Michigan Copper
07/24/2009 11:28
Apparently the story-telling pretty much begins with Angus Murdoch’s 1943 epic, Boom Copper. Later retellings, even if they only deal with a narrow topic like Calumet and Hecla, refer to Murdoch as the source of much of the color and legend associated with the region. The book is divided between the historical narrative of the copper industry in the region, and the stories of the communities and personalities of the region.
Interesting that the UP was the scene of North America’s first mineral “rush,” complete with Deadwood-esque boomtowns and characters. Pure metal deposits were unknown to science, and scientists had trouble believing that commercial quantities of copper could be brought up that would require no smelting to remove impurities. What were the implications for the overall US copper industry? Compared to foreign competitors who had to smelt their ore (until Coro Coro, Bolivia)?
“Three quarters of all the metal taken from the Cliff came out in the form of masses weighing anywhere from a ton to a hundred tons…Nowhere in the world had so much copper ever been taken from so small an area of mineral land.” (54, 56) Sam Knapp’s “Minesota” mine holds the record for the size of a single chunk: either 420 or 564 tons, depending on 1856 reports. Murdoch says the Minesota is also distinguished as the most productive copper mine in history, “in proportion to the amount of labor and capital expended.” From 1852-1856 (after four years of development beginning in 1848), “the stockholders’ investment in the mine had doubled itself, and by 1876 they had received thirty dollars in dividends for every dollar invested. At one time in the fifties, more than 2,000,000 pounds of mass copper was in sight, much of it all ready for cutting up...Probably nowhere else on earth has there been a mine whose skips ran up and down through a solid copper shaft.” (92-3)
Murdoch’s economic analysis of Michigan copper is a little sketchier than his setting and character descriptions. He notes that 1870 was the first time in history copper went below twenty cents per pound (95), and that “fissure mining” was only successful three times (the Central, the Cliff, and the Minesota), but spurred a generation of mining ventures. “Of the 112 discoverable mining corporations which have operated in Ontonagon County,” he says, “only the Minesota has paid more in dividends than it collected in assessments” (97). The story of silver (especially on Silver Islet in Thunder Bay) provides an interesting contrast between the economics of precious metals and copper.
Several of the characters like Sam Hill, Alexander Agassiz, and Sam Knapp would probably make interesting subjects. Murdoch’s treatment of the Secrétan scandal, the paternalism of C & H, and the relationship between organized labor and the mining companies, is suggestive but short on detail. He mentions that copper demand is relatively inelastic, but follows economic trends due to its use in infrastructure. This is probably more true since the maturity of the electronics industry than it was during most of the Michigan heyday. But it’s interesting that he distinguishes between copper and other minerals from a demand perspective.
Interesting that the UP was the scene of North America’s first mineral “rush,” complete with Deadwood-esque boomtowns and characters. Pure metal deposits were unknown to science, and scientists had trouble believing that commercial quantities of copper could be brought up that would require no smelting to remove impurities. What were the implications for the overall US copper industry? Compared to foreign competitors who had to smelt their ore (until Coro Coro, Bolivia)?
“Three quarters of all the metal taken from the Cliff came out in the form of masses weighing anywhere from a ton to a hundred tons…Nowhere in the world had so much copper ever been taken from so small an area of mineral land.” (54, 56) Sam Knapp’s “Minesota” mine holds the record for the size of a single chunk: either 420 or 564 tons, depending on 1856 reports. Murdoch says the Minesota is also distinguished as the most productive copper mine in history, “in proportion to the amount of labor and capital expended.” From 1852-1856 (after four years of development beginning in 1848), “the stockholders’ investment in the mine had doubled itself, and by 1876 they had received thirty dollars in dividends for every dollar invested. At one time in the fifties, more than 2,000,000 pounds of mass copper was in sight, much of it all ready for cutting up...Probably nowhere else on earth has there been a mine whose skips ran up and down through a solid copper shaft.” (92-3)
Murdoch’s economic analysis of Michigan copper is a little sketchier than his setting and character descriptions. He notes that 1870 was the first time in history copper went below twenty cents per pound (95), and that “fissure mining” was only successful three times (the Central, the Cliff, and the Minesota), but spurred a generation of mining ventures. “Of the 112 discoverable mining corporations which have operated in Ontonagon County,” he says, “only the Minesota has paid more in dividends than it collected in assessments” (97). The story of silver (especially on Silver Islet in Thunder Bay) provides an interesting contrast between the economics of precious metals and copper.
Several of the characters like Sam Hill, Alexander Agassiz, and Sam Knapp would probably make interesting subjects. Murdoch’s treatment of the Secrétan scandal, the paternalism of C & H, and the relationship between organized labor and the mining companies, is suggestive but short on detail. He mentions that copper demand is relatively inelastic, but follows economic trends due to its use in infrastructure. This is probably more true since the maturity of the electronics industry than it was during most of the Michigan heyday. But it’s interesting that he distinguishes between copper and other minerals from a demand perspective.
First Impressions: Books looked at quickly
07/20/2009 06:15
David Hackett Fischer, The Revolution of American Conservatism
He makes the point in his introduction that, whatever else there is to say about the spread of democracy, “habit and custom” were generally against it. “even in Rhode Island where, as John Adams wrote, ‘there has been no Clergy, no Church, and I had almost said no State, and some People say no religion, there has been a constant respect for certain old Families.’” (xiii)
Contains appendices with cast of characters by state, as well as political affiliations of early republic newspapers.
Robert Darnton, The Kiss of Lamourette
Apparently a collection of essays he had laying around. I shouldn’t have read “Publishing: A Survival Strategy for Academic Authors” first. It was so annoying and Bill-Brysonesque that it left everything else feeling a little too slimy with conceit.
Henry F. May, The Enlightenment in America
Is this a standard intellectual history? Not my cup of tea…
John Higham and Paul K. Conkin, New Directions in American Intellectual History
This is a series of essays from 1979, when intellectual history was “in the wilderness.” Two of the major assumptions that had come under attack: that societies tend to be integrated (to have a meaningful “national character” at all), and that a shared culture maintains that integration. If these are not true, then intellectual histories are possible for competing groups. And, most interesting for me, between “intellectuals” and “non-intellectuals.” (Is calling it mentalities sometimes a subtle slam at the subject of study, who we don’t think is “up to” having an intellectual position? This may be more than just a question of semantics)
Is there a question of agency? Do we assume that “intellectuals” choose their beliefs (world-view, attitude towards change, causality, etc.)? And that regular people don’t. Is determinism a feature of sociology? New social history? Dialectical materialism? And – is it not present in intellectual history?
“Some historians concentrate on clearly articulated beliefs that are amenable to formal exegesis. Others are strongly drawn to examining the less refined level of consciousness the French have taught us to call collective mentalities.” Is this distinction what he thinks it is? Isn’t there a big chunk of underwater iceberg, holding up those “clearly articulated beliefs?” Is it really that easy to distinguish them? Isn’t this why intellectual historians inevitably get around to flirting with psychology?
The authors mention the fashion (at the Wingspread Conference) for studying communities and their “paradigmatic” assumptions (they mention Kuhn and Haskell). This seems like it will be helpful, where it’s possible to identify group membership. Everyone belongs to multiple groups. How does religious affiliation (Catholic vs. Protestant) influence labor activism in early 20th c. New England? How does relative group ranking (“family first” among immigrant Italians) influence participation and level of commitment in other groups? How does overall skepticism (or irony) affect acceptance of group paradigms? (J. Guglielmo’s Italian immigrant women)
Laurence Veysey quotes Charles Peirce: “It is the belief men betray and not that which they parade which has to be studied.” Okay, I guess I need to read at least that article…
Paul A. Varg, America, From Client State to World Power
Vague.
He makes the point in his introduction that, whatever else there is to say about the spread of democracy, “habit and custom” were generally against it. “even in Rhode Island where, as John Adams wrote, ‘there has been no Clergy, no Church, and I had almost said no State, and some People say no religion, there has been a constant respect for certain old Families.’” (xiii)
Contains appendices with cast of characters by state, as well as political affiliations of early republic newspapers.
Robert Darnton, The Kiss of Lamourette
Apparently a collection of essays he had laying around. I shouldn’t have read “Publishing: A Survival Strategy for Academic Authors” first. It was so annoying and Bill-Brysonesque that it left everything else feeling a little too slimy with conceit.
Henry F. May, The Enlightenment in America
Is this a standard intellectual history? Not my cup of tea…
John Higham and Paul K. Conkin, New Directions in American Intellectual History
This is a series of essays from 1979, when intellectual history was “in the wilderness.” Two of the major assumptions that had come under attack: that societies tend to be integrated (to have a meaningful “national character” at all), and that a shared culture maintains that integration. If these are not true, then intellectual histories are possible for competing groups. And, most interesting for me, between “intellectuals” and “non-intellectuals.” (Is calling it mentalities sometimes a subtle slam at the subject of study, who we don’t think is “up to” having an intellectual position? This may be more than just a question of semantics)
Is there a question of agency? Do we assume that “intellectuals” choose their beliefs (world-view, attitude towards change, causality, etc.)? And that regular people don’t. Is determinism a feature of sociology? New social history? Dialectical materialism? And – is it not present in intellectual history?
“Some historians concentrate on clearly articulated beliefs that are amenable to formal exegesis. Others are strongly drawn to examining the less refined level of consciousness the French have taught us to call collective mentalities.” Is this distinction what he thinks it is? Isn’t there a big chunk of underwater iceberg, holding up those “clearly articulated beliefs?” Is it really that easy to distinguish them? Isn’t this why intellectual historians inevitably get around to flirting with psychology?
The authors mention the fashion (at the Wingspread Conference) for studying communities and their “paradigmatic” assumptions (they mention Kuhn and Haskell). This seems like it will be helpful, where it’s possible to identify group membership. Everyone belongs to multiple groups. How does religious affiliation (Catholic vs. Protestant) influence labor activism in early 20th c. New England? How does relative group ranking (“family first” among immigrant Italians) influence participation and level of commitment in other groups? How does overall skepticism (or irony) affect acceptance of group paradigms? (J. Guglielmo’s Italian immigrant women)
Laurence Veysey quotes Charles Peirce: “It is the belief men betray and not that which they parade which has to be studied.” Okay, I guess I need to read at least that article…
Paul A. Varg, America, From Client State to World Power
Vague.
1817 view of the revolutions
07/12/2009 19:39
Manuel Palacio Fajardo, Outline of the Revolution in Spanish America (London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, 1817)
Palacio outlines the organization of the territories of Spanish America before Napoleon’s overthrow of the Spanish monarchy. He gives special attention to Thomas Picton’s proclamation of 26 June 1797, which seemed to promise British aid to Spanish American independence. (16) In it, Henry Dundas (1st Viscount Melville, according to the author “foreign minister to his Britannick Majesty,” but actually Home Secretary 1791-4 and War Secretary 1794-1801 under Pitt, elevated in 1802, impeached 1806 for misappropriation of public money) is quoted in a letter of 7 April 1797 “encouraging the inhabitants to resist the oppressive authority of their government…that they may be certain, that whenever they are in that disposition, they may receive at your hands all the succours to be expected from his Britannick Majesty, be it with forces, or with arms and ammunition to any extent; with the assurance, that the views of his Britannick Majesty go no further than to secure to them their independence, without pretending to any sovereignty over their country.” Of course, the Britannick Majesty in question was George III, so maybe the revolutionaries were naïve to believe too strongly in his desire to see colonies freed from their mother countries. By the time they got around to asking for such aid, Spain was no longer an enemy of Great Britain, but an ally in the war against Napoleon.
Palacio goes on to stress the loyalty of the Spanish Americans after the seizure of the Spanish throne. Their juntas, he says, were temporary and were necessary to maintain order in light of the broken chain of command from the mother country. In any case, they were no different from the juntas of Seville or the other peninsular cities that had taken on self-government in the name of the king.
Palacio says the Americans regarded the establishment of the regency in Spain as an illegal act, and determined to govern themselves independently only after it was clear to them that the illegal Spanish government intended to make war on the “rebels” in America. He gives a detailed narrative of the revolutions up until 1817 (Bernardo O’Higgins is Supreme Commander in Chile at the close). I’ll need to come back to this, when I have a clearer sense of the actual timeline, to see how accurate this account is.
The message Palacio leaves his London readers with, is that the Spanish Americans, although generally unsatisfied with peninsular rule, would never have revolted when they did, except for the assurances of the British that they’d have aid and access to commerce. At the time of publication, they had seen neither (it would be another six years before the British government recognized Spanish American independence). In the final pages, “young General Mina” sails from Liverpool in May of 1816. He arrives in the United States in June, where he picks up not only more “musquets,” (343) but a number of officers who sail with him to the Gulf of Mexico. The United States government is no more enthusiastic about the revolution than Britain, but Palacio believes the people feel otherwise. (346) In the end, after describing unsuccessful missions to the governments of Britain, the U.S. and France (Bonaparte apparently promised his aid just before he was defeated at Leipsig), Palacio seems to be appealing to English-speaking public opinion for political or possibly direct support. It’ll be interesting to see if his book attracted any attention or comment in London or North America.
Palacio outlines the organization of the territories of Spanish America before Napoleon’s overthrow of the Spanish monarchy. He gives special attention to Thomas Picton’s proclamation of 26 June 1797, which seemed to promise British aid to Spanish American independence. (16) In it, Henry Dundas (1st Viscount Melville, according to the author “foreign minister to his Britannick Majesty,” but actually Home Secretary 1791-4 and War Secretary 1794-1801 under Pitt, elevated in 1802, impeached 1806 for misappropriation of public money) is quoted in a letter of 7 April 1797 “encouraging the inhabitants to resist the oppressive authority of their government…that they may be certain, that whenever they are in that disposition, they may receive at your hands all the succours to be expected from his Britannick Majesty, be it with forces, or with arms and ammunition to any extent; with the assurance, that the views of his Britannick Majesty go no further than to secure to them their independence, without pretending to any sovereignty over their country.” Of course, the Britannick Majesty in question was George III, so maybe the revolutionaries were naïve to believe too strongly in his desire to see colonies freed from their mother countries. By the time they got around to asking for such aid, Spain was no longer an enemy of Great Britain, but an ally in the war against Napoleon.
Palacio goes on to stress the loyalty of the Spanish Americans after the seizure of the Spanish throne. Their juntas, he says, were temporary and were necessary to maintain order in light of the broken chain of command from the mother country. In any case, they were no different from the juntas of Seville or the other peninsular cities that had taken on self-government in the name of the king.
Palacio says the Americans regarded the establishment of the regency in Spain as an illegal act, and determined to govern themselves independently only after it was clear to them that the illegal Spanish government intended to make war on the “rebels” in America. He gives a detailed narrative of the revolutions up until 1817 (Bernardo O’Higgins is Supreme Commander in Chile at the close). I’ll need to come back to this, when I have a clearer sense of the actual timeline, to see how accurate this account is.
The message Palacio leaves his London readers with, is that the Spanish Americans, although generally unsatisfied with peninsular rule, would never have revolted when they did, except for the assurances of the British that they’d have aid and access to commerce. At the time of publication, they had seen neither (it would be another six years before the British government recognized Spanish American independence). In the final pages, “young General Mina” sails from Liverpool in May of 1816. He arrives in the United States in June, where he picks up not only more “musquets,” (343) but a number of officers who sail with him to the Gulf of Mexico. The United States government is no more enthusiastic about the revolution than Britain, but Palacio believes the people feel otherwise. (346) In the end, after describing unsuccessful missions to the governments of Britain, the U.S. and France (Bonaparte apparently promised his aid just before he was defeated at Leipsig), Palacio seems to be appealing to English-speaking public opinion for political or possibly direct support. It’ll be interesting to see if his book attracted any attention or comment in London or North America.
Lord Strangford
07/10/2009 19:37
J. Street, “Lord Stangford and Río de la Plata, 1808-1815” Hispanic American Historical Review 33:4 (Nov., 1953) 477-510
Viscount Strangford, unlike “the impressionable Smith or the irresponsible Cochrane” (510) was not a romantic advocate of Spanish-American independence. Street outlines Stangford’s seven-year ministry to the Brazilian court, which made him the closest British official to the colonies as they began the period of self-government that led to secession from the Spanish Empire.
Street argues against the view (held, he implies, by contemporary Argentine historians including E. Ruiz-Guiñazú) that Strangford was a “magnanimous supporter of the Argentine Revolution of May, 1810” (477). The story he tells of Stangford’s nearly constant involvement in Buenos Aires’ politics and diplomacy, however, at least suggests that the Spanish colony’s issues were far more pressing (and interesting to Stangford?) than anything going on in Brazil at the time.
Street refers extensively to letters and memos from the Foreign Office Archives, between Stangford and a succession of ministers including Canning, Marquise Wellesley, and Castlereagh (the particular timing of changes in the ministries might shed light on shifts in Britain’s level of interest, if not her position on the Spanish Colonies. Might be worth more reading – esp. Castlereagh’s possibly divergent view – p. 497). There are also a couple of references to memoirs and books that may be useful. And a hint: The United States, too, had aroused Stangford’s suspicion by sheltering in Baltimore a French propaganda organization aimed at Latin America” (495).
This is an antidote to the idea that Britain ever had anything beside her own interests in mind, which should be obvious. Street also suggests that Britain’s European interests and policies were always paramount. Even “two-thousand leagues” away, Stangford’s actions are always predicated on his knowledge or surmise of what’s happening in Europe, and what that means for Britain. Maybe this sense of Latin America as a stage for the power-struggles of the old world is something I can do something with…
Viscount Strangford, unlike “the impressionable Smith or the irresponsible Cochrane” (510) was not a romantic advocate of Spanish-American independence. Street outlines Stangford’s seven-year ministry to the Brazilian court, which made him the closest British official to the colonies as they began the period of self-government that led to secession from the Spanish Empire.
Street argues against the view (held, he implies, by contemporary Argentine historians including E. Ruiz-Guiñazú) that Strangford was a “magnanimous supporter of the Argentine Revolution of May, 1810” (477). The story he tells of Stangford’s nearly constant involvement in Buenos Aires’ politics and diplomacy, however, at least suggests that the Spanish colony’s issues were far more pressing (and interesting to Stangford?) than anything going on in Brazil at the time.
Street refers extensively to letters and memos from the Foreign Office Archives, between Stangford and a succession of ministers including Canning, Marquise Wellesley, and Castlereagh (the particular timing of changes in the ministries might shed light on shifts in Britain’s level of interest, if not her position on the Spanish Colonies. Might be worth more reading – esp. Castlereagh’s possibly divergent view – p. 497). There are also a couple of references to memoirs and books that may be useful. And a hint: The United States, too, had aroused Stangford’s suspicion by sheltering in Baltimore a French propaganda organization aimed at Latin America” (495).
This is an antidote to the idea that Britain ever had anything beside her own interests in mind, which should be obvious. Street also suggests that Britain’s European interests and policies were always paramount. Even “two-thousand leagues” away, Stangford’s actions are always predicated on his knowledge or surmise of what’s happening in Europe, and what that means for Britain. Maybe this sense of Latin America as a stage for the power-struggles of the old world is something I can do something with…
Utopian ends still don't justify the means
07/08/2009 14:14
Maurice Meisner, Marxism Maoism and Utopianism (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1982)
“The term ‘utopia,’ Lewis Mumford once observed, can be taken to mean either the ultimate in human hope or the ultimate in human folly. Mumford also noted that Sir Thomas More…was aware of both meanings of the word when he pointed to its divergent Greek origins: eutopia, which means the good place; and outopia, which means no place.” (3)
Meisner says the Chinese Cultural Revolution was an application of Marxist-Maoist utopianism. He argues, in spite of contemporary Chinese belief that these were “ten lost years,” that the tragic results are not the whole story. Ultimately, Meisner agrees with Max Weber that “man would not have attained the possible unless time and again he had reached out for the impossible.” (27 and several other places)
Interesting, as far as it goes. But it doesn’t go far enough: doesn’t really address the issue of means and ends. Though Meisner mentions Robert Owen and others several times while discussing Marx and the sources of his utopianism (although he describes these sources as simply the historical setting for Marx’s ideas), he completely misses the point that Owen and his elaborators in England and America were voluntarists. Their utopian ideas culminated in the cooperative movement and in voluntary socialist communities like New Harmony; not in totalitarian (I hate to use the word, but it seems to apply), top-down, deadly government campaigns like the Cultural Revolution.
I admit to knowing next to nothing about Chinese history, but this seems to be a flaw in Meisner’s argument. Notwithstanding, he raises an interesting question: do utopian ideals necessarily lead to disastrous results? Or just when implemented at gunpoint?
“The term ‘utopia,’ Lewis Mumford once observed, can be taken to mean either the ultimate in human hope or the ultimate in human folly. Mumford also noted that Sir Thomas More…was aware of both meanings of the word when he pointed to its divergent Greek origins: eutopia, which means the good place; and outopia, which means no place.” (3)
Meisner says the Chinese Cultural Revolution was an application of Marxist-Maoist utopianism. He argues, in spite of contemporary Chinese belief that these were “ten lost years,” that the tragic results are not the whole story. Ultimately, Meisner agrees with Max Weber that “man would not have attained the possible unless time and again he had reached out for the impossible.” (27 and several other places)
Interesting, as far as it goes. But it doesn’t go far enough: doesn’t really address the issue of means and ends. Though Meisner mentions Robert Owen and others several times while discussing Marx and the sources of his utopianism (although he describes these sources as simply the historical setting for Marx’s ideas), he completely misses the point that Owen and his elaborators in England and America were voluntarists. Their utopian ideas culminated in the cooperative movement and in voluntary socialist communities like New Harmony; not in totalitarian (I hate to use the word, but it seems to apply), top-down, deadly government campaigns like the Cultural Revolution.
I admit to knowing next to nothing about Chinese history, but this seems to be a flaw in Meisner’s argument. Notwithstanding, he raises an interesting question: do utopian ideals necessarily lead to disastrous results? Or just when implemented at gunpoint?
