Supreme Court agreed and overturned the minimum wage legislation based on the same principles articulated in Lochner, adding that the law was “arbitrary” in that it imposed a uniform minimum wage regardless of women’s individual skills, occupations, wants, or needs. Besides, the Court added, with the passage of the 19th Amendment only a few years before, the idea that women required special protection was quickly becoming antiquated.
Carter v. Carter Coal Company (1936) – The Bituminous Coal Conservation Act of 1935 was intended to establish national standards for the coal industry. It was not technically mandatory, but companies who agreed to pay the designated wages, limit working hours to those spelled out in the legislation, and follow the suggested pricing guidelines, received a substantial tax refund. The Court determined that Congress had (once again) overstepped its authority under the Commerce Clause. Employee wages and hours were part of production, not distribution or sales, and any relationship between the two was indirect at best. If individual states wished to regulate their industries in this way, that was fine – but nothing in the Constitution gave the federal government the right to step in on this level.
West Coast Hotel Co. v. Parrish (1937)
On its surface, West Coast Hotel was a fairly straightforward case. The State of Washington set a minimum wage for women and minors working in most professions. Elsie Parrish, who worked at a local hotel, sued for the difference between what she actually made and the legal minimum. Lower courts, following the precent set in Adkins v. Children’s Hospital (1923), found in favor of the hotel – “freedom of contract” and “substantive due process” and all the usual staples of what was by this time forty years of “Lochner Era” jurisprudence.
When the case reached the Supreme Court, however, they found for Parrish and the State of Washington. The minimum wage was fine. Adkins was officially overturned. Just like that, the Lochner Era was over. West Coast Hotel marked a dramatic shift in the Court’s approach towards legislation regulating industry and protecting workers. This was not the result of a massive change of heart or mind by nine robed individuals, but a philosophical reversal on the part of a single Supreme – Justice Owen J. Roberts. Many of the infamous Lochner cases were decided by split votes, with 5 – 4 being the most common. West Coast Hotel was decided 5 – 4 as well, but 4 of the new 5 were the same core group who’d been overruled in similar cases for decades prior.
Why the change? Popular wisdom suggests it was a reaction to President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s infamous “court packing plan” via the Judicial Procedures Reform Bill of 1937. Tired of having so many of his New Deal efforts stymied or outright overturned by the Court, FDR proposed adding six additional justices over a period of several years – claiming he simply wanted to help the Court manage its extensive workload. There was nothing unconstitutional about adding Justices to the Court, but even his supporters saw it as a rather obvious ploy to gain some leverage over a troublesome Supreme Court. Although the bill failed, perhaps Roberts sensed a change in the popular winds and decided it was time for the Court to pick its battles more carefully. Someone coined the phrase “the switch in time that saved nine” in reference to Roberts’ change of heart and the term stuck.
The Inglorious Demise of Economic Due Process
The Majority Opinion in West Coast Hotel, penned by Chief Justice Charles Evans Hughes, accepted the State’s argument that women and minors were particularly vulnerable to exploitation by employers and that what was bad for women (many of them mothers) usually ended up being bad for society as well. This was the opposite of the “women don’t need no stinkin’ protection” approach of Adkins, but if you’re going to overturn a previous ruling, you might as well go all the way.
In an instant, the “economic substantive due process” went from being head cheerleader to the weird girl no one would invite to parties. It fell out of favor, seemingly inexplicably, and has been generally villified ever since. Lochner v. New York (1905) is now regularly lumped together on “worst ever” lists with cases like Scott v. Sandford (1857), Plessy v. Ferguson (1896), and Citizens United v. FEC (2010).
The idea that there are unenumerated rights just as essential to personal liberty as those spelled out explicitly, however, did not go away. Some would argue it had been there all along – hence the Ninth Amendment:
The enumeration in the Constitution, of certain rights, shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people.
Eventually “substantive due process” would re-emerge. It periodically popped up in the slew of “rights of the accused” cases for which the Warren Court is best-remembered, then – as previously mentioned – became a staple of both sexual freedom jurisprudence and a re-imagining of “religious liberty” far more aggressive than a generation ago. Because it relies on inference and historical interpretations, it’s both malleable and unpredictable. Perhaps the biggest error of the Lochner Era courts wasn’t their use of “unenumerated rights” in making their decisions, but their elevation of those inferred rights to a status which trumped all other considerations – economic, social, or legal.
There are several periods in the history of the Supreme Court in which tend to be remembered for an overall approach and lasting impact rather than for a specific case or two. Often they’re simply referred to by the name of the Chief Justice at the time – the Marshall Court of the early 19th century promoted federal power in the early days of the United States, the Warren Court discovered a slew of new rights and protections for the accused in the 1950s and 1960s, and the Roberts Court…
Well, it’s a bit early to make that call.
The Lochner Era (1897 – 1937), however, is named for a case representing a judicial philosophy which dominated the nation’s highest court for nearly forty years. For over a generation, the Court pushed back against the reform efforts of the Progressive Era and gave FDR fits by overturning many of his best efforts to regulate industry during the Great Depression. They laid the foundation for the modern “school choice” movement by uncovering new rights related to parenting and families. In the process, they brought to life an understanding of the Fourteenth Amendment that would end up securing the rights of American citizens to contraception, gay sex, and abortions.
Who saw THAT coming?
The 20th Century Begins
The Spanish-American War was over, the U.S. was quickly becoming a leader in imperialist expansion, and World War I wasn’t yet a twinkle in the Kaiser’s eye. The Second Industrial Revolution was in full swing; massive manufacturing and swelling cities increasingly absorbed available real estate. The American Federation of Labor (AFL) had recently formed under the leadership of Samuel Gompers and was already making headway with practical issues like slightly higher wages and better working conditions. These gains were local and inconsistent, however, and advocates hoped for a little help from higher-ups.
Crowded, dirty, dangerous cities and the evolving power of media to reveal “how the other half lives” brought about what would be remembered as the “Progressive Era.” Reformers began staking out victories, primarily at the municipal level – although by 1920 they could celebrate four new constitutional amendments as well. Both churches and charities were inspired by the idea that individuals, with a little help and “encouragement,” could improve. Individuals make up families, families make up societies… the world could become a better place, starting with the education of one child, the health of one mother, the reform of one man.
At the same time, human fallibility was both substantial and entrenched. While individuals offering soup and a place to sleep were certainly part of the solution, many believed fundamental changes in the system would be necessary for long-lasting, widespread prosperity. It was time to get local, state, and even national government to “promote the general welfare” a bit more aggressively. The most logical place to begin was the epicenter of discord between the handful of men who seemed to own everything and those perpetually consumed in their name – the workplace.
Lochner v. New York (1905)
It was in the spirit of societal progress that the State of New York passed the “Bakeshop Act,” which prohibited bakers from working more than 10 hours a day or more than 60 hours a week. Like other labor reform, the intent was to protect workers from being exploited by greedy owners – those certain intellectuals referred to as the bourgeoisie. Joseph Lochner was a New York baker who violated this law several times and was fined as a result. Lochner protested that the law was unconstitutional. The Fourteenth Amendment, he argued, protects “freedom of contract,” in principle if not in name. Why should the government interfere with an otherwise legal, private business arrangement between two rational adults?
The case eventually reached the Supreme Court, which sided with Lochner. Justice Rufus W. Peckham, writing for the majority, explained the Court’s reasoning:
There is no reasonable ground for interfering with the liberty of person or the right of free contract by determining the hours of labor in the occupation of a baker. There is no contention that bakers as a class are not equal in intelligence and capacity to men in other trades or manual occupations, or that they are not able to assert their rights and care for themselves without the protecting arm of the State, interfering with their independence of judgment and of action. They are in no sense wards of the State.
In short, bakers are grown-ups just like anyone else, and they can make their own decisions about whether or not to agree to specific hours, wages, or anything else. Expand that to include most of the adult workforce, and you have the basic philosophy of the entire Lochner Era.
Allgeyer v. Louisiana (1897)
Lochner wasn’t the first indication the Court was moving this direction. Nearly a decade before, the case of Allgeyer v. Louisiana had reached the Supremes. Louisiana had passed a law intended to protect state businesses by prohibiting out-of-state insurance companies from selling policies in Louisiana. Allgeyer & Co. was a Louisiana company that bought out-of-state insurance anyway and were assessed heavy fines by the State as a result. They argued that the law itself was unconstitutional based on the Fourteenth Amendment’s “due process” guarantee.
The Court acknowledged the State’s obligation to protect its inhabitants but found in favor of Allgeyer & Co. based on a rather Gordian brew of precedent and equivocation. Along the way, however, a concept emerged which would shape the next forty years – “economic liberty.” While the term itself was absent from the Fourteenth Amendment (or any amendment, for that matter), the idea is inherent in the text as a whole – or so the Court determined. Although no one knew it yet, the Lochner Era had begun.
“Procedural” Due Process v. “Substantive” Due Process
This discovery of “economic liberty” in the Fourteenth Amendment meant that states like Louisiana, and later New York, couldn’t limit an individual’s right to make his or her own economic decisions without what the Fifth and Fourteenth Amendments call “due process.” (The Fifth specifically limits federal power; the Fourteenth extends those limits to state and local governments.)
The Framers wished to prevent the sort of tyrannical justice handed out by kings or dictators, and to ensure the U.S. remained a nation of laws rather than of men and their unreliable judgements. While the government can, in some situations, take your life, liberty, or property, doing so requires they first clear numerous hurdles and meet certain standards. Those hurdles and standards are “due process.”
The most common understanding of this principle involves “procedural due process.” Anyone accused of a serious crime is guaranteed a fair trial before a jury of their peers. They have a right to an attorney and there are limits as to how the State may go about making the case against them. “Procedural due process” refers to the steps which must be taken and the hurdles which must be cleared before any level of government can take or limit your life, liberty, or stuff – whether the issue is property taxes, prison time, or capital punishment. The concept isn’t limited to criminal law; “due process” is also the steps your public school has to go through before suspending or expelling little Marco for his various violations, and why his guardians or other advocates have the right to challenge the system along the way.
What the Court was calling forth in Lochner, however, wasn’t procedural. The steps had been followed – the legislature passed a law, the bureaucrats distributed the rules, Lochner violated them, enforcers caught him, and the local court heard his case and declared him guilty, all before assessing those fines. What Peckham and the majority were relying on was something else – what would eventually be referred to as “substantive due process.”
Defining Between the Constitutional Lines
“Substantive due process” is a bit harder to define, and it’s been controversial ever since it first emerged. Some see it as jurisprudential accommodation of the natural rights and common law traditions which sparked the nation’s birth to begin with, while others find it more akin to the Voldemort tumor under Professor Quirrell’s turban, manipulating dark justices into sacrificing spare rights on their way to defeating the Constitution-that-Lived once and for all.
One of the better explanations comes from Professor Erwin Chemerinsky, Dean of UC Berkeley’s Law School:
Substantive due process asks the question of whether the government’s deprivation of a person’s life, liberty or property is justified by a sufficient purpose. Procedural due process, by contrast, asks whether the government has followed proper procedures when it takes away life, liberty, or property. Substantive due process looks to whether there is a sufficient substantive justification, a good enough reason for such a deprivation.
Consider this simple illustration. The Supreme Court has said that under the word liberty in the due process clause, parents have a fundamental right to the custody of their children. Procedural due process means that the government must give notice and a hearing before it can permanently terminate custody. Substantive means the government must show a compelling reason that would demonstrate an adequate justification for terminating custody.
What “substantive due process” protects, then, are what we sometimes refer to as “unenumerated rights” – protections implied by the written words of the Constitution and its Amendments, perhaps even inherent in them, but not spelled out as such. In the Lochner Era, this primarily referred to “economic substantive due process” – ideas like “freedom of contract” between companies and workers. It was during this same era, however, that two cases were decided largely on the basis of “substantive due process” which had nothing to do with workers rights or minimum wages. Meyer v. Nebraska (1923) involved the right of parents to determine the specifics of their child’s education and of educators to offer wildly controversial courses like foreign languages. Pierce v. Society of Sisters (1925) allowed parents to choose private schooling, religious or otherwise.
Both Meyer and Pierce were cited repeatedly throughout the 20th century as evidence of the validity of unenumerated rights. They are, in fact, the foundation of most “school choice” arguments – particularly by those most determined to funnel public tax dollars into religious training via “vouchers” and related schemes. Ironically, however, the same controversial judicial philosophy which allowed the Lochner Courts to strike down efforts to regulate big business and which encourages “school choice” advocates to keep fighting the good fight served as the foundation for another collection of unenumerated rights which emerged rather dramatically in the late 20th century.
It called itself the “right to privacy.” You’d recognize it anywhere because it wears a giant “pro-choice” button, uses contraception, and constantly marries someone of a different race but the same sex.