The student as strikebreaker: college youth and the crisis of masculinity in the early twentieth century.

In March 1905, Columbia University students deserted their classes en masse to help break a strike of subway workers against the Interborough Rapid Transit Company (IRT), the biggest strike New York had ever experienced. Almowt immediately after the walkout began, 300 Columbia students volunteered their services to the IRT as motormen, conductors, ticket sellers, and ticket choppers. Marching in squads from the subway exit at City Hall park to the IRT employment office on Dey Street, they gave the Columbia cheer and sang their college songs. The contingent included many of Columbia's top athletes, with the football "eleven," basketball and baseball players, crewmen, and bicycle racers all well represented. The college boys' "joyous exuberance" and "husky appearance" attracted considerable attention. Cries of "Scabs!" hurled at them by newsboys only put "ginger into their enthusiasm." One newspaper remarked that the students were "sublimely confident in their own strength," and "would have been more than pleased to start a rough house."(1) By the afternoon, Columbia's lecture rooms and laboratories were completely deserted. At day's end, the collegians had already achieved renown: the first subway train to make a successful run along the whole length of the Broadway line was one manned entirely by Columbia students.(2)

The IRT management was delighted that so many athletes had volunteered as strikebreakers, since it considered their physical prowess invaluable for the expected violent clashes with strikers and their allies. Buck Whitwell, six-foot-three-inch star of the Columbia "eleven," who volunteered as a conductor, boasted that he eagerly anticipated fighting with his fists. As the Evening Post noted admiringly, the undergraduates were "big fellows" who could "easily hold the ticket choppers' gate" against attacks by strike sympathizers.(3)

The IRT company also specifically appealed to students at the New York area's major engineering schools, Brooklyn Polytechnic Institute, Stevens Institute of Technology in Hoboken, N.J., and the engineering colleges at Columbia and New York University, to enlist as strikebreakers. It needed them especially to replace skilled men involved with the subway's electrical power system, who had walked off the job. Many engineering students signed on as strikebreakers, and several almost immediately tasted combat. Stories circulated around Brooklyn Polytechnic Institute that "Poly" students working on the subways had "bested roughs a dozen times."(4)

Newspapers commented that the students regarded their strikebreaking as part of the frivolity of college extra-curricular life, a "lark" equivalent to "stealing signs" or "class numeral painting." The collegians were surely not working on the subways out of any dire need for money, for observers were struck by the fact that many of them wore expensive attire. One policeman, for example, gaped in astonishment at the $75 overcoat and $6 tan boots of a young man from the University of Pennsylvania, up from Philadelphia to break the strike.(5)

Throughout the period between 1901 and 1923, college students represented a major, and often critically important, source of strikebreakers in a wide range of industries and services. Students had many attributes that employers particularly valued. Their youth and strength made them highly suitable for the arduous physical labor usually required on the job. Many students also possessed the kind of expertise much coveted by management. During a strike they often represented the only available pool of skilled labor.

Employers considered students to be the most reliable strikebreakers of the era. Most strikebreakers were unemployed, or members of racial or ethnic minorities shut out of the trade. Many were even transported to the strike scene without being informed they were to be used as strikebreakers. As workers or former workers, they were more likely to develop sympathy for the strikers, and desert their posts. But even students at state universities tended to be relatively affluent, with little or no work experience. Most identified with the privileged in their struggle against the working class. Collegians deliberately volunteered their services as strikebreakers, and were the group least likely to be swayed by the pleas of strikers and their sympathizers that they were doing something wrong.

Finally, students projected an image that was far more presentable to the middle-class public than that of any other group from which strikebreakers were drawn. Nearly always, strikebreakers were perceived as a menacing, semi-criminal element, recruited from the lower class. The socialist editor and labor organizer Oscar Ameringer described the "scab brigade" as composed of "riff-raff, slum dwellers, rubes, imbeciles [and] college students."(6) Journalists described the 1,500 strikebreakers shipped in from Western towns to help break the 1905 New York IRT strike as unkempt lumpenproletarians, a "weird appearing lot," with "holes in their shoes," who "had not patronized [barbers] . . . for several days."(7) Clearly, the students stood out as the one group with which the middle class was comfortable. While the other groups tended to lessen the prestige of the struck company, the students could enhance it. Thus the student strikebreaker became a significant factor in capital's struggle against labor.

The College Versus the Trade Union

Students' antagonism to labor was not surprising during the first quarter of the twentieth century, since college was then an exclusive upper and middle-class preserve, and few who attended had any understanding of the working-class experience. Through the 1920s college expenses remained prohibitive for most of the working class, even at state universities and polytechnic institutes. The vast majority of college youth had adequate financial support from their parents, and did not need to work.(8)

By 1900, business leaders and middle-class parents considered college highly important in providing their sons with the higher level of training they needed in an increasingly specialized and bureaucratic society. Perhaps most importantly, college benefited the sons of the middle and upper classes by providing them with the social contacts that facilitated success in business and the professions after graduation.(9)

Not only was college inaccessible to working people, but the college culture was foreign as well. The students' world was so different and so distant from that of the worker, that relatively few ever developed any empathy for labor's plight. Workers faced a life of grim, back-breaking toil. They often labored ten or twelve hours a day; for most, vacations were unknown. Students, by contrast, regarded academic work as a "necessary evil" and considered college a period of "graceful leisure and gay irresponsibility."(10) The absenteeism, indolence, and frivolity permitted in college were never tolerated in the work world.(11)

The labor and socialist press were particularly contemptuous of student society and culture. They constantly ridiculed students as "rah rah sissies." This term deprecated students' enthusiasm for frivolous athletic and social pursuits, and denied their masculinity, suggesting they lacked the maturity and work experience of "real men." The labor press also mocked students' indifference to learning, publishing, for example, an article by a former Harvard tutor detailing the methods the "little plutish boys" used to avoid studying. He claimed it was common practice for students to pay tutors to attend their classes and take their notes, and to write their term papers, while they lay in opulent rooms, beneath "silken sheets." A 1904 editorial in The Worker, revealingly entitled "The Barbarians of the Schools," asserted: "of intellectual atmosphere there is less . . . on the campus than in many a German beer-garden or . . . dingy workingman's clubroom on New York's poverty-stricken Lower East Side." The New York Call claimed that students' conversations consisted only of trivialities like, "What are our chances to win the ball game next Saturday?" Or "How many positions on the Board ought to come to our frat?"(12)

The portrait drawn by these observers was quite accurate, for most students spent the bulk of their time vigorously pursuing extra-curricular activities. Not learning, but social and athletic pursuits lay at the heart of "college life" as these students defined it. Eschewing the solitary life of the scholar, they spent their time in numerous group activities, participating frenetically in class "rushes," ribald parties, and drunken parades or riots to celebrate athletic victories. Occasionally they joined their classmates in building bonfires in vacant lots, into which they threw their schoolbooks and effigies of professors.(13) To these students, strikebreaking was just another group extra-curricular activity. As newspapers consistently reported, the students saw strikebreaking as a "lark."

Most college administrators and faculty considered students' extra curricular life frivolous and their behavior immature, but they strongly encouraged strike-breaking. Their hostility to labor was the result of corporate business' assumption of financial control over the college and university. By the early twentieth century, the boards of trustees of America's institutions of higher learning "read like a corporate directory"(14) So obvious was big business' influence in higher education that trade unionists referred to leading universities by nicknames that suggested they were mere instruments of their wealthy donors: the University of Chicago became "Standard Oil University," Stanford was known as "Southern Pacific University," the University of Minnesota was "Pillsbury University," and so on.

Many wealthy donors and boards of trustees in the early twentieth century displayed little understanding of, or commitment to, academic freedom, and pressured administrators to dismiss professors with pro-labor views. While some university presidents became amenable to faculty tenure in the 1920s, it was not instituted on a wide scale until after 1938, so professors could never feel secure.(15) Any statement that displeased the donors or trustees could result in dismissal. As early as the 1890s, firings of pro-labor professors were common. Edward Bemis, economics professor at the University of Chicago, was dropped from the faculty in 1895 for publicly criticizing the railroad corporations during the Pullman strike. President William Rainey Harper informed him: "Your speech . . . has caused me a great deal of annoyance. It is hardly safe for me to venture into any of the Chicago clubs."(16) Scott Nearing was fired from the faculty of the University of Pennsylvania for making public speeches against child labor.(17)

In 1919 Harold Laski, then a young instructor at Harvard, came under fierce attack from prominent donors, alumni, and students for publicly declaring his support for striking Boston policemen. The Harvard Lampoon, a student publication, called Laski a "Bolshevik" and "scum," and ran sixteen pages of anti-Semitic poems, parodies, and caricatures mocking him. Harvard's president, A. Lawrence Lowell, refused to fire Laski, but told him, in confidence, that he would never be promoted. Soon after, Laski resigned his position at Harvard.(18)

Many of the nation's leading college presidents rivalled the corporate "robber barons" in their antagonism toward labor. Charles W. Eliot, Harvard's president from 1869 to 1909, was labelled in the labor press "the greatest labor union hater in the country." Eliot openly denounced the closed shop and the union label and offered panegyrics to the worker who broke strikes. In 1904 he pronounced the strikebreaker a "fair type of hero," a man possessed of an abundance of courage, who was even "willing to risk his life." Thus throughout the 1900s and 1910s, trade union newspapers regularly referred to strikebreakers as "Eliot heroes."(19) Eliot's successor, A. Lawrence Lowell, aggressively recrumted students to break the Boston policemen's strike in 1919. Columbia's president Nicholas Murray Butler denounced the strike in general as "an act of war," while Yale's president Arthur Twining Hadley declared he did not see much hope "as to the good possibilities of labor organizations."(20)

Absorbed in their extra-curricular activities, college students in the early twentieth century seemed rarely to think about politics, but whenever they did express their views, they tended to be conservative and anti-labor. Yale's freshman class conveyed not only its immaturity, but also its conservatism, in its response to a speech William Jennings Bryan delivered on their campus during his 1896 presidential campaign. "99 out of 100 of the students of this university," intoned Bryan, "are the sons of the idle rich." Bryan had inadvertently called out the class's "magic number," and the freshmen shouted down the "Great Commoner" by booming the class chant "9, 9, 99" over and over again.(21) Malcolm Ross, who attended Yale in the 1910s, recalled that "9 out of 10" of his fellow students subscribed "to anti-labor attitudes with fervor," as did students at "Harvard [and] California." There were students who became involved in the burgeoning settlement house movement, whose sympathies were with labor, but these constituted a small minority. More common were those who complained that modern society was "rotten with altruism."(22) Students voted like their fathers, although not as often or as enthusiastically. In October 1924 a nationwide straw vote among college students showed them to be "overwhelmingly conservative." They backed the Republican candidate Calvin Coolidge even more heavily than did the electorate that November(23)

Progressives frequently compared the "reactionary" or "apathetic" American college students to their European and Asian counterparts, whom they credited with making major contributions to the liberation movements of their countries. In an article entitled "Why Don't Your Young Men Care?" Harold Laski portrayed the American student as the complete opposite of the European and Asian student. The American student was a "non-political animal," indifferent to the oppressed, whereas the Russian, French, Spanish, and Chinese students had all made "outstanding contributions" to progressive movements. (Laski even considered the British students far more progressive than the American, although they on occasion engaged in strikebreaking, most notably in the 1926 general strike.) Laski praised the heroism of the Russian student, who put his/her life on the line to defeat reaction: "I think of how the one cry which could drive back the Black Hundreds in pre-war Russia to their dens was the cry that the students were coming."(24) An American socialist travelling to Russia in 1906-07 noted that "Russian students are a serious lot. They can't understand our interest in athletics."(25) Even Samuel Gompers, president of the American Federation of Labor, joined in the denunciation of the American collegian, claiming they welcomed the opportunity "to exhibit themselves as scabs."(26)

To be sure, during the 1910s some dissident voices were heard in the student ranks. A "Bohemian revolt" developed on some Eastern campuses, involving such youth as John Reed and Randolph Bourne, but it focused largely on cultural concerns like modern literature and avant-garde drama. There also appeared a small radical student group, the Intercollegiate Socialist Society (ISS). The ISS was, however, founded and led largely by nonstudent adults. The twenty-nine year old novelist Jack London was elected its president at its founding in 1905, and a six-person executive committee was established that included only one student. The ISS functioned mostly as a lecture and discussion group, and gave little attention to strike support.(27) In fact, most radicals considered youth more conservative than adults. Emma Goldman, for example, looking back on the prewar period in 1934, claimed that finding a rebel in America under the age of thirty-five had been like coming upon a "pin in a haystack."(28)

In the 1920s there also appeared a national liberal student magazine, The New Student, but it openly admitted that most collegians were conservative and anti-labor. Even the greatest liberal crusade of the 1920s, the movement to defend Sacco and Vanzetti, aroused little interest among students.(29)

From the Fieldhouse to the Roundhouse: Strikebreaking and the Cult of Muscularity

Students enthusiastically embraced strikebreaking during the early twentieth century not just to display antagonism to labor but, even more importantly, to prove their manhood. Strikebreaking provided the collegian with his best opportunity, short of military combat, to test his strength and nerve, by exposing him to severe danger and providing him with the opportunity to fight.

By the turn of the century, America's upper and middle classes-the classes from which the students were drawn-were in the midst of a "crisis of masculinity." Men of the old elite were increasingly anxious about being displaced in a rapidly changing and highly competitive society by newly-made and more energetic men of wealth. The genteel norms of their class, the languor that came of being born into affluence, undermined their assertiveness and ability to compete. They felt ineffectual, even superfluous. Many reacted by craving intense, violent experiences that provided feelings of power and mastery.

This gave rise in the upper class to a "cult of muscularity," an emphasis on male virility and the "strenuous life," typified by America's president during the century's first decade, Theodore Roosevelt. It required that men perform daring deeds, court danger, and undergo tests of fortitude-like hunting in the wilderness, and most importantly, participating in violent sports.(30)

Just as insecure in its masculinity was the emerging middle class, white-collar salariat, consisting of clerks, professionals, engineers, and managers in the new corporate bureaucracies. Unlike the old "petty bourgeois," these men were not self-employed and controlled no productive property. Instead they were subordinates in an elaborate hierarchy, and their initiative was strictly limited by their superiors. Their sedentary, often routinized work did not permit them the opportunity to display any traditionally "masculine" qualities, like strength, courage, and autonomy. Like the old elite, these men compensated for their "loss of masculinity" by involvement in the "strenuous life" and the nation's violent sporting culture.(31)

The upper and middle-class crisis of masculinity gave rise to the "Muscular Christianity" movement, which commanded significant influence by the turn of the century. Protestantism had become increasingly feminized during the nineteenth century; women vastly outnumbered men in most congregations. Long concerned about their inability to reach adolescent boys and men, some clergymen embraced an exaggerated masculinity and strongly endorsed violent sports, arguing that they built character and were consistent with Christian principles.(32)

Strikebreaking, performed in groups and providing the opportunity for intense male bonding, served the same purposes as violent sports and other "daring deeds." And it toughened college youth by introducing them to the work environment of the working-class male, where the traditional masculine qualities remained entrenched. Indeed, the single attribute of the workingman that the upper and middle classes envied was his masculinity, shown in physical and drinking prowess and exposure to danger at work.(33)

Early twentieth-century newspapers and magazines glamorized the courage and rough masculinity of the professional strikebreaker, who had emerged as America's "last frontiersman," combining the "daring of the desperado" with the "acumen of the businessman." Men like "Boss" Jim Farley, who specialized in breaking streetcar strikes, and Ed Reed, who had played football at Yale in the 1890s, maintained their own private armies, and could send thousands of "soldiers" across the country at a moment's notice to break a strike. Farley took great pride in having taken the first streetcar out in a multitude of strikes, braving "howling," stone-throwing crowds. By 1905 he had been shot at 100 times, and carried a bullet in his body. But, like the marshal on the vanished Western frontier, he stared down strikers with "mankiller eyes"; his jaw ran "straight . . . as the barrel of a Colt's forty-five."(34)

Male college youth devoted a considerable amount of their leisure time to the nation's most violent team sport, football, which had emerged in the elite Eastern colleges during the 1880s. Even after the "brutality crisis" of 1905-06, sparked by a mounting toll of deaths and crippling injuries on the gridiron, forced rule changes, football remained an exceedingly dangerous sport. In 1911 a physician referred to it as "a prize fight multiplied by eleven."(35)

Football was, in fact, frequently equated with military combat. Walter Camp, the "father of football," saw a "remarkable likeness" between "great battles" and the "contests of the gridiron." His contemporaries talked of "field generals" and "soldiers" on the gridiron; after World War I, football linemen were said to "battle in the trenches." By 1900, college football stadiums frequently commemorated the nation's war dead. Stephen Crane, who had never gone to war, claimed his experience playing football allowed him to portray military combat so realistically in The Red Badge of Courage.(36)

Collegians became heavily involved in strikebreaking not just because they experienced severe anxiety about their masculinity but also because administrators at the turn of the century eliminated "cane rush" and other campus rituals that had allowed mass student participation in violence. Football was not an adequate substitute for the banned rituals, since it relegated most students to the role of passive spectator. By contrast, cane rush, intended to "cement a class union," had involved nearly the entire freshman and sophomore classes. It represented the ultimate test of manliness at both private and state colleges during the late nineteenth century.(37)

Cane rush had been conceived of as a mass "gladiatorial contest." Throngs of students, faculty, and alumni gathered at an open field, which became the "battleground." The contest lasted from five to ten minutes. The freshman and sophomore classes were each arranged in a line, with the heaviest men (Robustae) in the middle. Every man was stripped to the waist, producing a "gladiatorial effect." At the signal, the two lines, consisting of hundreds of students, charged at each other, all reaching for a cane lying halfway between the lines. The object was for a class to have more of its men touching the cane at the end of the contest than the opposing class. Seconds after coming together with a "crash and a crunch," the combattants resembled "an immense octopus whose tentacles are human legs." Pullets (Avelli), stationed around the edge of the pile, were charged with reaching into the mass of human flesh, dragging out opponents by the legs, and delivering them to the wrestlers (Palustrae). These men then pinned their captives down for the duration, thus providing "a realistic representation of the dead gladiators of the Colisseum." Midway through the contest the jumpers (Salturae) entered, springing "high over the mass," driving "headlong into the central pit of heads," thrusting their hands toward the cane. At the judges' signal, the struggle ceased, and the combattants went to their rooms "displaying their battle scars." Victory gave the winning class the privilege of carrying canes for the year.(38)

Not surprisingly, students were often seriously injured in these debacles. Columbia's 1896 cane rush, for example, ended with four students lying on the ground unconscious; one "tossed in convulsions."(39) By 1905, nearly all colleges and universities forbade their students from engaging in "this relic of barbarism."(40)

Other similarly bloody rituals, like Yale's "Pass of Thermopylae," were abolished at the turn of the century. Thermopylae had required freshmen to run the gauntlet between long lines of upperclassmen. As class sizes increased, this became extremely dangerous.(41)

Strikebreaking was the perfect replacement for the banned violent rituals. It provided students with the opportunity for mass participation, denied in organized college athletics, and satisfied their pressing need for a "test of masculinity." And unlike cane rush and Thermopylae, it carried the blessings of college administrators and faculties.

The student strikebreaker first appeared in 1901, eager to take on a "man's job" on the docks of San Francisco. University of California at Berkeley students, including members of the "eleven," boarded the brig William S. Irwin, deserted by strikers, and unloaded its cargo. One of the athletes remarked that the work allowed the team to "harden up for football season." None of the students appeared in need of employment; one noted delightedly that the money he earned would be spent on "tobacco . . . for many days to come." After a day and a half of labor, excitement, and conditioning, the students had finished their task, and left the ship giving the California yell.(42) President Benjamin Wheeler of the University of California, answering the protest of the San Francisco Labor Council against the students' strikebreaking, announced that he fully supported what his students had done.(43)

In 1903, Great Lakes shippers recruited replacements for their striking ship stokers from the training camp of one of America's leading "Muscular Christians," University of Chicago football and track and field coach Amos Alonzo Stagg. Several football players, high jumpers, sprinters, and shot putters went on board three grain ships bound for Buffalo. One of the students summed up his manly adventure by declaring "It was more fun than a track meet." Like Cal's president Wheeler, Chicago's president William Rainey Harper rejected labor's appeal that he order his students to desist from strikebreaking.(44)

Students demonstrated a few months later that there were massive numbers on the campus willing to risk life and limb for the employing class, when hundreds answered the Minneapolis flour millers' call for strikebreakers. Among the first to volunteer were varsity athletes from the University of Minnesota, who with a "lusty Shi-U-Mah" (the Minnesota cheer) formed a wedge, and blasted through the picket line at the Pillsbury-Washburn mill. Mill representatives established a hiring office at the university YMCA (the nation's leading "Muscular Christian" organization), and by the end of the week, over 100 students had "donned the white raiment" of the millers and were at work on six-hour shifts. After only a few days, University of Minnesota students made up fully one-quarter of the strikebreaking force.(45)

While university president Cyrus Northrup approved of the strikebreaking, the school newspaper, The Minnesota Daily, expressed concern that Minnesota's trade unions might pressure the state legislature to deny appropriations to the university. It argued that it was "well and proper" for students to become strike-breakers if they needed the money to pay for school, but stated that "the great majority are not of this class." But few, if any, were influenced by the Daily's appeal, and once again college students were instrumental in breaking a strike.(46)

Yale students in 1903 and 1905 found the opportunity to display their virility by helping to break strikes of team drivers and railroad workers, occupations associated with a tough, physical masculinity. In 1903 the New Haven Evening Register noted that "the spectacle of well-dressed collegians on the seat of drays attracted attention wherever they went."(47) Two years later, Yale contributed 200 students, including several football players, to the New York, New Haven, and Hartford Railroad, about 15 percent of the strikebreakers. Yale's president Arthur Twining Hadley supported the students' actions both times.(48)

Collegians learned that strikebreaking provided the opportunity to imagine they were "soldiers at war" in 1912, when they joined the militia companies sent in to quell the Lawrence textile strike. Some of the battalions were composed entirely of Harvard and Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) students. Students enjoyed the opportunity to precipitate violence, as they enthusiastically disrupted picketing and strike parades. Militia service also swelled the young collegians' sense of power. MIT's student newspaper claimed the news of the Tech battalion's arrival in Lawrence so frightened strike leader Joe Ettor that he counselled "retreat to the Hills of Wellesley College," where Professors Vida Scudder and Ellen Hayes had made speeches for the strikers.(49)

Student strikebreakers did not have to don the militiaman's uniform to feel they were "at war"; many strikes provided a sense of being in a combat zone. During the 1919 New England telephone operators' strike, for example, male sympathizers of the women strikers unleashed probably the bloodiest assault ever staged against collegians. In riots in the streets of Boston, Cambridge, Providence, and Malden, which were sparked by the strikebreaking of students from Harvard, MIT, Tufts, and Brown, the working class took its revenge on the collegians, badly mauling several. In Boston, for example, some student strikebreakers were beaten unconscious and one had his teeth knocked out. A union official in Providence gloated that a "good beating" administered by strike sympathizers had convinced some of the student "sapheads" to reconsider their new careers as strikebreakers.(50)

The striking operators waged psychological warfare against the students, who eagerly sought to prove their manhood, by constantly impugning their masculinity. In Providence, when a Brown University strikebreaker called out "Hello red head!" to a young woman on picket duty, she retorted with contempt, "Hello yellow!" And at the daily strike meetings in Boston, when pickets reported the number of strikebreakers at each exchange, Telephone Operators' Union president Julia O'Connor invariably asked "Men or boys?" The assembled operators roared "Lizzies!" suggesting they did not consider them members of the male sex. The women operators used the same approach to student strikebreakers during the 1923 New England telephone strike, labelling them "powder puff boys" and subjecting them to applications of women's face powder when they left the exchanges.(51)

The 1919 Boston policemen's strike provided students with probably the closest approximation to the atmosphere of combat for which they longed. Here, students were cast in the role of the "thin blue line" that protected "civilization" against hordes of thugs and ruffians intent on murder, rape, and robbery. Like soldiers at war, the students were energized by massive public support; few believed the policemen were justified in walking off their jobs when it meant Boston might lapse into barbarism. In the atmosphere of hysteria that prevailed during the "Red Scare" of 1919, much of the public also considered the students to be combatants in the war against Bolshevism.

Over 200 Harvard students answered the appeal of their university president, A. Lawrence Lowell, to volunteer as strikebreakers and patrol the streets of Boston, a city against which criminals (and some said "Bolsheviks") had declared war. Harvard Yard itself took on a martial atmosphere, with all gates barricaded.(52) The strikebreakers included nearly the entire Harvard football team. Coach Bob Fisher declared, "To hell with football, if the men are needed."(53) Like generals visiting their troops at the front, President Lowell and Dean Chester Greenough toured the streets of Boston, offering encouragement to their students.(54) Comprising fully 15 percent of the strikebreaking force, the students' intervention was a significant factor in the patrolmen's defeat.

Reinforcing students' feeling that strikebreaking was a "test of manhood" was the fact that women collegians almost never participated in it. This was in part due to the danger involved, and to women students' aversion to violence. College restrictions on women students' leaving campus also remained much more stringent than at men's schools; as a result they were much less confident about exploring the outside world than men were. The Wellesley College student newspaper observed that "9 out of 10 girls know only the shopping district and theaters and would be quite lost anywhere in the city [Boston]."(55)

In addition, during the 1910s women's colleges were more open to pro-labor views than were men's colleges, and there were even a few cases of strike support by women students. During the decade 1909-19, women's suffragism finally became a mass movement and women's labor militancy reached its all-time peak. The suffragists, who commanded significant support in many women's colleges, placed considerable emphasis on drawing working-class women into their movement. As a result, some college women came into contact with women workers; this exposure led them to develop greater sympathy for labor. The settlement house movement, in which women students were disproportionately involved, instilled pro-labor views in them, as it drew them into direct contact with working people. Finally, the Women's Trade Union League (WTUL), a coalition of middle-class reformers, including settlement house leaders, and workers, established in 1903 to organize working women, developed influence at some women's colleges, although mostly among faculty.

Settlement house work and the open-air suffrage rallies that began in 1909 encouraged some women collegians to venture out from "'neath the oaks" into the public realm. In 1909-10, students from Vassar, Wellesley, Barnard, and Bryn Mawr Colleges left their campuses to demonstrate solidarity with New York's striking women garment workers. The collegians raised funds, gave speeches, picketed, and observed arrests in an effort to protect the strikers from police brutality. The Wellesley student newspaper openly announced its support for the "Uprising of the 20,000," noting that the strikers were "girls just our own age."(56)

During the 1912 Boston Elevated strike, Wellesley students challenged their male counterparts from Harvard and Yale, who signed on as strikebreakers, by rallying to the carmen's cause. Responding to an appeal from professors Emily Balch and Vida Scudder, both members of the WTUL, 100 Wellesley students donated $1000 to the strike fund and agreed not to ride the streetcars until the strike was won. The students donned buttons that read "We Walk to Help Organize the Car Men."(57)

However, the women who engaged in strike support work represented only a small proportion of the students at women's colleges, most of whom remained staunchly conservative. As late as 1911, students at Wellesley, probably the most liberal women's college, voted down women's suffrage in a campus referendum by a nearly two to one margin. In 1924 The New Student editorial board emphatically declared that the college woman was "highly conservative."(58)

Women had little involvement in strikebreaking even in the 1920s, when commitment to reform causes declined sharply. The 1920s "co-ed" was indeed often willing to defy college rules that limited her access to the world away from the campus, but her energies were mostly devoted to social activities with men. Only during the 1923 New England telephone operators' strike, which occurred during the summer, when the usual opportunities for social interaction with other collegians were not available, did significant numbers of women students engage in strikebreaking.(59)

Working women were never comfortable even with pro-labor collegians, viewing them as dilettantes and resenting their condescension. Helen Taft, daughter of the president, and part of a Bryn Mawr student delegation that came to New York to assist the garment strikers in 1910, gaped at the pickets as though they were animals at the zoo, describing them to reporters as "poor creatures." And with that, she and her party took off for the opera.(60) Working women who had never known childhood, toiling long hours from an early age, perceived the collegians as self-centered and immature, drawn to the labor movement only because they felt bored and saw workers as exotic. They expected that the students would quickly return to lives of frivolity and material comfort. New York garment workers put on a play that portrayed the pro-labor college woman as a scatter-brained child; a "College Girl" asks WTUL leader Pauline Newman: "Could you please tell me all about the labor movement? I must have it for my paper at school. I'd like to organize the South or something."(61)

The Engineering Student as Strikebreaker

Engineering students were drawn into strikebreaking by their profession's new antipathy toward labor, not just by anxiety over masculinity. The engineering profession was now elaborating objectives that clashed directly with those of trade unions. And the engineering schools had begun to train their students in industrial management as well as in applied science. By the early years of the twentieth century the ideas of Frederick Winslow Taylor, the leading proponent of "scientific management," had attained wide influence in large-scale industry. For Taylor, efficiency in production required systematic management control over all aspects of production. Engineers, trained in scientific management techniques, restructured the work process by determining the "one best way" to perform any task. Their system undermined the autonomy of the craftsman, and eliminated any worker initiative. As Taylor himself put it, "Under our system the workman is told minutely just what he is to do and how he is to do it." He and his associates were generally antagonistic to the trade union, viewing it as protecting workers' restriction of output.(62) Engineers also made every effort to emphasize their social distance from mechanics. By identifying with unions they would have blurred this distinction in status.(63)

During the early twentieth century, engineering colleges entered into close cooperation with corporations; supplying strikebreakers grew out of that relationship. Engineering colleges conducted research on a contractual basis for industry, often acting like private consulting firms. During the 1910s, for example, MIT's electrical engineering department did research for American Telephone and Telegraph, the Boston and Maine and the New York, New Haven, and Hartford railroad companies, and various electrical companies. At the same time business made heavy financial contributions to engineering colleges' research facilities.(64)

While the number of engineers expanded fivefold between 1900 and 1930, the profession remained predominantly the preserve of native-born Protestant middle and upper-class men. By 1900 engineering schools like MIT were already challenging the elite liberal arts colleges as a training ground for America's corporate leadership. In the 1920s, for example, the chief executives of General Motors, General Electric, Du Pont, and Goodyear, four of the world's most powerful corporations, had been classmates at MIT around the turn of the century.(65)

Engineering students made their first appearance as strikebreakers in the 1901 national machinists' strike, and they made a critical contribution to crushing the walkout in several localities. Steel, automobile, and shipbuilding plants in Chicago and Detroit hired University of Michigan students to replace strikers. The Detroit Free Press noted that the students were attracted by the "element of danger" and was certain they would be "right in" the fighting.(66) The Crocker-Wheeler Works in Ampere, N.J., the "storm centre" of the strike in the New York area, hired 100 Columbia University students, with the full approval of the school's president, Seth Low. As the Free Press proclaimed: "A new factor ha[d] entered into the battle between capital and labor. It is student labor."(67)

Since it was extremely difficult to find skilled machinists willing to replace strikers, the students were a godsend. Manufacturers like R. E. Olds, president of Olds Motor Works, rated the work of the student strikebreakers highly.(68)

In 1913, the skills of engineering students from Stanford and the University of California at Berkeley proved invaluable to the Pacific Gas and Electric Company after its machinists, electrical and gas workers, and boilermakers walked out. After the strike was lost, labor leaders conceded that the students' contribution had been critical to the company's victory. David Starr Jordan, president of Stanford, and Benjamin Wheeler, president of the University of California, not only rejected labor's appeal that they order their students to return to their campuses, but gave them a full semester's credit for their work as strikebreakers.(69)

Engineering students were in the forefront of the massive collegiate strike-breaking effort against the railroad workers in 1920 and 1921, when the student struggle against labor reached its peak. The years immediately following World War I constituted a period of unparalleled class conflict, causing near hysteria among the middle and upper classes. Although the "Red Scare" subsided somewhat after 1919, many affluent Americans still equated strikes with "Bolshevik insurrection." As a result, when railroad workers threatened to strike across the East, students volunteered in massive numbers to assist the railroad companies. Like the Boston policemen's strike, these walkouts created a sense of public emergency-in this case the threat of food shortages in major cities-that resembled that of wartime. And students found glamor in the danger of railroad work.

College and university administrators recruited students for strikebreaking more openly and aggressively than ever before. At some schools in 1920 nearly the entire student body answered the call for strikebreakers, as at MIT, Stevens Institute, Columbia, and Princeton.

The railroad corporations particularly desired engineering students to fill in as engineers, firemen, brakemen, switchmen, and repairmen, although other students were hired in some of these positions, and also as trainmen and porters. In 1920 Stevens Institute suspended all classes as its students rushed to save the railroads from what the school newspaper called "Bolshevism." MIT's faculty strongly endorsed the decision of 3,000 students there to take strikers' jobs; they were certain they could "fill in efficiently."(70)

Administrators and the press acted as though the students were being summoned for military combat. The New York Tribune declared that Princeton "brought memories of that April day in 1917 when war was declared." Princeton's president John Grier Hibben notified the Pennsylvania Railroad that his undergraduates were "ready to serve," and that full academic credit would be given for strikebreaking. Dean Herbert Hawkes of Columbia helped recruit 5,000 student strikebreakers by telling them they were needed to fight an "insurrectionary movement."(71)

The railroad corporations fully appreciated the students' valuable contribution to breaking the strike less than ten days after they began volunteering. Corporation heads praised their "vigor" and "aptitude" and declared they were a "marvel to their supervisory officers."(72)

The colleges went a step further the next year, establishing special courses in railroad engineering on the campuses to help break the strike. MIT led the way, introducing the first "short course" in railroad work. The Boston and Maine Railroad, for whom MIT had long done consulting work, placed a railroad track and a passenger car on campus for use in instructing strikebreakers.(73) Harvard established a similar course for 700 student strikebreakers. Engineering professors at Johns Hopkins University had no difficulty persuading their students to gain "practical experience" in railroading, which they claimed would prove more valuable than "theoretical work."(74) At Williams, the student newspaper clamored for the college to set up special courses in railroad engineering.(75)

This vast army of students, ready to don overalls for the corporations, helped undermine the unions' resolve. The railroad brotherhoods called off the strike before it began.

Students continued to engage in strikebreaking after the early 1920s, but never on a scale resembling that of the first two decades of the twentieth century. Labor's quiescence from the early 1920s to the early 1930s provided few opportunities for strikebreaking, but the trade union movement experienced a dramatic revival after 1933. The most prominent case of student strikebreaking during the 1930s occurred during the 1934 San Francisco longshoremen's strike, when a sizeable contingent from the University of California at Berkeley's football team, at their coach's urging, went to work on the docks. University of Southern California football players also took strikers' jobs on the San Pedro docks. Harry Bennett, the ex-navy boxer who headed Ford Motor Company's "Service Department," a private army of thugs whose purpose was to spy on workers and beat up union organizers and strikers, also hired college athletes from the University of Michigan.(76)

However, the Great Depression transformed the campuses in ways that diminished strikebreaking's appeal to students. For one thing it radicalized many students, instilling sympathy for labor's plight. Beginning in 1932, when several busloads of collegians left the campus of Columbia University to bring aid to striking miners in Harlan county, Kentucky, students on many campuses demonstrated solidarity with strikers.(77) And more working-class youth enrolled in college during the 1930s, who were less likely to engage in strikebreaking than their more affluent counterparts. Hard times also turned students away from frivolous extra-curricular pursuits, like strikebreaking, toward greater emphasis on academics. Faculty members, with greater job security after the onset of the tenure system in the late 1930s, were more likely to impart pro-labor views to their students.

But most importantly, student strikebreaking declined in the decades after the early 1920s because of the shift on campuses from a homosocial to a heterosocial leisure life. The proportion of students attending coeducational residential institutions increased dramatically in the 1920s, so that they enrolled nearly two-thirds of all college and university youth. In fact, the term for woman college student became "co-ed." Instead of men socializing primarily with men and women with women, college social life centered around heterosocial activities of "play and pleasure," like dating, dancing, and fraternity and sorority parties. This was the case even at single sex colleges, where social life focused on weekend encounters with students of the other sex from other schools.(78) Strikebreaking, performed by men in groups, an activity of intense male bonding, diminished as homosociability declined. College men continued to engage in frivolous extra-curricular activities in the decades after 1920, but these focused much more on interactions with women than on contacts with each other. The changing secular base, more than shifts in collegiate politics or class base, ended the strikebreaking era.

Department of History Norman, OK 73019-0535

ENDNOTES

I would like to express my appreciation to Eunice G. Pollack, Robert H. Zieger, and the two anonymous referees for their valuable comments. Research was partially funded by a University of Oklahoma Junior Faculty Summer Research Fellowship and a grant from the University of Oklahoma Research Council.

1. New York Journal, 7 March 1905; New York Evening Post, 7 March 1905; Daily People, 8 March 1905.

2. New York Herald, 8 March 1905; New York World, 8 March 1905.

3. New York Evening Post, 7 March 1905; New York Journal, 11 March 1905.

4. Brooklyn Daily Eagle, 9 March 1905.

5. New York Journal, 7 March 1905; New York Evening Post, 7 March 1905.

6. The Lumberjack [Alexandria, La.], 30 January 1913.

7. Brooklyn Daily Eagle, 7 March 1905.

8. Median parental income for the 1920s at private colleges was about $5,000, and at state universities about $3,000, far more than even skilled workers earned in a year. Colin B. Burke, American Collegiate Populations: A Test of the Traditional View (New York, 1982), p. 228; Paula Fass, The Damned and the Beautiful: American Youth in the 1920s (New York, 1977), pp. 134-35.

By the 1890s the state universities had shifted their focus to training businessmen and professionals, rather than plain farmers and mechanics, leading many to charge that they had become "dude factories." Oscar Handlin and Mary F. Handlin, Facing Life: Youth and the Family in American History (Boston, 1971), p. 189.

9. Robert Wiebe, The Search for Order, 1877-1920 (New York, 1967), p. 121; James Hulme Canfield, The College Student and His Problems (New York, 1902), p. 83.

10. Fass, Damned and Beautiful, p. 172; Seymour Deming, The Pillar of Fire: A Profane Baccalaureate (Boston, 1915), p. 28.

11. Christopher Jencks and David Riesman, The Academic Revolution (Garden City, N.Y., 1968), p. 49.

12. California Social-Democrat, 30 March 1912; The Worker, 24 February 1904; The Call Magazine [New York Call], 24 August 1919.

13. Samuel Eliot Morison, Three Centuries of Harvard, 1636-1936. (Cambridge, MA, 1946), p. 401; New York Herald, 30 May 1903.

14. The University of Chicago, for example, was established largely as a result of a $34 million gift from John D. Rockefeller, founder of the Standard Oil Company; Stanford University received $24 million from the estate of the Southern Pacific Railroad head. Walter P. Metzger, Academic Freedom in the Age of the University (New York, 1955), pp. 139, 141. See also J. E. Kirkpatrick, The American College and its Rulers (New York, 1926), pp. 96, 99-100.

15. Metzger, Academic Freedom, p. 213; Maurice Caullery, Universities and Scientific Life in the United States (Cambridge, MA, 1922), p. 53.

16. Metzger, Academic Freedom, p. 153.

17. Bud Schultz and Ruth Schultz, It Did Happen Here: Recollections of Political Repression in America (Berkeley, 1989), pp. 8-9; Labor News [Worcester, MA], 10 September 1915.

18. Isaac Kramnick, "The Professor and the Police," Harvard Magazine, September-October 1989, pp. 42, 44; Harvard Lampoon, 16 January 1920.

19. International Brotherhood of Teamsters, Chauffeurs, Stablemen, and Helpers, November 1914, p. 8; Henry James, Charles W. Eliot: President of Harvard University, 1869-1909, Volume 2 (Boston, 1930), pp. 154-56; Hugh Hawkins, Between Harvard and America: The Educational Leadership of Charles W. Eliot (New York, 1972), p. 151; "President Eliot's Latest," The Weekly Bulletin of the Clothing Trades, 12 February 1904, p. 11 in Box 298, Charles W. Eliot Papers, Harvard University Archives, Pusey Library, Cambridge, MA.

20. Morison, Three Centuries, p. 466; Nicholas Murray Butler, Across the Busy Years: Recollections and Reflections, Vol. 2 (New York, 1940), p. 365; Arthur Twining Hadley to Paul Kennaday, 23 February 1905, Box 107, Arthur Twining Hadley Papers, Sterling Library, Yale University, New Haven, CT.

21. Henry Seidel Canby, American Memoir (Boston, 1947), pp. 144-45.

22. Malcolm Ross, Death of a Yale Man (New York, 1939), p. 377; "Diary of Algernon Lee," 17 May 1916, Reel 58, Socialist Party Papers, Duke University Library, Durham, NC. Lee, while expecting college students to be "pretty ignorant," expressed shock at hearing students make this complaint when he lectured at New York University.

23. Fass, Damned and Beautiful, p. 343; "College Women Not Radical But Highly Conservative," The New Student, 1 November 1924, p. 1.

24. Harold Laski, "Why Don't Your Young Men Care? The Political Indifference of the American Undergraduate," Harper's Magazine, July 1931, pp. 129, 133.

25. Albert Edwards, "The Spirit of the Russian Student," The Intercollegiate Socialist, October-November 1913, pp. 14, 25.

26. Samuel Gompers, "Editorial: The Students' Debasement," American Federationist, April 1905, pp. 217-18.

27. At its peak in 1917, the ISS boasted no more than 60-70 undergraduate chapters. Morris Hillquit, Loose Leaves From a Busy Life (New York, 1934), p. 61; Lewis S. Feuer, The Conflict of Generations (New York, 1969), pp. 342-44.

28. John Chalberg, Emma Goldman: American Individualist (New York, 1991), p. 170.

29. Charles Denby, "Mere Man and Student," The New Student, 30 December 1922, p. 1; William Ross, "Student and Worker, "The New Student, 2 February 1924, p. 7; "College Women Not Radical But Highly Conservative," The New Student, 1 November 1924, p. 1; Feuer, Conflict, p. 351.

30. Elliot J. Gorn, The Manly Art: Bare-Knuckle Prize-Fighting in America (Ithaca, NY, 1986), pp. 185-91; Michael C. C. Adams, The Great Adventure: Male Desire and the Coming of World War I (Bloomington, IN,1990), pp. 36-37, 43.

31. Gorn, Manly Art, p. 192; C. Wright Mills, White Collar: The American Middle Classes (New York, 1951), pp. 75, 98-99.

32. Gorn, Manly Art, p. 180; Benjamin Rader, American Sport: From the Age of Folk Games to the Age of Televised Sport (Englewood Cliffs, NJ, 1990), pp. 24-25, 215.

33. Peter N. Stearns, Be A Man! Males in Modern Society (New York, 1979), pp. 59, 77.

34. William Brown Meloney, "Strikebreaking as a Profession," Public Opinion, 25 March 1905, pp. 440-41; B. T. Fredericks, "James Farley, Strikebreaker," Leslie's Monthly Magazine, May 1905, p. 108; San Francisco Chronicle, 15 May 1907.

35. Morris Joseph Clurman, "The American Game of Football: Is it a Factor for Good or Evil?" Medical Record 79 (7 January 1911): 19.

36. E. Anthony Rotundo, American Manhood: Transformations of Masculinity from the Revolution to the Modern Era (New York, 1993), p. 240; Roberta J. Park, "Physiology and Anatomy are Destiny?! Brains, Bodies, and Exercise in Nineteenth Century American Thought, "Journal of Sport History 18 (Spring 1991): 32.

37. Malcolm Townshend, "A Cane Rush" in Norman W. Bingham, Jr., ed., The Book of Athletics and Out-of-Door Sports (Boston, 1895), p. 296.

38. Ibid., pp. 226-36.

39. New York Herald, 25 October 1896; New York Tribune, 25 October 1896.

40. The Triangle, 19 December 1901, University Archives, Bobst Library, New York University, New York, NY.

41. Arthur Twining Hadley to Henry Parks Wright, 9 May 1900, Box 1, Henry Parks Wright Papers, Sterling Library, Yale University, New Haven, CT; Yale Daily News, 18 May 1903.

42. San Francisco Examiner, 21 and 22 August 1901; "President Wheeler Dodges," Coast Seamen's Journal, 11 September 1901, p. 2.

43. "Labor to the University," Coast Seamen's Journal, 28 August 1901, p. 10; "President Wheeler Dodges," Coast Seamen's Journal, 11 September 1901, p. 2.

44. Chicago Tribune, 11, 13, 14, 17, and 18 April 1903; Chicago Socialist, 11 April 1903.

45. The Minnesota Daily, 26 and 29 September 1903; Minneapolis Journal, 26 September 1903.

46. Minneapolis Journal, 28 September 1903; The Minnesota Daily, 1 October 1903.

47. New Haven Evening Register, 11 May 1903.

48. New York Tribune, 19 February 1905; The Worker, 26 February 1905; Arthur Twining Hadley to H. S. Nicholls, 9 May 1903, Box 104 and Hadley to Paul Kennaday, 23 February 1905, Box 107, Hadley Papers, Sterling Library, Yale University.

49. New York Call, 31 January 1912; Labor News, 10 February 1912; The Tech, 2 February 1912, MIT Museum Collection, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Cambridge, MA.

50. Stephen H. Norwood, Labor's Flaming Youth: Telephone Operators and Worker Militancy, 1878-1923 (Urbana, 1990), pp. 189-90.

51. Ibid., pp. 189, 285.

52. "Announcement of A. Lawrence Lowell," 9 September 1919, Folder 1087, A. Lawrence Lowell Papers, Harvard University Archives, Pusey Library; "Harvard Men in the Boston Police Strike," School and Society, 11 October 1919, p. 425.

53. Boston Evening Globe, 9 September 1919. Even more students would have volunteered, but Harvard's fall term did not begin for another week. The football team arrived early. Francis Russell, A City in Terror: The 1919 Boston Police Strike (New York, 1975), pp. 142-43.

54. Boston Evening Transcript, 12 September 1919.

55. Wellesley College News, 15 February 1911.

56. The phrase "'neath the oaks" is from Mary Barnett Gilson, What's Past is Prologue (New York, 1940), p. 10; Melvyn Dubofsky, When Workers Organize: New York City in the Progressive Era (Amherst, 1968), pp. 55, 83; Graham Adams, Jr., Age of Industrial Violence: The Activities and Findings of the United States Commission on Industrial Relations (New York, 1966), p. 109; Indianapolis News, 20 January 1910, clipping, Wellesley College Archives, Margaret Clapp Library, Wellesley College, Wellesley, MA; Wellesley College News, 26 January 1910.

57. Harvard Crimson, 13 June 1912; Christian Science Monitor, 6 and 10 June 1912; New York Times, 10 June 1912.

58. Wellesley College News, 15 February 1911; "College Women Not Radical But Highly Conservative," The New Student, 1 November 1924, p. 1.

59. Norwood, Labor's Flaming Youth, pp. 283-84.

60. Adams, Industrial Violence, p. 109; New York Times, 16 January 1910.

61. Untitled play, n.d., p. 4 in New York Women's Trade Union League Papers, New York State Department of Labor Library, New York, NY.

62. Christopher Lasch, "Forward" to David Noble, America by Design: Science, Technology, and the Rise of Corporate Capitalism (New York, 1977), p. xii; David Montgomery, Workers' Control in America: Studies in the History of Work, Technology, and Labor Struggles (New York, 1979), pp. 26-27; Daniel Rodgers, The Work Ethic in Industrial America, 1850-1920 (Chicago, 1978), p.55.

63. Noble, America by Design, p. 41.

64. Ibid., pp. 139, 144.

65. Ibid., pp. 39, 51.

66. Detroit Free Press, 15 June 1901.

67. New York Herald, 3 June 1901; The Worker, 27 October 1901; Detroit Free Press, 15 June 1901.

68. Detroit Free Press, 16 June 1901.

69. San Francisco Chronicle, 12 May 1913; Upton Sinclair, The Goose-Step: A Study of Academic Education (Pasadena, CA, 1922), p. 135.

70. The Stute [Student newspaper of Stevens Institute of Technology], 5 May 1920; New York Tribune, 14 April 1920; Philadelphia Inquirer, 14 April 1920.

71. New York Tribune, 14 April 1920; Daily Princetonian, 14 and 15 April 1920; Columbia Spectator, 15 April 1920.

72. The Stute, 5 May 1920. Collegians from Lehigh (an engineering school), Lafayette, Franklin and Marshall, Swarthmore, University of Pennsylvania, and Rutgers, especially engineering students and athletes, joined those from MIT, Stevens Institute, Princeton, and Columbia in helping to break the strike. Philadelphia Inquirer, 14 April 1920; New York Tribune, 14 April 1920.

73. "The Institute and the Railroad Strike," Technology Review 23 (November 1921): 585; The Tech, 28 October 1921, MIT Museum Collection.

74. Harvard Crimson, 24 October 1921; New York Times, 19 October 1921; Baltimore Sun, 18 October 1921. The New York Times noted that Johns Hopkins students had "volunteered and performed efficient service" during a railroad strike in the autumn of 1919. They held down every job on the regular runs from Baltimore to New York, Philadelphia, Harrisburg, and Washington except that of engineer. New York Times, 19 October 1921.

75. Williams Record, 22 October 1921; North Adams [MA] Evening Transcript, 25 October 1921.

76. Bruce Nelson, Workers on the Waterfront: Seamen, Longshoremen, and Unionism in the 1930s (Urbana, 1988), pp. 133, 169; Lloyd Morris, Not So Long Ago (New York, 1949), p. 361; John McCarten, "The Little Man in Henry Ford's Basement," The American Mercury, May 1940, pp. 8-10.

77. Feuer, Conflict, p. 353.

78. Fass, Damned and Beautiful, pp. 130, 205; Mary Ryan, Womanhood in America: From Colonial Times to the Present (New York, 1983), p. 220.