“Have To” History: The Boring Parts

H2H Boring Parts CoverMany history aficionados get a bit touchy when “outsiders” label something from history “boring.” Like, anything. There’s so much we find fascinating or important or connected or just… weird that it’s easy to take it a bit personally when someone labels our interests “lame” (even when they soften such declarations with more moderate language).

And yet, if we’re being entirely honest, there are some things in history – even U.S. history – which are serious yawners. That doesn’t mean they’re not important, or connected to things which are interesting. It doesn’t mean we don’t need to know them. It’s just that they’re, well…

Boring.

Whether you’re a high school history student, working your way through college, or simply read history for personal enrichment or a temporary escape from horror and embarrassment you feel at everything going on around you today, you’ve no doubt noticed how often you’re expected to zero in on stuff with no intrinsic traction at ALL – tariff policies, the Bessemer Process, anti-trust legislation, Jimmy Carter…

I mean, there was that thing where he was attacked by a bunny in the middle of a lake, but other than that… *SNORE*.

And yet, a number of these “boring” things keep showing up in state curriculums and standardized exams. Even AP U.S. History (insert all the usual disclaimers about how I don’t work for the College Board and they haven’t blessed my efforts with a cyan acorn) loves diving deep into stuff the rest of us would never think to get that excited about – the impact of new technologies on immigration patterns, fiscal policy tensions between nineteenth century political parties… even Jimmy Carter.

Seriously. They ask SOMETHING about him EVERY YEAR.

There are plenty of titles out there promising you the most interesting, unknown, or shocking stories from American history. Many of them deliver quite effectively. That’s a good thing. I love history, and I’m thrilled any time one of my betters finds a way to make it fresh and real to a new audience. If you want exciting tales from our collective past, they’re easy enough to find.

What I haven’t come across are titles focusing on the boring bits. If you want anything more than cursory coverage of the Hartford Convention, the American System and its contributions to sectional tensions, or the Populist Party, you generally have to commit to some rather hefty academic volumes. It feels like your options are either Wikipedia or enrolling in a master’s degree program focused entirely on the pros and cons of centralized banking.

Nothing wrong with either of those, but I figured we needed a third option.

“Have To” History: The Boring Parts covers all the stuff you really don’t want to know (but for some reason have to) about the most boring events, people, and issues in American history. Each chapter opens with the “Three Big Things” you just gotta gotta know about the topic, followed by historical context and any other essential background to help you make sense of the whole mess. It’s intended to be useful and engaging for students and adult readers alike. (It could prove helpful for many teachers as well, but we’re a touchy bunch and I couldn’t figure out how to say that without it sounding like I think we don’t all know everything about everything already.) Most importantly, there’s an ineffable “cool factor” which descends around you the moment you’re spotted reading it in any setting.

I’ve been surprised and flattered by the relative success (don’t read too much into that – my expectations were modest) of my first effort, “Have To” History: Landmark Supreme Court Cases. I was then humbled by the complete lack of, well… anything in response to the second, “Have To” History: A Wall of Education. Still, that one is a bit of an outlier, focused on a much more specific topic and written to scratch an itch of my own. 

So, if I can be real a second – for just a millisecond – let my guard down and tell the #11FF how I feel a second…

I’m genuinely proud of this latest book. I mean, just between you and me, it’s pretty damn good. I sometimes wish I hadn’t written it, just so I could read it for the first time and experience what you’re about to! Seriously, I get a bit teary just thinking about it.

I’d love it if you saw fit to check it out. If you happen to like it, please keep in mind that written reviews are everything on Amazon – good ones, mixed ones, even bad ones if you really think the book sucks. (It doesn’t. That kind of attitude is why no one likes you.) It’s available as an e-book, in paperback, and even in hardback… but I don’t know why you’d order it in hardback unless you’re a library. And if you’re a library, I’d probably send you one just for reading this.

I’d also love to hear from you if you do read the book (or any of my books). Effusive praise and sycophancy is ideal, but I’ll accept constructive criticism or suggestions as well (as far as you know). In the meantime, keep breathing. Keep connecting. Keep clinging to truth and caring for the people you love. It matters.

[email protected]

The 1950s (Part Two)

NOTE: Part One of this post can be found here. Both segments are from the rough draft of a book I’m hoping will be called something like “Have To” History: Stuff You Don’t Really Want To Know (But For Some Reason Have To) About The Most Boring Events, People, and Issues in American History.

It’s Moving Day (Rust Belt to Sun Belt)

For more than a century, manufacturing was central to the American economy. While the image of the north as universally industrialized and the south as endless agriculture is far too simplistic, a definable “Manufacturing Belt” was easily traceable from New York through Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Michigan, and eastern Illinois. Some sources would add St. Louis or other noncontiguous pockets, using the description less as a geographical marker than as an economic indicator – which it was.

Thousands of families throughout the “Manufacturing Belt” relied for generations on the solid blue-collar incomes available there. Workers produced steel, weapons, and automobiles, buoyed by a strong economy and periodic government contracts. Until, one day, they didn’t.

The term “Rust Belt” didn’t take hold until the late 1970s, by which time many factories were closed (or closing) and their structures left to decay. As with the more positive moniker, the term was less about specific location and more about economic changes – changes which took place unevenly and over an extended period. The decline of the “Manufacturing Belt” had been delayed by World War II, during which government defense needs brought a massive infusion of cash and energy to the region. Once peace ruined everything, however, the writing was on the factory wall. The party wasn’t entirely over, but the DJ had switched to slow dances and the host was out of punch.

History teachers like to talk about “push-pull” factors whenever people migrate. There’s usually at least one good reason to leave a place and a different good reason for one’s chosen destination. In the mid-twentieth century, changes in the economy and dramatic technological improvements began chipping away at blue collar jobs across the “Manufacturing Belt” (aka “Rust Belt”). At the same time, high-tech industries and defense plants were beginning to flourish in parts of the South and along the west coast. The “push” was the loss of opportunity up north; the “pull” was the need for skilled and semi-skilled labor in the south and west.

The migration didn’t happen overnight, and it wasn’t monolithic. A “Second Great Migration” from the south occurred at much the same time as Black workers left the south in search of greater economic opportunity and less racial oppression. Some headed north, but many headed west in search of the same jobs drawing white laborers from the north. (Side Note: “white” by this time had begun expanding to include descendants of all those different immigrant groups that used to be the primary targets of Anglo violence in the preceding century.) Skilled or semi-skilled workers could find reliable employment and good wages in Los Angeles, Portland, Phoenix, and the like, as well as in select cities scattered across the south – locations not previously known for their manufacturing prowess.

Remember the Missouri Compromise way back in 1820? Imagine roughly that same line reaching both directions to each coast. Once we get to the 1950s, everything below that line (minus Oklahoma, because… Oklahoma) becomes collectively known as the “Sun Belt.” “Sun” because it’s hot down there, but also “Sun” like “Here Comes the _____.” The Sun Belt was the new land of opportunity for workers in the fifties and thereafter.

When speaking of major migration patterns after World War II, especially during the 1950s, the general trend was from the “Rust Belt” to the “Sun Belt” or to the west coast. You’ll live a fuller, happier life if you take a moment right now to lock in mental images of the “Rust Belt” and the “Sun Belt” (plus California/Oregon), then add a few mental arrows indicating the general direction of the major migrations of the decade. Don’t forget those “Second Great Migration” arrows coming out of the south!

The 1950s were still a pretty good time to be a blue collar worker, but changes were already beginning in that world as well. Republicans had begun taking steps to limit worker protections and weaken labor unions. President Truman had vetoed the Taft-Hartley Act in 1947, but Congress passed it anyway. Depending on your point of view, this act and others like it either reined in union abuses and suppressed communist influences in the workplace or began rolling back worker protections and working conditions to something more akin to the Gilded Age.

Politicians still like to bust out the guarantee that, if elected, they’ll restore the great age of manufacturing and bring back all those textile mills, coal mining jobs, and other 1950s era factory gigs. They’ll eliminate all manufacturing technology developed over the past half-century and ensure a glorious new age of sweaty uneducated labor for outrageously high wages. Oddly, this seems to work far more often than it should.

On The Road Again…

All this moving about was made much easier by the interstate highway system. The Eisenhower Administration championed the passage of the Federal Aid Highway Act (1956) which dramatically increased the number and quality of freeways across the U.S. (Henry Clay and the Whigs would have been thrilled.) States often contributed funding to the segments within their borders, but federal money and planning was key – and that’s what was new and borderline exciting about the whole thing.

Much of this new or improved infrastructure was paid for through taxes on vehicles and gasoline and justified as essential for national defense. (If the Commies landed on our shores, we’d need to be able to get our soldiers, tanks, and boom-sticks to wherever they needed to be quickly and efficiently.) It was tolerated because most people were feeling pretty prosperous and didn’t want those “reds” coming for their nifty new black and white television and hi-tech frozen dinners. The trucking industry loved it, as did white families shifting to the suburbs and pretty much anyone moving from the “Rust Belt” to the “Sun Belt” – at least during the move itself.

Not everyone was thrilled. New construction often meant moving or eliminating older neighborhoods and relocating residents. Railroads weren’t thrilled. Urban residents who relied on public transportation soon found their lives becoming more difficult. The environmentalists wouldn’t have loved it either, but that really wasn’t a thing yet. They’d make up for lost time come 1970, however.

Whatever their downsides, interstate highways have become an essential element of state and federal cooperation and are considered critical infrastructure still today. They make excellent metaphors for freedom and opportunity and adventure (“If you’re going my way, I wanna drive it all night long…”). They’re also powerful symbols of environmental destruction, the loss of humanity and individuality, and a future rushing madly forward with unstoppable force (“I didn’t hear nobody pray, dear brother… I heard the crash on the highway, but I didn’t hear nobody pray…”).

Highways aren’t particularly helpful without automobiles, of course. Once World War II ended, Americans who’d saved up money during the war (partly because there were so few big-ticket items available) were ready to spend. Industries which had been fully committed to wartime production shifted back into making consumer goods, including automobiles. It was a perfect match of supply and demand.

No wonder the communists were so jealous. They didn’t even have toaster ovens.

The other major technological evolution smoothing this massive migration was air conditioning. The underlying technology had been around for several decades, but it was in the post-war years that air conditioning was first considered indispensable. If you want people to be productive during the day and tolerably comfortable and well-rested at night anywhere south of Nebraska, you need affordable, effective, artificial air-cooling. Now it was possible – even practical. When combined with neat stuff like refrigerators, washers and dryers, vacuum cleaners, and the like, Americans in the 1950s had arguably the highest quality of living in the known universe.

Even without Sea Monkeys (which were coming soon).

The Writing (and Painting) On The Wall

Not everything was as idyllic as it may have seemed in the 1950s – at least, not for everyone. Poverty still existed and racial disparities were glaring in many parts of the nation. Even among mainstream white folks, there were hints of discontent.

Some of the art, for example, was getting a bit challenging. Abstract expressionism was just coming into its own, while guys like Edward Hopper or George Tooker were utilizing new forms of realism (Hopper) and surrealism (Tooker) to explore the universality of human isolation. Jack Kerouac violated sexual taboos and experimented with drugs while writing it all down in no particular order. Allen Ginsberg broke poetry to better howl about broken people and a broken society, echoing the chaos around and within by writing in new and provocative forms. J.D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye explored teenage disillusionment through the eyes of a young man who failed classes and was diagnosed with mental disorders for how he felt about the world around him.

Also, he cussed. A lot.

Abstract art and the Beatniks may seem tame compared to what came next, but at the time… well, nothing had come next yet.

Making The Grade: What You’re Most Likely To Be Asked

Expect at least one generic multiple choice question about Levittown and the Baby Boom – sometimes together, sometimes considered separately. You should recognize Levittown as a response to the Baby Boom and/or an increased need for affordable housing after World War II, and remember that it was facilitated by improved infrastructure and a rise in automobile ownership. (The racial component probably won’t come up unless you bring it up as part of an essay response.)

The shift from the Rust Belt to the Sun Belt will usually get at least one fairly general question as well – either identifying the movement itself or specifying the underlying causes. From time to time you’ll even see a map included!

APUSH and other advanced classes are likely to ask about ways in which “postwar economic and demographic changes had far-reaching consequences for American society, politics, and culture.” There are all sorts of ways this one can be narrowed down, but be prepared to tie the development of suburbs to things like the Reagan Revolution or to connect resistance to Brown v. Board with bussing efforts in the 1970s and the explosion of private schools and voucher programs still being debated today. It’s especially impressive if you have the opportunity to identify technological improvements (automobiles, air conditioning, etc.) as driving forces behind major migration patterns.

None of this means you can ignore all the expected stuff – the Truman Doctrine, the Fair Deal, the Taft-Hartley Act, Brown v. Board, Rosa Parks, the bus boycott, MLK, McCarthyism, NATO, the Marshall Plan, and curriculum writers’ bizarre fascination with John Foster Dulles. If it seems like a lot to keep up with, just wait until you get into the 1960s.

The 1950s (Part One)

NOTE: This post and its sequel are from the rough draft of a book I’m hoping will be called something like “Have To” History: Stuff You Don’t Really Want To Know (But For Some Reason Have To) About The Most Boring Events, People, and Issues in American History.

As is generally the case with the drafts I post here, the final version will presumably be tightened up substantially and better edited. Your comments along the way are very much welcomed. 

The 1950s – Because The Sixties Had To Come From Somewhere (Part One) 

Three Big Things:

1. The 1950s are largely remembered as a time of prosperity and “cultural homogeneity.” Nevertheless, the major issues of the 1960s were poking through everywhere.

2. The explosion of new “suburbs” (like Levittown) was facilitated by more highways and more automobiles. White families fled big cities for protected pockets of all-white schools, churches, shopping, and front lawns that all looked the same.

3. On a larger scale, workers and their families moved from the “Rust Belt” of the northeast to the “Sun Belt” of the south and west in pursuit of better employment opportunities. This move was facilitated by highways and cars as well, along with advancements in the modern miracle of air conditioning.

Introduction

The 1950s are an easily brushed-over decade, whether you’re rushing to get through someone else’s curriculum before “the test” or a lover of history browsing titles at your local bookstore or online.

As part of a formal curriculum, the 50s have the unenviable task of following World War II – which is kind of like booking Led Zeppelin as your opening act but hoping the audience stays for your one-man avant-garde banjo extravaganza. Even teachers who manage to get past “the last good war” before state testing or the AP Exam are anxious to get to the 1960s, where most of the important stuff is naturally engaging all on its own – sex, drugs, rock’n’roll, civil rights, hippies, war protests (and a war to go with them), MLK, JFK, LBJ, Malcolm X, Woodstock, “the pill,” Brown Power, the American Indian Movement, women’s rights – even men on the moon (yes, really).

Sure, we’d like to get to the Reagan Revolution and 9/11, but the Sixties managed to make even stage musicals naughty and blasphemous. And there were Sea Monkeys. Why would we ever move on?

For adults interested in history, it’s almost as bad. Browsing the shelves at your local bookstore or scrolling through Amazon search results, how often do you stop and exclaim, “Hey… post-war suburban development!” There are too many far more tantalizing topics to grab the eye, and no one wants to be the guy on the subway reading The Rise of the Sunbelt: How the Interstate Highway System and Modern Air Conditioning Impacted Twentieth Century Migration Patterns – as if your social life didn’t have enough problems already.

(Thankfully, the book you’re currently reading is a proven status magnet. Currently, everyone in the room either wants you or wants to be you, so play it cool and just keep reading… like you’re too deep in learning to care.)

The 1950s, however, have plenty to add to the conversation – and not just the parts about the Cold War, the G.I. Bill, and the birth of modern rock’n’roll. Let’s see if we can unborify a few of the most neglected or easily overlooked features of the decade before you blindly rush into all the violence, nudity, and social transformation of its successor.

The “Exciting” Parts of the 1950s

Despite its reputation (or lack thereof), there were numerous important history-ish things going on in the 1950s which you probably already know about, even if you don’t realize it.

The Cold War was easily the biggest. This half-century staring contest between the U.S. and U.S.S.R. was going strong by the time all those post-WWII babies started to boom. With it came anticommunist hysteria topping even the “red scare” of the previous generation. All those Congressional committees investigating authors and the film makers and McCarthy with his supposed list of “known Communists” working for the State Department? That was all the 1950s.

The Rosenbergs were executed in 1953 for (apparently) passing along U.S. atomic know-how to the Russians. Those same Russians launched Sputnik in 1957, prompting the creation of NASA in the U.S. and all sorts of panic that American children didn’t know enough math or science. (Sometimes it really does take a rocket scientist.)

There were many less-dramatic-but-still-pretty-important results of the Cold War, such as the National Defense Education Act (1958). This provided financial aid for college students and boosted funding for math and science in high schools. It was the first meaningful foray of the federal government into public education and the basic approach proved so successful that it never went away: if the federal government offers states enough money to do X, Y, or Z, they essentially insert themselves as controlling partner in what were previously state functions (at least according to the Constitution). If states want the money, they have to follow the federal rules and adapt federal priorities.

Who’s a good state? Does someone want federal funding? Hmmm? Heel, state – heel!

Speaking of “sharing” as a means of control, don’t forget the Truman Doctrine (1947), under which the U.S. spends zillions of dollars every year propping up foreign “democracies” with American troops, money, and motivational posters. (The name is periodically updated to reflect whoever’s in office, but its substance hasn’t changed much in 75 years.) In 1954, President Eisenhower popularized the “domino theory” – the idea was that if communism was allowed to take hold anywhere in the world, the surrounding nations would soon fall to it as well. Capitalism and democracy, on the other hand, often required overwhelming military force to implement, as if they were for some reason less attractive to the rest of the world.

Weird, right?

American foreign policy was thus dramatically and forever altered. Rather than wait until U.S. interests were actually threatened, the military could now be sent anywhere in the world – locked, loaded, and overflowing with cash and lifestyle advice – to intervene wherever Uncle Sam thought it might be fun or profitable. It turned out to be surprisingly easy to justify just about anything in the name of someone else’s “freedom” or “democracy” or “unrestricted oil supply.” Besides, you wouldn’t want the godless communists to win, would you?!

This “domino theory” which would be one of the primary justifications for U.S. involvement in Vietnam a decade later was already being cited as justification for the millions spent in the 1950s to finance the war against communism in Indochina. In the meantime, there was a Korean “conflict” to tie everyone over – like a prequel or an appetizer. At least we got M*A*S*H out of the deal. (Rest in peace, Captain Tuttle.)

The modern Civil Rights Movement commonly associated with the 1960s began in the 1950s as well. The Supreme Court decided Brown v. Board of Education in 1954 and began the long, messy push towards school desegregation. (It’s possible we’ll still get there someday.) Rosa Parks refused to change seats on the bus in 1955, which in turn sparked the Montgomery Bus Boycott of 1956. A young reverend by the name of Martin Luther King, Jr., who just happened to pastor a church in the area, added his voice to the protests and soon became the most recognizable face, name, and voice of the entire movement – all before New Year’s Day, 1960.

There are a few other things we usually remember easily enough. The G.I. Bill, which helped returning soldiers go to school or start small businesses. The general economic prosperity of the postwar years. The explosion of modernity for normal people – kitchen appliances, automobiles, television, McDonald’s, and Barbie. Finally, of course, there’s that legendary “cultural homogeneity” of the 1950s – a collective sense of shared purpose lingering from WWII, now redirected into the brave struggle against alternative economic systems and political structures. There’s great comfort in sameness, particularly when accompanied by common enemies and a newfound prosperity for those enemies to threaten.

In reality, the 1950s weren’t quite as universally unified or prosperous as they appeared. Still, it was close enough to give the 1960s something to challenge – a lifestyle and presumed set of values for the youth of the era to reject. (It’s difficult to rebel against the mainstream if there’s no mainstream.) If nothing else, the 1950s made the 1960s possible. The decade became the “ordinary world” for a whole new hero’s journey.

So… what were the boring parts we should make sure we don’t overlook?

Levittown and the Growth of the Suburbs

All those folks coming back from the war needed somewhere to live. Plus, there was that “Baby Boom” thing which somehow started increasing the population – dramatically. The name you should most remember in connection with all of this is William J. Levitt.

Levitt built entire neighborhoods of affordable, but decent, family homes. The most notable was his pilot project in Long Island, New York – Levittown. Disposable income was up, and while the 30-year mortgage so familiar today wasn’t yet standard, it was becoming increasingly popular. The federal government played with ways to keep interest rates low and gave homeowners a big ol’ tax deduction as well. (Remember the part above about using money to promote government-approved lifestyles?) It worked. Levitt sold nearly 17,000 homes in Long Island alone before moving into other markets. Needless to say, other developers quickly followed suit.

The ready availability of automobiles and the growth of highways made travel to and from work more convenient, even at a distance – and just look at all those freshly-mowed lawns… looking exactly the same! These mass-produced suburban homes weren’t always easy to tell apart. It became easy comedy to portray a husband coming home from work and entering the wrong home without ever noticing the difference. But this was the 50s – being the same as everyone else wasn’t exactly a downside.

On the other hand, that homogeneity didn’t end with the shingle choices on your Cape Cod. Levitt’s suburbs, like many others, only sold to white families. This wasn’t something subtle or implied based on a close reading of the historical data; it was established policy. Part of the appeal of the suburbs was getting away from crowded cities and into affordable convenience, but “white flight” was quite intentional as well. White neighborhoods meant your kids could go to all-white schools and you could attend all-white churches and shop at all-white stores, etc. It may seem biased or hurtful to portray racism as planned, systematic, and intentional across the board and by everyone involved; it’s just that it was planned, systematic, and intentional across the board by everyone involved.

Other than that, though, the suburbs were (and are) swell.

Prosperity Doctrines

The federal government had poured major stimulation into the economy during the war, and they were in no hurry to dial it back just because the bad guys had finally surrendered. Tax dollars both collected and anticipated were funneled into education, social programs, highways and other infrastructure, the aforementioned G.I. Bill, mortgage protection for all those new suburban homeowners, and anything else Congress could think of. While federal spending in the 1950s may have been humble by the standards of subsequent decades, the idea that it was a time of pure self-sufficiency or any version of laissez-faire economics is just silly. That would be like suggesting that homesteaders and railroads after the Civil War forged west without constant, massive government support and encouragement.

Nothing against the “invisible hand,” but it’s terrible at land grants, killing Indians, or promoting interstate travel.

In the 1950s, at least, all that government stimulation turned out to be quite effective. Americans were able to whip themselves into a consumerist frenzy, purchasing homes, cars, appliances, entertainment, and anything else they could think of. All that buying and wanting meant higher demand for pretty much everything, which meant good wages and low unemployment while somehow keeping inflation low. It was truly a marvelous time to be alive.

And white.

NEXT TIME: The 1950s (Part Two) – “It’s Moving Day!”

The “Fallon Treaties” (Part Two)

NOTE: Part One of this post can be found here. Both segments are from the rough draft of a book I’m hoping will be called something like “Have To” History: Stuff You Don’t Really Want To Know (But For Some Reason Have To) About The Most Boring Events, People, and Issues in American History.

The Clayton-Bulwer Treaty (U.S. & U.K., 1850)

The Treaty of Guadalupe-Hidalgo is nothing more than a poor man’s Clayton-Bulwer Treaty. (Late Night w/ Jimmy Fallon)

Oh Man, This Plan… A Canal?

The Monroe Doctrine announced by the U.S. in the 1820s had never quite overcome the young nation’s hesitance to openly challenge British influence in Central and South America. They’d been there longer, and despite several embarrassing defeats at the hands of the U.S. and its allies, were still very much the big kid on the block for most of the nineteenth century.

The British had for years flirted with the idea of building a canal right through Central America to allow their massive navy easier access from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Over time, the U.S. started thinking maybe that actually wasn’t such a bad idea – although they, of course, assumed American merchants and military vessels as the primary beneficiaries. Neither side was ready to push ahead with such an ambitious project, but each began worrying that perhaps the other would – perhaps cutting them out in the process.

In the meantime, they at least agreed on the most natural location of such a venture. The geography, the political dynamics, even the catchy name once completed:

The “Nicaragua Canal.”

Half of the envisioned canal was already present in the form of natural waterways. Nicaragua itself had spent the previous few decades being tossed back and forth like the ugly kid in a divorce. It had gone from being part of Mexico to joining a Central American “league” to periods of independence – all while technically remaining part of a British “protectorate” in that part of the world.

There’s no record of anyone in the U.S. or Great Britain consulting Nicaragua as to their thoughts on the matter.

The Actual Treaty

The Clayton-Bulwer Treaty was signed in 1850 while President Zachary Taylor was in office and the Whigs were still a thing… barely. It focused primarily on what each side promised NOT to do:

  • Neither the U.S. nor the U.K. would establish new colonies in Central America.
  • Neither the U.S. nor the U.K. would build up, arm, or fortify any existing interests near the proposed canal.
  • Neither the U.S. nor the U.K. would attempt to build the canal without the cooperation and consent of the other.
  • If a canal were eventually built, neither the U.S. nor the U.K. would take steps to ensure exclusive control of the canal or territories bordering the canal. It would be made available to everyone on some sort of neutral basis.

The young Democratic Party declared the treaty to be a violation of the Monroe Doctrine, an accusation which helped only sped the Whigs’ journey into political irrelevance. Despite the backlash, the treaty held off British influence in Central America and continued to strengthen the relationship between the U.S. and its ex-Motherland. It held for half a century until replaced by the Hay-Pauncefote Treaty (1901), by which time Panama had become the favored site for this long-desired canal. Great Britain was by that point happy to let the U.S. do the building and administrating, knowing they’d have all the access they needed without the expense or headaches of running the thing themselves.

The Gadsden Purchase

Why haven’t you done any jokes about the Gadsden Purchase? Signed in 1854 by President Franklin Pierce? Granted the U.S. sovereignty over the southern tips of Arizona and New Mexico? See, uh… the terrain in the southernmost portion of the Mexican Cession (1848) was, uh… too rocky for the Transcontinental Railroad, so…

Well, if you love this thing so much, why would you want me to make a joke about it?

You gotta be able to laugh at the Gadsden Purchase. I mean… it’s what life’s all about.

(Late Night w/ Jimmy Fallon)

A Lone Star Is Born

You probably remember the major highlights of Texas Independence from Mexico – empresarios like Stephen Austin curating settlements of mostly white folks from the north who never quite believed they weren’t in the U.S. anymore, the Texas Revolution, William Travis, Sam Houston, David Crockett, Juan Seguín, Jim Bowie, and of course General Antonio López de Santa Anna and his two healthy, attached legs. You may even remember details like that “Come And Take It” flag or a minor scuffle involving an old mission called the Alamo.

Somehow out of all that craziness, Texas won.

After a decade or so of doing quite well for themselves as an independent republic (something they still won’t shut up about, honestly), Texas was annexed by the United States in 1845 and became the twenty-eighth state. If Mexico had begun getting over the events of the previous decade, seeing Texas in the arms of another stirred up old passions and resentments, many of which were now directed at new beau Uncle Sam.

As with any messy breakup, there were lingering disputes. In the case of Texas and Mexico, the biggest issue involved the southwestern border of Texas. Mexico claimed the territory ended at the Nueces River, while Texas – and now the U.S. – placed it at the Rio Grande. This wasn’t a difference of a few miles or a dispute over where to park the camper on Labor Day weekend. The maps envisioned by Mexico and the U.S. differed by over half-a-million square miles, including most of what today is New Mexico and a significant chunk of Colorado as well.

The Mexican-American War (1846 – 1848)

President Polk sent Zachary Taylor into the disputed area to provoke Mexican troops repeatedly until someone finally fired back or hit them with a stick or something. At that point, Polk ran to Congress yelling that Mexico had “invaded” American territory and attacked U.S. forces for no reason! Here we were, trying to peacefully resolve things through diplomacy, but those darned Mexicans and their violent natures, etc.

The resulting war commenced in April of 1846 and lasted until the Treaty of Guadalupe-Hidalgo in February of 1848. The U.S. received the disputed territory (the “Mexican Cession”) but agreed to pay Mexico several million dollars in return. The “Wilmot Proviso” was introduced in Congress, seeking to ban slavery in any territory acquired from Mexico. It didn’t pass, but the resulting debates certainly helped speed the nation towards civil war.

But again, you probably know all of this already. It’s juicy stuff, even if it’s not all particularly flattering to our forebears.

What Life’s All About

Despite the fact that the entire premise of the Mexican-American War was resolving cartographical disparities, boundary disputes lingered even after the treaty ending it was signed. There were other issues as well, but none merited renewed hostilities. What finally reopened negotiations between the U.S. and Mexico wasn’t the specter of war, but Uncle Sam’s commitment to trains and westward expansion.

The Whig dream of connecting the various regions of the nation hadn’t faded, and visionaries of all political stripes coveted an infrastructure to support the nation’s rapid expansion. As the Fallon bit points out, however, the topography of southern plains suggested that the best route for laying railroad tracks dipped ever-so-slightly into Mexican territory – and that wouldn’t go over well. U.S. President Pierce sent U.S. Minister to Mexico James Gadsden to negotiate with whoever happened to be in charge of Mexico that week.

Between the Texas Revolution and the Gadsden Purchase, leadership of Mexico changed hands approximately 873 times. About a third of these resulted in our old friend Antonio López de Santa Anna running things for a season or two at a time, and that’s who happened to be in the big chair when Gadsden arrived. Gadsden’s timing was ideal; Santa Anna was distracted trying to squash internal rebellions (something of a theme for Mexico in those days) and in need of quick cash. Gadsden just happened to be authorized to offer him just that in exchange for what seemed a few negligible swaths of land way up north.

The treaty was signed and one more little chunk of glory was added to the United States. Several other minor issues between the two nations were addressed as well, but none quite so almost-exciting or somewhat-relevant as the Gadsden Purchase.

Why The Fallon Treaties Matter

As previously mentioned, treaties are one indication that a nation is either all grown up or well on its way. As any middle school educator can tell you, the ability to resolve our differences using words is something that comes only with maturity and a sprinkling of hard-won wisdom.

After the War of 1812, the U.S. never again took up arms against Great Britain, whatever their disagreements. Some of this was simply pragmatic; the English still had one of the most powerful militaries in the world and there was no sense messing with them if it could be avoided. Plus, they were becoming excellent trading partners. Just as importantly, however, the U.S. and Britain understood one another – and not just because they shared a common language. Culturally, religiously, economically, and politically, they were far more similar than different. Even when they argued, they wanted the same things and approached disputes in similar ways.

Not so the U.S. and Mexico (or any other Latin American country). Neither ever quite understood the other. The U.S. looked down on what appeared to be a backward people and their chaotic government, while Mexico had little use for smug Americans and their manifestly violent destinies. They could negotiate, perhaps even settle – but they could never truly come to peace with one another.

The tendency of the U.S. to get what it wanted from other nations by dangling bags of cash in front of them would continue (as it still does today). It may not be particularly glorious or noble, but it’s often more economically practical and morally defensible than going to war, whatever the cause.

The Webster-Ashburton Treaty was a major step in normalizing negotiation over calls to arms whenever the U.S. and Great Britain were at odds. The Clayton-Bulwer Treaty eventually led to the Panama Canal (although there were several steps in between). The canal was in turn important for most of the twentieth century, from President Theodore Roosevelt’s first cartoon shovel all the way through President Carter’s “giveaway” in the 1970s. And the Gadsden Purchase really did make it easier to run those railroad lines all the way across the continent, despite the project being delayed by civil war before it could be completed.

Making The Grade: What You’re Most Likely To Be Asked

Webster-Ashburton and Clayton-Bulwer are, sadly, more likely to show up as detractors (“wrong answers”) for multiple-choice questions than as correct responses: “Which of the following attempted to prevent the expansion of slavery into territory acquired from Mexico? (A) The Webster-Ashburton Treaty, (B) The Clayton-Bulwer Treaty, (C) The Wilmot Proviso, or (D) The Ostend Manifesto.”

Remember that both were between the U.S. and Great Britain and note the general time frame (1840-1850). While you may not be asked about these first two treaties by name, they’re excellent details for short answer or essay responses related to the time period, particularly those involving foreign policy or political parties in the mid-nineteenth century. If you’re really lucky, you’ll be asked about accomplishments of the short-lived Whig Party. Obviously, you’ll focus on stuff related to the American System (infrastructure, a strong centralized economy, etc.), but both Webster-Ashburton and Clayton-Bulwer were negotiated under Whig Presidents, so there! Look at you go, tiger.

Gadsden will come up slightly more often since it involved westward expansion and Texas (er… sort of). It’s the only one of the three likely to manifest itself as part of a map question – “Identify the following territories” or “label these territories and the date each was added to the U.S.” (Such maps will tend to show the Louisiana Purchase, the Mexican Cession, Oregon Country, etc., as well as the Gadsden Purchase.) Gadsden is right up there with “Fifty-four forty or fight!” in terms of being nearly name-brand history and only partially boring. It’s essential to remember that it was largely motivated by the needs of the transcontinental railroad. You can rarely go wrong connecting details back to westward expansion or technological progress.

Now, go back and watch the video again. The faux obsessions of the various characters don’t seem quite so out there anymore, do they?  

OK, maybe still a little.

The “Fallon Treaties” (Part One)

NOTE: This post and its sequel are from the rough draft of a book I’m hoping will be called something like “Have To” History: Stuff You Don’t Really Want To Know (But For Some Reason Have To) About The Most Boring Events, People, and Issues in American History.

I’d like a longer title, but it simply won’t fit on the cover.

The “Fallon Treaties”: The Webster-Ashburton Treaty (1842), the Clayton-Bulwer Treaty (1850), and the Gadsden Purchase (1854) 

Three Big Things:

1. The Webster-Ashburton Treaty (1842) between the U.S. and Great Britain settled boundary disputes between New England and Canada as well as a handful of other “play nicely together” logistics. Larger issues like the slave trade or Oregon Territory, however, were left for another time.

2. The Clayton-Bulwer Treaty (1850) between the U.S. and Great Britain primarily consisted of promises by both sides not to bulk up their presence in Central America and mutual promises not to build a canal through Central America without consulting one another first.

3. The Gadsden Purchase (1854) added strips of land along southern Arizona and New Mexico to territory already taken from Mexico by the Treaty of Guadalupe-Hidalgo (1848). It was primarily motivated by the needs of the transcontinental railroad.

The “Fallon Treaties”?

Several years ago, talk show host Jimmy Fallon did a wonderful bit with planted audience members in which they argued about which historical treaties were the coolest. The humor was built on the relative obscurity and banality of the treaties being discussed contrasted with the passion shown by the faux audience members. In other words, it was engaging because the subject matter was presumed to be so boring that no one could possibly care about it that much – and yet, they did.

Sound familiar?

The Fallon video has since practically become required viewing in any American History class dealing with the first half of the nineteenth century. (If you’re not familiar with it, try searching “Fallon Gadsden Purchase” on YouTube. I’ll wait.) 

The sketch references the Treaty of Guadalupe-Hidalgo (1848) which ended the Mexican-American War and granted the U.S. a big chunk of land known as the “Mexican Cession.” This one should be well-known to any student of history, in school or otherwise. The Louisiana Purchase is mentioned in passing as well, but it, too, is pretty hard for anyone to miss. That leaves the three agreements covered below.

And yes, they’re worth knowing – even beyond what’s covered in the sketch.

Contextualization

There are so few truly engaging treaties in U.S. history. They sometimes end interesting wars – the Treaty of Paris (1783) which granted the colonies independence, for example. They may come about as the result of a memorable surrender – the Confederacy at Appomattox Court House (1865), Japan on the deck of the USS Missouri (1945), or Cheap Trick on Heaven Tonight (1978). But the treaties themselves? Not so much.

Treaties created to prevent wars are even less exciting, and yet remain stubbornly present in state standards and APUSH course descriptions. It’s like they don’t even want history to be fun.

Boring or not, treaties are an essential element of foreign policy and by their very nature suggest that a nation is grown-up enough to solve at least some of its problems with words rather than violence. They require two parties to acknowledge one another as sufficiently legitimate for a signed agreement to be both appropriate and reliable. For a still relatively young nation like the U.S. in the mid-nineteenth century, the fact that nations like Great Britain and Mexico would negotiate small print with them proved that – if nothing else – they were practically a real country.

Understanding treaties you’re required to know sometimes starts by exploring a few things you’re not – so buckle up and let’s see if we can hit enough essentials that you can (a) remember these boring-but-somewhat-important treaties, and (b) throw in enough details when asked that you’ll sound like you actually know (and care) way more than you do.

The Webster-Ashburton Treaty (U.S. & U.K., 1842)

You mean the 1842 treaty that resolved minor boundary disputes between the U.S. and Canada? Negotiated by U.S. Secretary of State Daniel Webster? I LOVE the Webster-Ashburton Treaty! (Late Night w/ Jimmy Fallon) 

The Caroline Affair

In 1837-1838, several British colonies in Canada began pushing back against what they perceived as oppressive rule and inadequate representation in their own government. (Who knows where people get these wacky ideas?) The result was a small-scale revolution which the British promptly put down, although the Motherland did attempt to address a few of their complaints as a result.

A handful of unsatisfied rebels ended up on a little island in the Niagara River along with a smattering of Americans who were either sympathetic to their cause or just couldn’t resist the chance for a good scrap. Canadian soldiers (still loyal to the British Empire at that point) intercepted a U.S. ship named the Caroline which the islanders had hired to bring them supplies, killing one of the crew in the struggle. The captured ship was then sent over Niagara Falls. 

Sadly, no one thought to post the video.

The Caroline Affair, as it became known, was certainly unpleasant for those involved, but it didn’t become an international incident until a guy named Alexander McLeod showed up in New York claiming to have been the guy who killed the crewmember and bragging about his role in seizing the Caroline. Whatever his motivations, this was totally uncool. New York arrested him, but England intervened, claiming McLeod could not be punished by criminal law for something he’d done as a member of the British military – even if he was being a jerk about it now. The U.S. agreed but lacked the authority to force New York to release him. (Obviously, state-federal dynamics have evolved considerably in the nearly two centuries since.)

New York tried McLeod and acquitted him, thus saving face for themselves without actually incarcerating or executing a British soldier. Despite this diplomatic (and possibly predetermined) outcome, emotions remained raw all ‘round.

The Aroostook War (aka, “Battle of the Maps”)

Around the same time, in an otherwise unrelated incident, another contingent of British troops almost came to blows with the state of Maine.

The Treaty of Paris (1783) which ended the American Revolution fell a bit short when it came to clearly defining boundaries between the new United States and what later became Canada. The U.S. and England quibbled about sections of this border off and on for several decades, until someone finally realized they’d been overlooking the most obvious solution in the world. They asked the King of the Netherlands to decide everything.

Yes, seriously.

He did, but the U.S. didn’t like his answer, so they stomped their little toddler-nation feet and refused to accept it. The conflicts continued.

In the meantime, New England settlers had begun drifting into the disputed region – as had Canadian lumberjacks coming from the other direction. The two groups initially settled for scowling at one another across the greens, but by the late 1830s, things were escalating. Violence became a very real possibility.

Canadians began arresting New Englanders as “trespassers.” New Englanders in turn arrested Canadian “intruders.” In 1839, the British sent in troops from Quebec. The state of Maine responded by sending in 10,000 state militia volunteers (who’d apparently missed the bit in the Constitution about how states can’t go to war with foreign powers all by themselves). This is what’s known in the history biz as “escalation.”

President Martin Van Buren, who you probably thought never did anything cool, ordered General Winfield Scott and 50,000 federal troops into the area to calm things down, which seems counterintuitive until you remember that they were the only ones in the mix without a personal stake in the outcome – one of the many benefits of a “professional” army. It also didn’t hurt that they substantially outnumbered everyone else.

A truce was reached, and the two nations agreed to finally get serious about resolving their boundary problems. Sadly, they’d have to do so without the help of the King of the Netherlands this time.

The Creole Revolt 

In 1841, the U.S. experienced arguably the most successful slave uprising in American history, which is probably why we don’t talk about it that much. It’s much more comfortable to focus instead on all the times white people quickly took back control and killed everyone.

A ship called the Creole was transporting 134 slaves from Virginia to New Orleans (an entirely legal venture at the time since it didn’t involve bringing in newly enslaved chattel from abroad). The slaves revolted and managed to steer the Creole to Nassau in the Bahamas, knowing it was under British rule at the time and believing that British law would require they be set free.

They were right.

This wasn’t the first time the British had freed American slaves who for whatever reason ended up in their hands, but it was certainly the largest group emancipated all at once. Americans could hardly contain their outrage – do the British have NO respect for property rights or personal freedoms? Who DOES that to other people?!?

We Need To Talk

Ongoing tensions between the U.S. and Great Britain finally led to the Webster-Ashburton Treaty of 1842. It was negotiated by Secretary of State Daniel Webster (by this time serving under President John “Yes, I’m A ‘Real President’” Tyler) and did, in fact, settle those pesky boundary disputes. It established criminal extradition between the two nations and granted the U.S. navigation rights on the St. John River, which runs through Maine into Canada before emptying into the Atlantic Ocean via the Bay of Fundy – a name so cool it simply had to be Canadian.

The treaty also included some lofty language about working together to suppress the slave trade, but other than informal assurances, the issues at the heart of the Creole conflict were left unresolved. A year after the treaty was signed, Great Britain agreed to compensate the “owners” of the freed slaves for their loss – a pragmatic move, no doubt, but it kinda took the moral shine off the whole affair. 

The two nations deferred discussions of similar boundary disputes further west (perhaps hoping the Grand Duchy of Finland or the Governor of New Zealand could somehow be persuaded to get involved). This decision would later provide James K. Polk with one of the most memorable campaign lines of the mid-nineteenth century. If he were elected president, he assured the nation, there’d be no compromising with the British in Oregon Territory – “Fifty-four forty or fight!” Never had a line of latitude been so loaded with patriotism or testosterone.

It worked, by the way. Contrary to all appearances, Oregon is today part of the United States.

Finally, the nations agreed that the next time either one of them decided to send an entire ship over a waterfall, they’d absolutely make sure the video was posted on YouTube. (Presumably this language was accidentally omitted from the final draft.)

Next Time: Part Two – the Clayton-Bulwer Treaty & the Gadsden Purchase