Essays academic service


Building a thesis from the ground up

As if to underscore the need for this laying-on of hands, Howard cannot join us because of his wife's terminal illness, and a combination of physical ailments prevent Jesse from presenting.

Likewise Marina Sitrin, who has published a remarkable collection of oral histories about factory occupations building a thesis from the ground up Argentina, could not make the trip from San Francisco because of a personal crisis. So after my paper, Jim, a half generation younger than I, will describe his discoveries about the CIO upsurge of the early 1930s. Then Carl, another half generation down the ladder of the age, who became a Conscientious Objector while in the Marine Corps during Gulf War I, will take us on his own journey toward the understanding of United States foreign policy.

Thereafter I trust Michael Honey and others in the room will help us collectively to create history from the bottom up. My thesis will be that "history from the bottom up" is an orientation, not a prescribed methodology.

I will describe the distinctive contributions of my mentors, Howard Zinn and Alfred Fabian Young, go on to a few words about what my wife Alice Lynd and I have tried to add to their work, and invite you to do more. I do not know the origin of the term "history from the bottom up" or how we came to use it in the 1960s.

I recently re-read my Master's Essay on Dutchess County, published in 1962, and found that I said there: What do we really know about the laborers who built the pyramids? In 1968 there appeared in the William and Mary Quarterly Jesse's essay entitled "Jack Tar in the Streets," later selected as one of the eleven best articles published in that elite journal during the half century beginning in 1943. Here comes Jack Tar, his bowed legs bracing him as if the very Broadway beneath his feet building a thesis from the ground up begin to pitch and roll.

Then follows a fourteen-line footnote on contemporary terms referring to sailors, and a second paragraph that starts: Clothes don't make the man, nor does language; surely we can do better than these stereotypes.

Those were miraculous years, and these essays by Jesse Lemisch were among the miracles of the time. I was at the so-called "smoker" of the Columbia University History Department, otherwise known as the slave market, looking for a job.

I had put out the word that I wanted to teach in what was then called a Negro college. About midnight there came across the floor a lanky man, his hair jet black then, looking to add a fellow radical to the faculty of Spelman College in Atlanta.

I arrived at Spelman having made an unconventional career choice but with a head full of traditional ideas about what it meant to be an historian. I asked Howard what papers he was preparing for which scholarly conferences. He looked at me as if I were speaking a foreign language. He had other things on his mind than the professional conferences of historians. It was also Howard who got me started in oral history.

DuBois had recorded the story of his life. But I wasn't doing oral history myself. Howard was sitting there with two young SNCC field secretaries and an old reel-to-reel tape recorder, preserving their memories of going to jail in Albany, Georgia. I experienced a moment of enlightenment. I thought, "I could do this, too! Arawak Indians swim out to look at the strange apparition at anchor in their harbor. They literally look up at it from below and are "full of wonder. With fifty men we could subjugate them all and make them do whatever we want.

As Zinn remarks, Samuel Eliot Morison in his biography of Columbus devotes one sentence to what Morison accurately calls European "genocide.

It is too easily assumed that history from the bottom up has won the day and been generally accepted. The reality is that what has been accepted is only a truncated version of history from the bottom up that contents itself with the enthonography of the oppressed. As Thomas Humphrey has written, "[We] have succeeded only in pressing the authors of the master narrative to alter their stories slightly, or to add another box for 'the poor' on the side of the page. We may talk to our heart's content -- I am quoting David Brion Davis' review of The Many-Headed Hydra -- about "romanticized pirates, as well as prostitutes, religious zealots, bandits, highwaymen, and criminals of all sorts.

Here is an example of how slowly top-down history gives way. No change in the historiography of the American Revolution is more important than that which has ever so slowly recognized the centrality of slavery. Yet we have recently been presented a movie version of the abolition of the British slave trade in which slave revolts in Haiti and Jamaica go almost unmentioned and abolition happens because of the conscience-stricken efforts of aristocrat William Wilberforce.

As Peter Linebaugh has said, the movie is an "Amazing Disgrace. Some time ago my attention as an historian shifted from the period of the American Revolution to recent labor history. I was taken aback to find that in the one field as in the other the major works appearing were biographies of Founding Fathers. When John Sweeney became president of the AFL-CIO in 1995, the biographers of Sidney Hillman and Walter Reuther circulated an Open Letter to him celebrating his elevation as "the most heartening development in our nation's political life since the heyday of the civil rights movement": The underlying mindset appears to be that the decline of the labor movement in the United States can only be set right again from above.

To all this, building a thesis from the ground up continuing witness of Howard Zinn's People's History offers a mighty corrective.

Each is history from the bottom up. But they are very different. Consider Alfred Young's most recent tour de force. Dedicated to Al's three daughters, the book unearths the life of an almost forgotten woman who served in the Continental Army masquerading as a male. We learn that Deborah Sampson was born in either 1759 or 1760; that she claimed to have served three years in the Continental Army but actually served seventeen months; and that mystery still surrounds "where she fought and what skirmishes she engaged in" and "when and where she was wounded.

To begin with, Al tells us, from a surviving written record that is "heartbreaking for its sparseness": Al Young discovered not a single letter to Ms. There are no Deborah Sampson Papers. The most copious written source is a memoir, in three editions, about "one fourth [of which is] factual. There is "the surviving evidence of the material world Deborah inhabited," including the three houses in which she lived. Deborah Sampson was a weaver.

Theses in Civil Engineering

But since a large loom "took up. Then there are the groups to which she belonged, "now emerging into the light of history thanks to a generation of social historians": There Al brings together his skill at portraiture and his interest in the artisanal working class in a biography of George Robert Twelve Hewes.

Hewes, as a young man of about twenty, was invited to have a drink with the great John Hancock on New Year's Day and had to overcome his socially-conditioned deference to go through with it.

Hewes, pushing thirty, was "on the ground among them" at the Boston Massacre. Three years later Hewes, as another participant corroborates, served as the "bosun" -- meaning, I take it, the informal work group leader -- in the dumping of tea building a thesis from the ground up Boston Harbor from one of the British ships. And finally, in the tarring and feathering of John Malcolm a year later, Hewes' indignation when Captain Malcolm proposed to beat a small boy in the streets of Boston set in motion a series of events that led to "the most publicized tarring and feathering of the Revolution.

Step by step, deference toward supposed superiors was cast off. The belief was acted out that a poor shoemaker had as much right as any other to walk the streets of Boston. We should celebrate, as one might the detail work of a skilled tool and die maker, the spectacular craftsmanship Al Young has brought to history from the bottom up. Before we did oral history together, Alice and I had parallel opportunities to appreciate how a professional can fruitfully cooperate with others as an equal partner in a common project.

In her work as a draft counselor and trainer of draft counselors from 1965 to the early 1970s, Alice Lynd developed the concept of the "two experts. The other expert is the client with a different kind of expertise gained through his or her own life experience. Alice and I gathered the material for our book Rank And File in the spirit of these encounters. In the Introduction to the third edition, we described as follows building a thesis from the ground up method we developed.

In working-class communities, even relatively recent history often becomes lost to young people growing up there. In Rank and File we sought to provide occasions for older persons -- as it were, the elders of the tribe -- to recall their personal histories in the presence of the community.

Thus the purpose of the interviews reported in Rank and File was emphatically not to provide raw material for conventional academic history by ourselves or anyone else. Instead, the idea was to get beyond a situation in which one group of people workers experiences history and another group of people profesional historians interprets the experience for them. We wanted to see those who make history also analyze and record it.

My most profound experiences as a co-creator of guerrilla history have been as a lawyer. The announcement was completely unexpected. Steelworkers tried to explain to the media that they had assumed the mill would "always be there.

History From the Bottom Up

The remaining steel mills in the Mahoning Valley were owned by U. Steel, and it was U. Steel that announced the third and last round of closings just before Christmas 1979. This announcement too was unexpected because as late as the summer of 1979, David Roderick, Chairman of the Board, had gone on local television and declared that the mills were doing well and would remain open. What was to be done? I noticed a story in the local paper in which steelworkers who were interviewed said they felt betrayed because the company had promised them to keep the mills open.

The Basic Steel Contract, like almost all collective bargaining agreements in the United States, contained a "management prerogatives clause" that gave the employer the authority to make unilateral investment decisions, such as closing a plant. A colleague of mine at Legal Services pointed out that if the company building a thesis from the ground up made an additional, separate promise, over and above the collective bargaining agreement, perhaps that could still be enforced.

We went to court on behalf of the local Congressman, six local unions, the Ecumenical Coalition of the Mahoning Valley, and several dozen individual steelworkers. I set out up and down the Valley with a tape recorder. Illustrative of the guerrilla history that emerged was the following. A worker for U. Steel saw and heard David Roderick state on TV that the future of the mill was secure.

He arranged to buy a new house. As he drove homewards after signing the purchase agreement, he was obliged to stop at one of the many railroad crossings in this industrial community. To pass the time he turned on the car radio and heard that the mill was to be closed.

A young in-house lawyer for U. Steel made the mistake of asking us to file a "more particular statement" of our claims in federal court. We used the opportunity to set out for the judge a series of stories about homes purchased, expensive college programs committed to, medical procedures elected, and the like, in reasonable reliance on U. This testimony was so persuasive that the Sixth Circuit Court of Appeals, when it finally ruled against us, began by reproducing the stories contained in our Amended Complant and calling them "a cry for help from the Mahoning Valley.