Discovering Love in a Smallpox Hospital

By Dr. Andrew Wehrman

When I was working on my dissertation, I remember talking to my advisor T.H. Breen about digital cameras in archives and online databases changing the way people research and write about history. Breen quipped, “With all that technology, you should be able to research and write your dissertation in six months, right?” He liked to go to archives with a stack of index cards and write individual quotations and references on each one. The research trips ended with hundreds of cards and he would lay them out as he began writing, which has led to a profoundly productive career. My methods have changed rapidly with technology, and while my research has not churned out faster, it has made my work richer (richer in detail, not money, folks). I will give you an example of how archival photography, online databases, and savvy keyword searching breathed new life into documents that an index card system would likely never have caught.

On one of my first archival research trips in graduate school, I visited the Phillips Library, in Salem, Massachusetts, which has since moved Rowley, Massachusetts. I took photos of the collection labeled “Salem Hospital Records, 1777.” These were detailed medical records of patients in Salem’s smallpox inoculation hospital. While doing my research, I focused on earlier years not expecting these records to become part of my dissertation but photographed them anyway thinking they might prove useful later. I have since found that records like these are exceedingly rare. Most hospital records, especially from smallpox hospitals, did not survive. These were particularly detailed, consisting of 577 patient records spread across two dozen little notebooks and remarkably difficult to read. If you think your doctor’s handwriting is bad, try one from the eighteenth century. The doctor, Edward Augustus Holyoke, listed each patient, their age, and a record of symptoms and treatments given. To make sense of his notes, I created an Excel spreadsheet, to keep track of and draw conclusions about his group of patients.

Among the most interesting details, Holyoke almost always included the number of pocks that appeared on each patient’s body after inoculation. Inoculation—the purposeful insertion of smallpox matter via an incision usually on a patient’s arm—most often resulted in a mild case of smallpox and grant lifelong immunity. This was before the discovery of vaccination, which uses cowpox matter and would confer immunity without the infection (humans cannot spread cowpox). Anecdotally, I knew some patients would get a few pocks, usually on their faces and hands, and in rare cases patients would get hundreds all over their bodies. Under ideal conditions fewer than one percent died from the procedure. Using my spreadsheet, I tracked the number of pocks to look for any obvious patterns. Out of 577 patients, about half received fifty or fewer. Thirty lucky patients received zero, one, or two. However, there were also thirty patients with over a thousand. Only one patient, a baby girl just a few months old, died from the procedure, but other babies went through it fine. There did not seem to be any real pattern for who fared better or worse based on age, sex, race, or family.  

As I was finishing my book manuscript, I came back to these photos and my spreadsheet and began to wonder about those patients with thousands of pocks. Surviving but scarred, did they live long after their inoculations? Were they able to get married or have children? Questions I could not easily answer when I started the project. After an afternoon of internet searching, I uncovered what I think is a love story. I focused my attention on one name in the records: Judith Herbert. Judith was 21 years old when she entered Salem Hospital in spring of 1777 to be inoculated. Hers was a tough case. Although she survived, she broke out with “4 or 5 thousand pustules.” To find out more, I googled “Judith Herbert” in Salem, MA, and found her in several genealogical records available through Google Books and Internet Archive. I even found in Dr. Holyoke’s diary that he attended the wedding of Judith Herbert of Wenham, Massachusetts and Dr. Edward Barnard in 1781. Judith’s marriage was significant since young women and their parents worried that smallpox scars would prevent them finding a husband.  

After finding the marriage record, I found out more about Dr. Edward Barnard. It turns out that he was a Harvard graduate. I knew to search Sibley’s Harvard Graduates, which contains biographical sketches of every student who attended Harvard College from its first class in 1642 through 1774. Fortunately, I did not even have to leave my desk. Volume 18 of Sibley’s is available online via HathiTrust Digital Library. Where I learned that Barnard graduated from Harvard in spring of 1774, helped organize his hometown of Haverhill’s militia company in September, and in October 1775 began studying medicine with Dr. Edward Augustus Holyoke in Salem. Barnard was Holyoke’s assistant when his future wife broke out with 5000 pocks in Salem Hospital.

Now, I cannot say for sure that this is when they first met or where they fell in love. But it makes sense that Barnard attended Herbert closely as she battled one of the most severe cases of inoculated smallpox. In my historical imagination, five thousand little cartoon hearts swirled around them—one for each bloody pustule, of course. The scars did not affect a long marriage or a long life but may have affected her fertility. Judith and Edward had just one child together, a son also named Edward. They were married for forty years until Dr. Edward Barnard died in 1822. Remarkably, Judith Herbert Barnard died in 1845 at age 90.

Even though Breen was right that taking digital photos in the archive and searching them against digitized materials online has not made research and writing any faster, I do think it has made it better.


Dr. Andrew Wehrman is a historian of early American history and the history of American medicine at Central Michigan University. His current book project The Contagion of Liberty argues that popular demand for public inoculations during smallpox epidemics in the 1760s and 1770s infected Revolutionary politics and changed the way Americans understood their health and government’s responsibility to protect it.

Twitter: @ProfWehrman

Is Anyone Really Writing? Everyone is Writing, and No one is Writing.

By Dave Papendorf

There is a strange phenomenon that exists in academia and within the Humanities in particular.  Apparently, every PhD student is writing their dissertation. How industrious of them! They retreat to an airy salon and knock away at their typewriters while feeling the thrill of progress. These students are consistently fueled by the swelling approval of their ever-vigilant supervisors and the pleasant typewriter ding of every line completed on their ground-breaking project.

However, upon closer examination, this proves to be false. In fact, as it turns out, no one is writing their dissertation. Instead they write emails, book reviews, journal submissions, funding proposals, fellowship applications, course syllabi, comment on students’ work, teaching philosophies, job applications, letters of recommendation, conference papers, bibliographies, and exam prompts. After all of this, they are left dejected, despaired, and despondent. To get a job, PhD students need to be doing all of these things. “A dissertation is not enough” the market tells us. Good thing too, after keeping so many plates spinning, who has time for a dissertation anyways!

Perhaps this is too melancholiac of an assessment. After all, people are constantly finishing and defending their dissertations. But surely the sentiments shared above resonate with my colleagues. At least I hope they do, because in my experience pressures mount not only to finish the dissertation but also develop professionally with some ontological crises along the way. In the remainder of this post, I will share a little of my experience as a dissertation-writing, plate-spinning, job-hunting ABD student. Hopefully, we can commiserate together, and my honest reflections can help spur on my current and future colleagues to keep writing. Friends, please receive my unsolicited advice kindly. Most importantly, I hope this post gives non-students a view into the psyche of a late-stage PhD student.

Some of you might recognize me as a previous editor when I had just started “writing” my dissertation. While I have made progress since editing the blog, it has not been as swift as I hoped. C’est la vie. Nevertheless, I have noticed three things about myself as a “writer” that are worth sharing.

An Airy Salon for the Industrious PhD Student

An Airy Salon for the Industrious PhD Student

Despaired, Despondent, and Dejected (ish)

Despaired, Despondent, and Dejected (ish)

1. I am what you might call a “long runway” type of writer. In other words, it takes me a long time to get “off the ground” writing productively (please indulge my aerial metaphor). I need a plan, an outline, a developed structure, and goals to check off and mark my daily progress. This helps me feel as if I am doing something and forces me to come to grips with the reality of my current situation to complete my dissertation tasks (see checklist below). If you cannot simply sit down and write, this might help you. However, it is not a failsafe for all students. I find that when I do get to writing, I write in chunks. Recently, I wrote 13,000 words in nine days, but keep in mind this took two weeks of “runway” time. Alternatives would be short bursts of writing (write all you can over a weekend) or slow-and-steady (write for 50 minutes a day, regardless of quality).

Papendorf Checklist.jpg

2. I am always more successful when I measure my progress in terms of word count rather than number of pages. I write using Scrivener software which measures word count and not page numbers and stores footnotes outside of the text. I find these elements helpful because I think less about overall length and more about paragraphs. Doing so helps me focus on the cohesiveness and effectiveness of my writing rather than numerical values. Overall, this benefits my argumentation and writing quality. On a more metaphysical level, focusing on word count helps me think less about “space” on a page and more about argument.

3. I have developed a schedule-oriented plan to finish my dissertation all the way to my dissertation defense date. I have two plans: one labeled “ambitious” and the other labeled “realistic.” This two-pronged schedule gives me the impetus to be ambitious while not condemning me for being realistic. Ideally, I would finish somewhere between the two. I find that having a large-scale idea of where I am headed in advance to be consoling. Such a plan also helps give me the right “push” when I need it and comforts me when I feel like I should be doing more. Finally, sharing this with my supervisor has been helpful so that we are on the same page and the ever-frightening gap between actual progress and supervisor-expected progress is mitigated.

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I titled this post sardonically. However, cynicism is often revealing even if just revealing to its source. I suspect that many feel the same way as I do. The industry seems to be heaping more pressures on students so that our focus is diverted from dissertation writing even while, at the same time, doing more tasks overall. So, to restate the titular question, who is writing after all? Answer: everyone is writing, and no one is writing. PhD students, soldier on. Non-PhD students give a dissertation writer a hug. All of us need one.


Dave Papendorf is a late-stage History PhD Student at Central Michigan University and a Special Instructor of Historical Theology at Moody Bible Institute. His research examines the early Reformation in France (1520s-1540s) and the connections between the French and German Reformations during this period.

For more information or to contact him visit his graduate profile.

New Season, New Editor

Author Visiting the Murals in the Detroit Institute of Arts

Author Visiting the Murals in the Detroit Institute of Arts

Just as the seasons change, so must the tenure of editors of the blog. We bid farewell to one editor-in-chief and welcome another. As summer gets under way in 2019 (last of the teens…) I hope that everyone is enjoying some well-earned time off and the glorious weather. While you are taking it easy and hopefully writing, I will be meticulously looking after [Re]collection until the New Year. As such, I am excited to bring you some new content, organize, assemble, and most importantly, showcase these wonderful posts for the remainder of the year.

I would like to thank my most recent predecessor Marcel Haas for his help and navigational guidance. Moreover, I would like to thank his predecessors for maintaining such excellent work, their work ethic and contributions make this a hard standard to live up to, but I shall endeavour to maintain the excellence you are used to.

Let me introduce myself, my name is Gillian Macdonald and coming in the Fall I will be a fourth year PhD candidate in the Transnational and Comparative History PhD program at CMU. Since it is my fourth year, I am hoping to complete a good chunk—if not all—of my research and writing in the coming year. Before coming to CMU, I was a student at the University of Strathclyde in Glasgow that is one of the history department’s partner institutions. I completed both my Bachelors Honors Degree and my Master in Research at Strathclyde there. During my MRes year I was approached about attending CMU through the partnership exchange and four years later here I am completing my PhD.

After a year of completing requirements, my historical interests primarily lie in Early Modern Europe, the Medieval World, and the History of the United States with a sprinkling of inter-war Europe. Having read at least a few books in each field I can honestly say I am fascinated. However, my primary area of research lies in seventeenth-century Great Britain. The seventeenth-century is when all the fun stuff happens, there’s two revolutions, they lob off some king’s heads, start an empire, go to war with the Netherlands, France, and countless other places, the fallout from the Reformation takes hold, you name it and it’s happening. My personal interests and research lie in the tail end of the century during the so-called Glorious Revolution of 1688-90—very contested name in the historiography—particularly in Scotland. This includes spies, refugees, pirates, and parliamentary legislation dealing with it all.

Over the course of the next few months I am looking forward to sharing experiences and updates as I travel to my archives and burrow into my sources. Hopefully I’ll be able to share some of my exciting finds and struggles along the way as I travel around the little British island that I call home and maybe to some more exotic places. As well as reviewing, sharing, and publishing any and all relevant contributions by our readers! I welcome and encourage all submissions please do not hesitate to drop an email at cmichhistoryblog@gmail.com.

Happy Holidays!

Between Oil and Vietnam: Activists and their Opposition to Angola

by Julianne Haefner

About one year ago I shared my on-going dissertation project “U.S. Foreign Policy towards Angola during the Ford Administration, 1974 to 1977.” In the meantime, I have passed my comprehensive exams and have returned to working on my dissertation. Initially this was quite the struggle. On one hand, I was relieved to have passed my exams and finally be able to work on my dissertation again. On the other hand, I was a bit overwhelmed: I hadn’t touched my research in about six months and had to familiarize myself with my topic again. However, in January, I had a lucky break.  

As I have written previously for this blog, I researched quite a bit of President Ford’s foreign policy documents in the Gerald R. Ford Presidential Library last summer. Throughout this research, I had an inclination that activists in the United States would have been active in opposing the intervention. But I didn’t have specific evidence for that. Until one day this past January when I stumbled over the African Activist Archive at Michigan State University. Their online holdings transpired to be a gold mine. I found countless images, newsletter, and pamphlets discussing the dangers of U.S. involvement in Angola and drawing attention to rallies and protests. In this post I want to share two of them: one of them an image from a demonstration in Washington D.C, the other a leaflet promoting a protest march in Philadelphia.

Credit: Southern Africa Committee photo archive (http://africanactivist.msu.edu)

Credit: Southern Africa Committee photo archive (http://africanactivist.msu.edu)

The first image was taken at a demonstration in front of the White House on December 13, 1975. One of the protestors had a sign that read: “If you liked Vietnam you’ll love Angola.” Many activists drew connections between the situation in Indochina and Southern Africa: In both regions the U.S. was interfering in the self determination of countries that had long been under foreign, colonial, rule. U.S. involvement in Vietnam had escalated over the years. This was a fear that many activists had regarding Angola as well. Although there were numerous reports about U.S. mercenaries fighting in Angola, at the time of many of the demonstrations the U.S. had not yet deployed troops to Angola, But activists argued that even though troops had not been deployed, similar to Vietnam this was just a matter of time in the stages of escalation.

The second document is a leaflet advertising two events in early February 1976 connected to intervention in Angola. One of those events was a protest march to Gulf Oil in Philadelphia. Several other oil companies had already secured drilling rights, but Gulf Oil was in 1975 the only company that had already been drilling in Angola. Oil was a particularly contested issue because of the first oil crisis that had taken place in 1973. Activists on the other hand argued for the divestment of oil companies from Angola. Criticism towards Gulf Oil appears in dozens of documents that activists had created. Reading about the criticism towards Gulf Oil reminded me of the divestment movement. As international criticism ramped up against apartheid in South Africa, activists called for the divestment of companies and universities from South Africa. The calls for the divestment of Gulf Oil were definitely not as wide-scaled as the divestment movement, but it is nonetheless interesting to see the similarities.

Credit: Vincent Klingler papers (http://africanactivist.msu.edu)

Credit: Vincent Klingler papers (http://africanactivist.msu.edu)

As I continue to read through the African Activist Archive documents I am sure I will come across more interesting documents. This is then the bottom line for other students working on research projects, no matter if they’re pursuing a PhD, master’s degree, or writing a capstone paper: Sometimes it pays off to aimlessly click around the internet.

A Question of Narration

London Bridge from the Southwark side, c 1751  (source: telegraph.co.uk)

London Bridge from the Southwark side, c 1751 (source: telegraph.co.uk)

Imagine the scene.

A handsome man dressed in a finely worked frock and greatcoat leaves a stately home in London’s aristocratic quarters. Assisted by a servant in an immaculate uniform he climbs into his carriage – a gift from his wife’s father. He doesn’t have to tell the driver of the carriage where to go, the servant knows well. After all, he had driven his master to the palace every morning of this past week. The servant is proud of his duties. Since the news of his employer’s promotion had arrived last week, the man had been able to brag to the other customers of the Kings Arms Inn that he would surely receive a pay raise now. So far, the man in the back of the carriage had made no inclination of actually paying him more, but the day would come, the driver was convinced. His employer was a good man, better than most lords and politicians in the city. Inside the carriage, the handsome man smiles to himself, while the scenery of London rushes past. His promotion had been no surprise. For two years, he and his wife had worked to gain the ear of the Queen, and had used their influence to make their way into her inner circle. Private talks in the royal chambers had followed. Now, he was Lord Chamberlain of the Royal Household, and able to direct the daily business of the Queen herself. On top of that, she had given him a place in the cabinet, unheard of for a man of his position. The Whigs had cried foul, of course. They were terrified of his influence. Godolphin himself had told the Queen that with him being Lord Chamberlain – a Tory! – Parliament would be soon dissolved and general elections a given. The man in the carriage grows excited while he thinks of the prospect. How hard had his friends in the Tory party worked to regain power from the bloody Whigs! For ten years, Great Britain had fought the French in the War of the Spanish Succession, with no end in sight. With Tories back in control of Parliament, they would bring an end to further escalation. Public opinion was on their side, the man in the carriage muses, when the driver brings the horses to a sudden stop. They had arrived at their destination, St. James’s Palace. The handsome man – whose face barely shows the marks of the fifty years he had lived – steps out of the carriage and heads towards the gates. Still smiling, he – Charles Talbot, the Duke of Shrewsbury, and newly appointed Lord Chamberlain of Queen Anne’s Household – makes his way into the audience chambers on the 19th of April, 1710, to announce the arrival of four savage visitors from the Queen’s American Colonies.

Talbot was deeply embroiled in political manoeuvrings, questions of status, and his personal relationship with the Queen. He did not think much of the four Indians he had to announce as part of a small distraction in today’s business.

Portland Place in around 1796  (source: telegraph.co.uk)

Portland Place in around 1796 (source: telegraph.co.uk)

Looking back three hundred years, I am inclined to disagree with Talbot. In fact, while history has largely forgotten the charming Duke who wormed his way into the Queen’s graces in the summer of 1710, it has not forgotten the four Indians who had “undertaken a long and tedious voyage” to see their “great Queen.” In the meeting of kings and queens, the English aristocrat became a bystander. He surely would not have been happy about that.

.              .              .

The narrative in the beginning of this post was cobbled together from my current research. While looking at the journeys of indigenous people of Africa and America to Europe, I have stumbled upon a number of stories seemingly no one has told before. The bystanders of great events – with all their ambitions, dreams, fears, and politicking – have always fascinated me. In fact, the reason for choosing Indigenous travellers as the focus of my research came from their poor treatment in older historical narratives. Too often they had been passive observers. Nevertheless, in recent decades, historians have worked hard to focus their analyses and narratives on those so harshly overlooked.

The stories I wanted to tell focused on Indigenous historical protagonists who came to European courts and played the colonial empires for fools. In my mind, the colonial officials suddenly became bystanders, marginalized people themselves. Which brings me to the little exercise at the beginning of this post. I had already shifted attention away from the Europeans before, now I wanted to see how the day of the Indigenous visit would have played out for one of those passive bystanders. This time, the person without agency would be Charles Talbot, the Duke of Shrewsbury. What he thought and did on the 19th of April, 1710, tells us little about the Indigenous travellers. Indeed, he didn’t have much (if anything) to say about them, he was not aware of their status and historical significance, and, after the audience, his mind was taken up with very different issues – those of personal advancement in her Majesty’s service.

The purpose of the little exercise was thus to shift focus freely, dealing with historical figures as individuals before their titles and status muddles our modern perception of their actions. Talbot was as much actor in the earlier narrative as was his driver, both initially nameless, reduced to their personal ambitions. We could write the same scene about everyone in attendance during the audience, freely shifting focus and attention from person to person. The question that emerges is one of narration, however. How far can we go to narrate history? I consciously chose to open the narrative as I would a theatre script, because narrative often plays out as a scene would. We need to be careful, indeed, not to confuse narrative and historical events. Both have separate purpose and cannot be conflated. Writing historical narrative helps visualize history, but must not replace the analysis of an event. Vice versa, only analysing what people sometimes mistakenly assume to be dry historical facts can often be unrewarding. In short, narration helps us understand an event, while at the same time confronting us with the perspective of a previously chosen cast of characters. Playing out a scene – be it while writing or reading it – can make previously hidden motivations visible.

.              .              .

If you agree of disagree with my take on historical narrative, I would be happy to see comments either here or on our social media platforms.

Adventures and Conferences

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By Marcel Haas

If you ever wondered whether immersing yourself fully into academia is a good idea, this week’s post has some ideas that might convince you to do so. Let me begin by saying that I truly enjoy going to conferences. Think about the fact that the university allows you to go on a short holiday where you meet some interesting people, make great new friends (who can also be quite influential and helpful), and all you have to do is give a short presentation and listen to why people think that you should use different sources. Conferences become even more enticing when they are held in a different country than the one in which you are currently working. In my case, that foreign country was Mexico, and that conference the Annual Meeting of the American Society for Ethnohistory (of which I am a shiny new member). 

Right away, I felt the rush of oncoming adventure when my plane touched down on the runway of Oaxaca’s Xococotn Airport and I emerged into October’s tropical heat. The conference took place in a comfortable hotel a little outside the city center, which commanded a magnificent view of the valley. Oaxaca is an incredibly beautiful place that boasts architecture from the Spanish colonial era as well as modern art, markets, and restaurants that overlook the tremendous sight of ancient Monte Alban. The latter truly feels like the city of the gods it was meant to resemble. Built entirely upon the peak of the central mountain of the valley (which had been razed to create a massive plateau), it surely takes its place besides Mexico’s other archaeological highlights such as Teotihuacan and Palenque.

As a center of art, culture, and history, Oaxaca was the ideal place for a very special conference. The Society for Ethnohistory is generally focused on examining the history of Indigenous peoples of the Americas, but more specifically highlights the agency and achievements of Indigenous people in interaction with the colonizing Europeans (the latter part is mostly due to the source availability of course). In South Mexico, this focus allowed conference attendees to experience the region’s history while presenting their new research on exactly that. Coupled with the brilliant organization by the colleagues of UNAM and Oaxaca, the proximity to world-renowned archaeological sites (apart from Monte Alban, also the fascinating former Zapotec city Mitla is only a short cab ride away) made the conference week very special.

Besides its historic relevance and culinary excellence, it seemed to me that Oaxaca (and Mexico specifically) had also been chosen as a political statement in the face of increasing xenophobia in the United States. The choice reaffirmed the close connection of the Society with Mexico (especially considering that the “American” in its title does not simply refer to the US!), and the importance of Mesoamerica for the study of Indigenous peoples and the history of the continent. Importantly, a fiery speech by the outgoing president of the Society, Matthew Restall, emphasized the need for empathy for the suffering of other people, especially Indigenous women who have been the target of violence for centuries. 

After five days of talks, presentations, round tables, receptions, and late-night chats, the conference came to an end. Exhausted, amazed, laden with ideas and photographs, I finally made my way back to Michigan. The week in Oaxaca had been special, but also a perfect example of the experience we as graduate students, early career researchers, and even established scholars can have at one of the many conferences throughout the academic year. Alright, why aren’t you applying yet?

 Oaxaca, 2018

Spooked by Comps?

By Chiara Ziletti

Boo! Is this a ghost? Nah…it is just a past editor paying a quick visit! Did I scare you? Halloween is around the corner, but one of the things that probably scares graduate students the most are their comprehensive examinations. And indeed, it is quite understandable: lists of books that seem never-ending for each minor/major fields, hours and hours of reading and studying, written and/or oral components to pass… probably even the most confident of us would have at least one or two moments of insecurity, hesitation, anxiety, or even just frustration. I know it is a truism, but if you get in a graduate program, it is because you really like what you study, and that is why you are so scared of failing. There is a huge emotional investment lying behind comps, and as a consequence, sometimes it is hard to think rationally and objectively about the whole picture.

I passed my comprehensive examinations last summer. I am really glad I did it, not just because it was an important milestone for my academic career, but also because it was a significant experience from which I learned a lot as a person. And now that I see some of my colleagues getting closer to the date of their exam, I would like to share a couple of thoughts and suggestions to encourage them:

1.    Do your best; in this way will have no regrets and you will feel less anxious. Your best changes from day to day. One day you will feel at 120%, the other you might be tired and maybe sick. I had a moment when I was preparing for my exam in which I was not feeling well at all, and this really concerned me at first: how am I supposed to pass the exam if I feel so sick that I have almost zero energy and can barely study? What I decided to do at that moment was to simply approach one day at a time, doing the best I could with the little energy I had. Would that be sufficient to pass the exam? I could not be 100% sure, but in this way, I was sure that I would not have any regrets. Every day I put forward my honest work.  This might have not been much sometimes, but it was reassuring, and it really helped me to have a calmer and more objective mindset when the day of the exam approached. In fact, I was able to think that no matter the situation, I had always been working hard. This really reduced my levels of anxiety. Since I am sure you are already doing your best, you just need to realize this and see it in a more objective light.

2.    You know more than what you think. One of the most common feelings right before taking an exam, written or oral, is that you do not remember anything. I know this feeling very well, but after taking so many exams, I learned that it is just an apparent sensation. Your knowledge is all there with you, lurking in a corner of your brain just waiting for you to summon it. As soon as you will hear or read a question, everything will come back to you and you will just need to organize it to give your best answer. 

3.    Experiment and find your own method to prepare for the exam. When I started preparing, I spoke with other graduate students that had already passed it to hear how they managed their long lists of books. It was interesting to learn how they did it, and I experimented for a while until I found the best way for me. All this involved a lot of compromising, which was a huge learning lesson for me, since I tend to be too much of a perfectionist. After trying to take notes on the computer, making notecards, getting stuck reading books for too long, and so on, I saw that the best thing for me was to take hand notes for each book. This forced me to summarize, and in general I remember better the things that I write by hand. Additionally, once the date of the exam drew closer, I did mind maps for each major topic I focused on. This truly helped me to further summarize and visualize what I absolutely needed to remember. We are all different, so keep trying until you find the best method for you.

Chiara Ziletti - Image blog post comps.jpg

4.    Let’s be objective: your professors will not let you take the exam unless they think you are ready. Trust them; they might be intimidating sometimes, but they are not sadistic individuals throwing you into a kamikaze mission while secretly hoping that you will blow up. They care about you and have a lot of experience. This will help you reduce your anxiety and stress when thinking about the exam. In addition to this, each professor will privilege certain aspects over others; talk with them and see what they want you to focus on the most when preparing for your exam: this will significantly help you when going through your huge lists of books. 

I know it is not easy, but the more you try to think objectively about the exam, your knowledge, and the work you put forward to it, the less anxious you will be. This was a lifesaver for me. Probably the day of the exam you will still be a little bit scared, but do not let the anxiety freeze you. Take that jump, and as soon as you land, you will realize how dangerous it was to stay still.

Civil War and American Indian Research: Getting out of the “Archives”

By Dr. Michelle Cassidy, Central Michigan University

I’m trained as an archival historian. I depend on the scraps of information that I find in archives, libraries, and government offices, as well as recorded oral histories, to support my arguments related to the past. Yet, as I work on articles and a book proposal related to my dissertation research, it strikes me how many “ah ha” moments happened outside of the archives, either in conversations or while visiting the places that are central to my historical narrative. My current project focuses on Company K of the First Michigan Sharpshooters—an almost completely Anishinaabe (Ojibwe, Odawa, and Potawatomi) Union company. I explore how service in the Civil War provided some Ojibwe and Odawa men with multiple strategies to acquire or sustain leadership positions, maintain autonomy, and remain in their homelands.  They claimed the rights and responsibilities of male citizenship – voting, owning land, and serving in the army – while also actively preserving their status as Indians. My work is in dialogue with both American Indian and Civil War historiographies. In both fields, it’s important to step out of “the archives,” talk to people, and, when possible, explore the places related to your research. Of course, all historians know that the archive is bigger than what you find inside institutional walls. 

Injured soldiers at a hospital near Fredericksburg, VA. The man standing on the far right may be Thomas Kechittigo from Saganing, who was wounded in his left arm from a shell fragment at Spotsylvania on May 12, 1864. Source: LC-DIG-cwpb-01550, Library of Congress, Washington D.C.

Injured soldiers at a hospital near Fredericksburg, VA. The man standing on the far right may be Thomas Kechittigo from Saganing, who was wounded in his left arm from a shell fragment at Spotsylvania on May 12, 1864. Source: LC-DIG-cwpb-01550, Library of Congress, Washington D.C.

During the early stages of my research on Anishinaabe soldiers, I met with Company K historian Chris Czopek. In May 2010, he accompanied the Ogitchedaw Veterans and Warriors Society, as well as descendants of Company K, to Andersonville, Georgia to honor the seven Company K soldiers who died at the Confederate prison. Czopek has recorded many of the final resting places of Company K soldiers.[i]Listening to his advice, I went to cemeteries while conducting research, often taking wrong turns, ending up driving on one-lane paths, or unexpectedly and belatedly realizing graves were on private property (the results of settler colonialism). 

Looking for a soldier’s grave in Leelanau County. Photo by author.

Looking for a soldier’s grave in Leelanau County. Photo by author.

Seeing someone’s final resting place reveals much about their life, and, at times, the lives of their descendants. Visiting soldiers’ graves soon became part of my research routine. First, a moment of silence to acknowledge an individual’s life, then a look around with the eyes of a historian to observe the landscape, which includes hints of what nineteenth-century visitors might have seen from the same spot: the gentle hills of the Leelanau Peninsula; the view of Omena Bay from the site of Private Thomas Miller’s grave; and glimpses of the same bay from another hillside where a gray-spotted white marker reads: “Aaron Sargonquatto: Co. K 1 Mich. Sharp Shooters: Known as Aaron Pequongay, 1837-1916.” In the Omena cemetery, where Sargonquatto was buried, there are many other familiar names—descendants of Company K men—with several gravestones indicating twentieth-century military service. Anishinaabe cemeteries in Michigan attest to American Indians’ high rate of military service. 

The graves of three Company K soldiers are located in Arlington National Cemetery. Private David George (enlisted at Isabella, May 18, 1863) shares his final resting place in the Lower Cemetery, section twenty-seven with the earliest interments near Robert E. Lee’s occupied plantation. George died May 12, 1864 and may have been buried before the land officially became Arlington National Cemetery on June 15. James Park, a former slave of General Lee who remained at Lee’s plantation, dug many of the early graves and may have dug this Anishinaabe man’s grave. Former slaves and African American troops occupy much of section twenty-seven, but, unlike George, they were segregated from the other burials. George was buried next to white soldiers, as were Sergeant Peter Burns and Private Oliver Aptargeshick. In contrast, African American troops and free black civilians were not, at least in section twenty-seven; a reminder that while the “Indian Company” was frequently racialized and viewed as something unique, it was not placed in the same category as “Colored Regiments.”[ii]

Recently, I had the opportunity to chat with another Company K researcher, and we visited the Riverside Cemetery in Mt. Pleasant. I learned how to make a tobacco offering during our visit to the gravesite of Thomas Wabano (Waubauno)—an Ojibwe soldier who enlisted in Isabella on May 18, 1863 with around 19 other Ojibwe men. Wabano’s Company Muster Role notes: “Went home on sick furlough and died at Isabella, Mich., Jany 7th, 1864.” His grave is located behind the Grand Army of the Republic (G.A.R.) memorial. The Mt. Pleasant G.A.R. Post was organized in 1884 and named the Wa-bu-no Post. Researchers interested in Company K note that this is the only G.A.R. post, to their knowledge, that is named after an indigenous individual. Visiting Wabano’s grave was a reminder of a research avenue I haven’t yet pursued. Why was this post named after this particular Anishinaabe soldier? 

Grand Army of the Republic Memorial, Riverside Cemetery, Mt. Pleasant. Photo by author.

Grand Army of the Republic Memorial, Riverside Cemetery, Mt. Pleasant. Photo by author.

Stepping out of the archives has been important to my research process, especially given there are many silences in the traditional archives related to race, class, and gender. The information learned visiting final resting places or traversing the modern contours of a historical landscape doesn’t always make it into your central argument. Yet, these visits often illuminate connections between the past and present—a task that seems critical when writing history related to both the American Civil War and indigenous peoples. 

[i]Chris Czopek, Who was Who in Company K(Lansing: Chris Czopek, 2010).

[ii]Robert M. Poole, On Hallowed Ground: The Story of Arlington National Cemetery (New York: Walker & Company, 2009), 58-61. Arlington National Cemetery, http://www.arlingtoncemetery.mil/Map/ANCExplorer.aspx, accessed May 9, 2014. Burns and Aptargeshick are both buried in Section 13. I haven’t had the opportunity to visit Company K soldiers’ graves in Arlington; instead, this information is from a virtual visit via Arlington’s website. 

5 Tips for every PhD student's Partner

By Sara Papendorf

Many of the posts on this blog come from the point of view of those in the academic world. I thought it might be interesting (and helpful) for some readers to describe several experiences of a PhD student from a completely different point of view – the view of a partner. My name is Sara Papendorf, and I am the partner of Dave Papendorf, your favorite blog editor.  I am not an academic, but I’ve lived through the process and, therefore, have some tips to share.

To provide some context, my life as the partner of a PhD student started back in 2014. After much discussion about our future, Dave and I decided that he should pursue a PhD in history. Thus began the long hours of filling out applications. Dave applied to a number of different programs in the Midwest. I still remember how exciting it was getting letters in the mail from the different universities he applied to – honestly, I think I was more excited than Dave was! I have always been the mail checker in the family, so Dave had to kindly ask me to not open any letters without him. I obliged his request......well......basically. There were several times when I held a letter up to the light to try and see what it said. In fact, this was how we discovered that Dave was accepted into the program at CMU. It was a very exciting time for us!

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Fast forward four years later to July 2018, and Dave is currently in the writing stage of the program. As for me, over these past four years, I would say that I have learned much about being the partner of a PhD student.  If I were to provide you with any advice, here are some tips that I have found helpful: 

Tip 1: Expect challenges

Anyone who is currently working on or has completed a PhD program knows that the life of a PhD student is not for the faint-hearted. There are huge milestones in any program – being accepted, passing comps, completing one’s dissertation, defending one’s dissertation, and securing a job – not to mention that each milestone is filled with its own set of tasks to complete.  It has been important for Dave and me to recognize that this stage in our life is not permanent, just temporary and to expect that there will be difficult times throughout each major milestone.  Keeping this outlook has allowed us to pace ourselves, take one day at a time, and enjoy ourselves along the way.  

Tip 2: Show interest in your partner’s work

Frankly, I never had much interest in history during my academic years.  I much more enjoyed math and English.  It’s quite comical that my partner has such a great interest in history.  Even though I am not a huge history fan and it takes some focus to learn about history, I have discovered over the past several years that Dave appreciates when I take an interest in what he is working on.  My interest in his work doesn’t have to be a big ordeal; questions as simple as, “What are you reading about now?” or “What did you discuss in your colloquium today?” can go a long way.  I actually find great joy in hearing Dave describe what he is learning because I can tell that he truly enjoys doing what he does.  Last year, Dave taught his first course, which was medieval history.  At the beginning of the semester he asked me if I was going to attend any of his lectures. Looking back, I think he was half joking and half serious.  However, I was able to attend two lectures, and I know taking the time to attend really meant a lot to Dave.    

Tip 3: Be spontaneous. 

There are times when your partner will need to do something to take their mind off of the grind academia - studying for comps, reading primary sources in sixteenth century Latin (I might be speaking from personal experience here ;-)), or editing the same chapter of their dissertation for the fifty-second time.  From January to June of this year, Dave and I lived at the Leibniz Institute of European History (IEG) located in Mainz, Germany.  The IEG has dormitory-like living – single rooms equipped with a sink, shared kitchen space, and shared bathrooms. Over the six-month span, Dave and I both worked in our room every day.  I am sure you can imagine how easy it would be to go stir crazy working in a small space. To help keep us sane, we often took spontaneous walks along the Rhine River.  There were a handful of Saturdays where Dave and I intended to tackle several items on our checklist; however, instead of working, we decided it would be better for our quality of life to set aside our mile-long to-do-lists and spend some time enjoying each other’s company and enjoying our German surroundings. Sometimes an unplanned trip to get gelato or to the market was just what we needed.  And you don’t have to live in Germany to follow this tip – find some spontaneous fun that works in your locale!

Tip 4: Be supportive

Throughout the past four years, consciously attempting to be a supportive partner has been an important component of my role as Dave’s partner.  Supporting Dave has taken on many forms, and I have learned that sometimes being supportive is more about listening to Dave describe his concerns and struggles rather than offering my best solution to a difficult problem.  Honestly, this is one thing that has been the most difficult for me to do but has meant the most to Dave.  Lending a listening ear has often provided Dave with the support he needs to keep plugging along.  

Tip 5: If you get to travel, take advantage!

During the second year of Dave’s program, we spent the academic year living in Newcastle, England.  Knowing we would be in the UK for quite some time, we decided to book several trips to various locations across Europe – Belfast, Rome, Geneva, Amsterdam, Paris, Barcelona, and Edinburgh.  While these trips could get prices, I would say that our experiences (seeing the spectacular views of Giant’s Causeway, walking the streets of ancient Rome, taking a ferry ride down the Amsterdam canals, and touring the catacombs in Paris……just to mention a few) were worth every penny.  I can honestly say that we made the most of our time in the UK and have no regrets.  Throughout all of our travels, we have discovered some simple ways to save money:  choosing to stay in an AirBnb rather than a hotel, packing a lunch (and dinner…and breakfast), and searching for deals on cheap European airlines (EasyJet and RyanAir). Traveling with Dave has been such a great privilege as he is often able to explain some of the history behind many of the things we have been able to see when traveling abroad.  As someone who was born and raised in the Midwest, I would say it’s often easy to get wrapped up in visiting places in the US. Don’t get me wrong, the US has much to offer, but the world is quite a big place.        

These tips are by no means scientifically proven. They are just the things that have worked for me and Dave over the past 4 years. I expect (and hope) that some, if not all, might be encouraging to you as well!

Podcasting Local Community Memories: Merits and Limits

By Sean Jacobson

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Hello there! I’m privileged to be a guest contributor to [Re]collection. My name is Sean Jacobson, and I am a second-year PhD student in the Public History and American History joint program at Loyola University Chicago (the home of Sister Jean’s Ramblers for those who followed any March Madness last season). 

My varied research interests include 20th century American history, history of American evangelicalism, public memory, genocide studies, and global humanitarianism. I’ve enjoyed being part of a program that allows me to integrate public history endeavors alongside more conventional (for lack of a better word) academic study of the past. Even in my limited time at Loyola thus far, I’ve been able to work on a wide range of projects from traditional seminar papers to NEH grant writing to historical walking tour proposals and, most recently, podcasts.

The subject of what constitutes “public history” is a discussion in itself, but for my limited purpose in this post, I concern myself with one particular question: How much power and voice can or should historians share with their research subjects and stakeholders?

I tried to explore this through a recent podcast project while in a course on material culture. As someone interested in the intersections of faith, trauma, and memory, I decided to make a podcast about genocide memorials in the Chicago area. Since Chicago is, unsurprisingly, one of the most ethnically diverse cities in the country, I had a plethora of communities available to reach out to.

While I had some academic background with media (I earned a BA in History and Broadcasting at Western Kentucky University), I had never yet attempted to make a podcast. Thus, I had multiple motives with this project. For one, I wanted to get an experience actually making a podcast (forewarning: it’s hard work!). Related to that, I wanted to see what value there might be in conducting community-based research with this methodology. Additionally, the experience forced me to get out of my comfort zone and make cross-cultural networks with different communities (these often started with cold phone calls). Who knows – these connections might serve as building blocks down the road for future research and service work.

I won’t spend time talking about the specifics of my podcast (called Testimony), but I’m attaching an iTunes link here for anyone who is interested in learning about it. Instead, I want to briefly highlight a couple takeaways on the merits and limits of podcasts as a tool for taking your history research into the “public history” realm.

Merits

The most positive outcome is the connections made with living communities. For example, it’s one thing to read about a subject like the Cambodian Genocide; it’s another to actually be immersed a local diaspora community that’s actively trying to make sense of a traumatic past and, as a mediator, give those people a platform to express themselves orally. This was both challenging and rewarding. It was challenging because I sometimes felt like an intrusive outsider trying to reach these communities. It was rewarding, though, because interacting with real people allowed me to see the significance of my research subject matter.

When someone does topical studies or comparative studies, the fostering of interaction between different parties has the potential to create greater solidarity and convey research to a wider audience. Many of the communities with which I interacted for the podcast struggle to find an audience beyond their own ethnic or religious enclave. As such, doing this kind of work may help share their story and needs with a more general public.

Limits

This gets me to limitations of podcasting as “public history.” If I’m trying to share communities’ memory with a wider audience, how much authority is actually shared with those constituents? To take again for example the Cambodian community in greater Chicago, I encountered some linguistic and cultural barriers when recording and editing an episode on their day of remembrance vigil service. Considering the aural nature of a podcast, how appropriate is it for me to interpret/speak for some Cambodian immigrants who might have trouble expressing themselves or their history in English? Does that undermine the purpose of a podcast as a place to give their voice a platform?

Additionally, how critical can/should I be when tackling such a sensitive topic like genocide? On the podcast, I ventured on the safe side of not expressing any overt opinion on these communities’ presentation of their own histories. Is this the right approach to take? I believe historians ought to be as objective as possible but also not hesitate to make moral judgement calls or identify problematic interpretations of history.

As you can see, I don’t have definite answers to my own questions. As frustrating as this can be, I know that I will gain more clarity with the more experience I create. I can certainly see myself continuing future podcasts on other topics related to my research fields. The nice thing about podcasts, compared to videos or online exhibits, is that they are so versatile. People can listen to podcasts with little restriction. It’s an easy, low-risk way for people to learn about new ideas while engaging in a fast-paced world. At the same time, podcasts saturate the market so much that they can be ephemeral. If not repeatedly posting new content and advertising aggressively on social media, podcast episodes can have a short lifespan if few people ever listen to them shortly after their release.

For any readers out there, have any of you tried making a history podcast? What was your experience like? Do you think they qualify as public history? Could making one possibly help you flesh out research ideas?  I’d love to hear any feedback! 

The Global Cold War: Gerald Ford and Angola

Left: First official portrait of President Gerald R. Ford. Courtesy Gerald R. Ford Library - Right: location of angola in africa.

Left: First official portrait of President Gerald R. Ford. Courtesy Gerald R. Ford Library - Right: location of angola in africa.

By Julianne Haefner

It is finally summer in Michigan – which means all PhD students are just hanging out on one of the beautiful Great Lake beaches, right? Not quite, for many PhD students – like myself – summer is the time to dive into our research (and yes, sometimes dive into Lake Michigan). In this post, I would like to share my on-going dissertation project. I will discuss how I became interested in the topic and what I am hoping to accomplish. As of now, the project is titled: “U.S. Foreign Policy towards Angola during the Ford Administration, 1974 to 1977.”

Backtrack a few years back: At the time I was pursuing a Master of Arts at the University of Jena in Germany. In one of my political science classes, I was assigned to write a research paper about the 1988 New York Accords (also known as the Agreement among the People's Republic of Angola, the Republic of Cuba, and the Republic of South Africa). The accords ended foreign involvement in the Angolan Civil War and granted independence to Namibia (formerly known as South West Africa).

While I had to write a political science paper on the accords, I still had to research the decade-long conflict. I was intrigued. I roughly knew where Angola was. The country is situated at the southwest coast of Africa, with direct access to the Atlantic Ocean. Neighboring countries include Namibia, Zambia, and Zaire (now known as the Democratic Republic of Congo). What I did not know was that the United States had been financially involved in the civil war. Angola, formerly a Portuguese colony, became independent on November 11, 1975. In the aftermath of independence, a civil war broke out in Angola, with three movements vying for control of the newly independent country: the People's Movement for the Liberation of Angola (MPLA), the National Union for the Total Independence of Angola (UNITA), and the National Front for the Liberation of Angola (FNLA). These movements were backed by outside powers: the United States and some of its European allies supported UNITA, Cuba and the Soviet Union backed the Communist MPLA.

Why, though, did foreign powers become involved in internal Angolan affairs? There are multiple answers. One of them certainly is competition between the U.S. and the Soviet Union. Angola was a proxy war. But this is not the entire story. Angola also has natural resources, in particular oil. Oil had been found off shore and in the Angolan province of Cabinda. The relationship between South Africa, Namibia, Zaire, Zambia, and the U.S. played an important role. Understanding the different players and their attitudes and interests in Angola has been fascinating (and very complicated).

For any Michigander Gerald Ford is an important name. But his presidency has received little to no scholarly attention at all. He is often grouped in with the Presidency of Richard Nixon. The Cold War has been studied extensively, and proxy wars like the Vietnam War have received a lot of scholarly attention. The Angolan war, however, has not been studied with as much detail. In recent years there has been a push to study what is called the global Cold War. This refers to studying the Cold War as a global phenomenon, and not just as a conflict that took place between the Soviet Union and the United States. With my research, I hope to contribute to studying Gerald Ford and the global Cold War.

Thankfully, I have been able to conduct much of my research online. The Gerald R. Ford library in Ann Arbor has been digitizing a lot of their holdings. In a few weeks, however, I will be travelling to Ann Arbor. The library has awarded me a travel grant to further my research. I look forward to this opportunity. This research experience has been truly rewarding and challenging. To me, there are worse ways to spend my 2018 summer.

Feel free to contact me (haefn1jh[at]cmich.edu) if you have any questions or ideas.

Local Schools: Then and Now

Students’ names and initials carved into the wall of a schoolhouse in Grantham, Lincolnshire.  The building dates to the late fifteenth century. Photo by Carrie Euler.

Students’ names and initials carved into the wall of a schoolhouse in Grantham, Lincolnshire.  The building dates to the late fifteenth century. Photo by Carrie Euler.

By Carrie Euler

I have spent much of the summer writing a draft of what I hope will be the first peer-reviewed journal article to come out of my new project on local schools in sixteenth and seventeenth-century England.  It has led me to ponder some interesting similarities and differences between education then and now.

Some things have not changed.  Then as now, most people placed a high value in education and saw it as a path to upward mobility.  Most of these schools were founded on charitable endowments made by middle and upper-class men who wanted to give less fortunate children (mostly boys—more on that in a minute) in their hometowns the chance to obtain an education for free.  They would set aside money or land to support the salary of a schoolmaster and stipulate that the master was not to charge the students any fees.  This is why many schools in this period were referred to as “free schools.”  Then as now, most parents sent their children to these local schools, rather than to distant boarding schools, and most clearly paid attention to and cared about what their children learned.  In one case, parents complained about a certain schoolmaster and said their children were “losing their time” with him (i.e. wasting their time).  This reveals another similarity to the present day: an uneasy relationship between teachers and scholars, on the one hand, and the non-academics whose children they were teaching on the other.  In some cases, it is clear that the non-academics respected teachers and university scholars.  The founders of several schools stipulated that if the school trustees needed advice or somehow failed to appoint a schoolmaster when the position became vacant, the advice or appointment would be made by the fellows (professors) of a specific college at Oxford or Cambridge.  Nevertheless, documents relating to charitable donations to Oxford and Cambridge colleges themselves often reveal a belief among the donors (wealthy businessmen) that the fellows were lazy, ivory-tower types not to be trusted with money.  Also, like today, teachers were not paid very much compared to other professionals and often had to find second and third jobs to make ends meet.  Finally, another similarity that surprised me a little was the difficulties teachers had disciplining students.  The popular stereotype of pre-modern schools being institutions with fierce discipline because schoolmasters were allowed to inflict corporeal punishment seems to be overblown.  Yes, there was corporeal punishment at times, but it is clear that, just as teachers do today, masters often struggled to control students.  The most amusing example is that in several schools across the two English counties that I studied, it was apparently a tradition for the students to break all the schoolhouse windows on the last day before Christmas.

Of course, there are things about education that have changed a great deal since the seventeenth century, mostly for the better.  The most obvious is the increase in female students in the modern period.  Between approximately 1500 and 1650, girls would only have been present in the primary schools, up to about age eight.  After that, boys could move onto the secondary schools, known as “grammar schools” (because they taught mostly Latin grammar), where girls were not allowed.  Starting around 1650, though, there are a few secondary schools for girls only, and by the eighteenth century, a few that admit both.  Women were not allowed in universities, however, until the nineteenth century.  Another obvious difference is that there was no such thing as public education.  None of these schools was funded by the state, and there was no belief in education as a right.  Consequently, while the number of schools gradually increased over the entire period I am studying, a much smaller proportion of the population received an education and became literate than today.  Finally, while the low pay and little respect teachers received was arguably similar to today, schoolmasters four hundred years ago actually had it worse in many ways because their jobs were, for the most part, subject to the whims of the parents and boards of trustees set up by the charitable endowments.  There were no unions and no onsite administrators, like principles or counselors, to help the teachers in the case of crisis or corruption.  I did encounter one legal case in which a schoolmaster successfully sued the trustees for breach of contract, but this was pretty rare.

If there’s one thing that most historians can agree on, it’s that progress over time is not a given, but in the area of education, it appears that the modernity brought mostly positive changes.  I have learned a lot through this research and hope to continue to do so as I expand the project in the future.