This history of Ukrainian immigrants in Michigan and their American descendants examines both the choices people made and the social forces that impelled their decisions to migrate and to make new homes in the state. Michigan’s Ukrainians came in four waves, each unique in time and character, beginning in the late nineteenth century and continuing in the twenty-first. Detroit attracted many of them with the opportunities it offered in its booming automobile industry. Yet others put down roots in cities and towns across the state. Wherever they settled, they established churches and community centers and continued to practice the customs of their homeland. Many Ukrainian Americans have made significant contributions to Michigan and the United States, including those who are showcased in this book. This comprehensive text also highlights cultural practices and traditional foods cherished by community members.

A Choice Outstanding Academic Title for 2022

Hearing southern women in the pauses of history

Southern women of all classes, races, and walks of life practiced music during and after the Civil War. Candace L. Bailey examines the history of southern women through the lens of these musical pursuits, uncovering the ways that music's transmission, education, circulation, and repertory help us understand its meaning in the women's culture of the time. Bailey pays particular attention to the space between music as an ideal accomplishment—part of how people expected women to perform gentility—and a real practice—what women actually did. At the same time, her ethnographic reading of binder’s volumes, letters and diaries, and a wealth of other archival material informs new and vital interpretations of women’s place in southern culture.

A fascinating collective portrait of women's artistic and personal lives, Unbinding Gentility challenges entrenched assumptions about nineteenth century music and the experiences of the southern women who made it.

In the spring of 1832, when the Indian warrior Black Hawk and a thousand followers marched into Illinois to reoccupy lands earlier ceded to American settlers, the U.S. Army turned to rival tribes for military support. Elements of the Menominee, Dakota, Potawatomi, and Ho Chunk tribes willingly allied themselves with the United States government against their fellow Native Americans in an uncommon defense of their diverse interests. As the Black Hawk War came only two years after the passage of the Indian Removal Act and is widely viewed as a land grab by ravenous settlers, the military participation of these tribes seems bizarre. What explains this alliance?

In order to grasp Indian motives, John Hall explores their alliances in earlier wars with colonial powers as well as in intertribal antagonisms and conflicts. In the crisis of 1832, Indians acted as they had traditionally, leveraging their relationship with a powerful ally to strike tribal enemies, fulfill important male warrior expectations, and pursue political advantage and material gain. However, times had changed and, although the Indians achieved short-term objectives, they helped create conditions that permanently changed their world.

Providing a rare view of Indian attitudes and strategies in war and peace, Hall deepens our understanding of Native Americans and the complex roles they played in the nation’s history. More broadly, he demonstrates the risks and lessons of small wars that entail an “uncommon defense” by unlikely allies in pursuit of diverse, even conflicting, goals.

Seventeenth-century New Englanders were not as busy policing their neighbors’ behavior as Nathaniel Hawthorne or many historians of early America would have us believe. Keeping their own households in line occupied too much of their time. Under Household Government reveals the extent to which family members took on the role of watchdog in matters of sexual indiscretion.

In a society where one’s sister’s husband’s brother’s wife was referred to as “sister,” kinship networks could be immense. When out-of-wedlock pregnancies, paternity suits, and infidelity resulted in legal cases, courtrooms became battlegrounds for warring clans. Families flooded the courts with testimony, sometimes resorting to slander and jury-tampering to defend their kin. Even slaves merited defense as household members—and as valuable property. Servants, on the other hand, could expect to be cast out and left to fend for themselves.

As she elaborates the ways family policing undermined the administration of justice, M. Michelle Jarrett Morris shows how ordinary colonists understood sexual, marital, and familial relationships. Long-buried tales are resurrected here, such as that of Thomas Wilkinson’s (unsuccessful) attempt to exchange cheese for sex with Mary Toothaker, and the discovery of a headless baby along the shore of Boston’s Mill Pond. The Puritans that we meet in Morris’s account are not the cardboard caricatures of myth, but are rendered with both skill and sensitivity. Their stories of love, sex, and betrayal allow us to understand anew the depth and complexity of family life in early New England.

In the 1817 Treaty of Fort Meigs, Anishinaabe leaders granted land to a college where their children could be educated. At the time, the colonial settlement of Anishinaabe homelands hardly extended beyond Detroit in what settlers called the “Michigan Territory.” Four days after the Treaty of Fort Meigs was signed, the First College of Michigania was founded to claim the land that the Anishinaabeg had just granted. Four years later, the newly-chartered University of Michigan would claim this land. By the time that the university’s successor moved to Ann Arbor twenty years later, Anishinaabe people had been forced to cede almost all their land in what had become the state of Michigan, now inhabited by almost 200,000 settlers.

Under the Campus, the Land narrates the University of Michigan’s place in both Anishinaabe and settler history, tracing the university’s participation in the colonization of Anishinaabe homelands, Anishinaabe efforts to claim their right to an education, and the university’s history of disavowing, marginalizing, and minimizing its responsibilities and obligations to Anishinaabe people. Continuing the public conversations of the same name on U-M’s campus in 2023, Under the Campus, the Land provides a new perspective on the relationship between universities and settler colonialism in the US. Members of the U-M community, scholars of Midwest history, and those interested in Indigenous studies will find this book compelling.

From these diaries and letters of a soldier in the Union Army emerges a revealing portrait of their author, a man caught up in a life-and-death struggle of national import. Compiled from the diaries kept by Owen Johnston Hopkins while he was on duty with the 42nd and 182nd regiments, Ohio Volunteer Infantry, and from letters to his family and friends, this book gives a clear picture of the motives, attitudes, and sentiments of a Yankee soldier during the Civil War.

Owen Hopkins was a young man brought to maturity by the agony of war, but in spite of the horror of battle and the tedium of life in camp, he maintained a lively sense of humor and a constant devotion to the ideals for which he fought. The Civil War in these pages is a savage, vindictive conflict fought with canister, "minnie balls," grapeshot, the Enfield rifle, and the bayonet. Only seventeen when he enlisted in 1861, Hopkins was a foot soldier and a witness to the action that took place on the field of battle.

A vital part of Hopkins's life in the army was his correspondence with Julia Allison, who lived in his hometown of Bellefontaine. They began writing each other in 1863, and their friendship deepened into love. Each was a fervent patriot, and their shared devotion to their country was a significant fact of their relationship. They were married in 1865.

An epilogue tells what happened to Hopkins after June of 1865: his career, his family, and his death in 1902. Originally published in1961, this work is now available for the first time in paperback.

Since fracking emerged as a way of extracting natural gas, through intense deep drilling and the use of millions of gallons of water and chemicals to fracture shale, it has been controversial. It is perceived in different ways by different people—by some as an opportunity for increased resources and possibly jobs and other income; by others as a public health and environmental threat; and for many, an unknown. Richard Buttny, a scholar who works on rhetoric and discursive practices, read a story in his local paper in New York about hydrofracking coming to his area and had to research what it was, and what it could mean for his community. Soon he joined neighbors in fighting to have the practice banned state-wide. At the same time, he turned his scholarly eye to the messaging from both sides of the fight, using first-person accounts, interviews, and media coverage.

The activists fighting fracking won. New York is now the only state in the US with sizable deposits of natural gas that has banned hydraulic fracturing, or fracking. Unfracked explains the competing rhetoric and discourses on fracking among New York-based advocates, experts, the grassroots, and political officials. Buttny examines how these positions evolved over time and how eventually the state arrived at a decision to ban this extractive technology. His accessible approach provides both a historical recounting of the key events of this seven-year conflict, along with four in-depth case studies: a grassroots citizen group, a public hearing with medical physicians, a key intergovernmental hearing, and a formal debate among experts. The result is a look at a very recent, important historical moment and a useful examination of environmental activist and fossil fuel advocate rhetoric around an issue that continues to cause debate nationwide.

 

2025 San Antonio Conservation Society Publication Award

Unheard Witness foregrounds a young woman’s experience of domestic abuse, resistance, and survival before the mass shooting at the University of Texas at Austin in 1966.

In 1966, Kathy Leissner Whitman was a twenty-three-year-old teacher dreaming of a better future. She was an avid writer of letters, composing hundreds in the years before she was stabbed to death by her husband, Charles Whitman, who went on to commit a mass shooting from the tower at the University of Texas at Austin. Kathy’s writing provides a rare glimpse of how one woman described, and sought to change, her short life with a coercive, controlling, and violent partner.

Unheard Witness provides a portrait of Kathy’s life, doing so at a time when Americans are slowly grasping the link between domestic abuse and mass shootings. Public violence often follows violence in the home, yet such private crimes continue to be treated separately and even erased in the public imagination. Jo Scott-Coe shows how Kathy's letters go against the grain of the official history, which ignored Kathy’s perspective. With its nuanced understanding of abuse and survival, Unheard Witness is an intimate, real-time account of trust and vulnerability—in its own way, a prologue to our age of atrocities.

History at the intersection of healthcare, labor, and civil rights.

The union of hospital workers usually referred to as the 1199 sits at the intersection of three of the most important topics in US history: organized labor, health care, and civil rights. John Hennen’s book explores the union’s history in Appalachia, a region that is generally associated with extractive industries but has seen health care grow as a share of the overall economy.

With a multiracial, largely female, and notably militant membership, 1199 was at labor’s vanguard in the 1970s, and Hennen traces its efforts in hospitals, nursing homes, and healthcare centers in West Virginia, eastern Kentucky, and Appalachian Ohio. He places these stories of mainly low-wage women workers within the framework of shake-ups in the late industrial and early postindustrial United States, relying in part on the words of Local 1199 workers and organizers themselves. Both a sophisticated account of an overlooked aspect of Appalachia’s labor history and a key piece of context for Americans’ current concern with the status of “essential workers,” Hennen’s book is a timely contribution to the fields of history and Appalachian studies and to the study of social movements.

The Independence Trilogy
In the aftermath of the battles of Lexington and Concord in April 1775 and the start of the Revolutionary War, it was not clear whether the colonies outside of New England would participate militarily in the conflict. Troops from the four New England colonies surrounded Boston immediately after the fighting at Lexington and Concord, and two months into the standoff the Continental Congress, meeting in Philadelphia, assumed authority over the New England army, but the middle and southern colonies had yet to see armed conflict or bloodshed with British forces.
    In United for Independence: The American Revolution in the Middle Colonies, 1775–1776, historian Michael Cecere examines how the inhabitants of New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, and Maryland reacted to the outbreak of war in Massachusetts. Leaders in these middle colonies, influenced by strong Loyalist sentiment within their borders and, in some cases, among themselves, fiercely debated whether to support the war in New England. Congress’s decision in the summer to establish the Continental Army, and its authorization for an invasion of Canada, both of which involved troops from the middle colonies, set the stage for their full-scale involvement in the Revolutionary War.
   Using primary source extracts and proceeding chronologically from the spring of 1775 to the fall of 1776, the author presents the key events in each of these colonies, from the political struggles between Whigs and Tories, through the failed Canadian expedition, to the loss of Long Island and New York City. Designed for readers to understand the sequence of events that transformed a resistance movement into a war for independence, United for Independence provides an important overview of events in the middle colonies at the start of the Revolutionary War that complements other works that focus on specific military clashes and campaigns. 

Southwest Books of the Year Top Pick

The University of Arizona: A History in 100 Stories is a celebration of the people, ideas, inventions, teaching, and structures that have been part of the school’s evolution from a small land-grant institution to an internationally renowned research institution. Drawing on half a century of connection with the University of Arizona as a student, staff member, and faculty member, Gregory McNamee presents a history through the lens of a hundred subjects.

That story begins in 1885, with the establishment of the school, which quickly proved itself to be a powerhouse in its foundational “four pillars”: agriculture and earth sciences, followed by astronomy and anthropology. In the years following World War II, those four pillars became ever more important to the University, even as countless other fields of study gained prominence: optical sciences, women’s studies, the humanities, mathematics, and more. This phenomenal institution has as its setting the Sonoran Desert, and, closer to home, to a built environment that is widely considered among the most scenic in the country, from the Historic District with its buildings that are more than a century old to the latest steel-and-glass constructions on the edges of the ever-expanding campus.

McNamee relates this history in an entertaining manner, peppering discussion of serious intellectual and institutional themes with lighter moments—the origins of the university's rivalry with Arizona State, the ghosts that are said to lurk about campus, and more. Wildcats everywhere will delight in McNamee’s celebration of the people, places, learning, books, and pastimes that have distinguished our school.

An expanded narrative of the rich, unique history of the University of Chicago.

One of the most influential institutions of higher learning in the world, the University of Chicago has a powerful and distinct identity, and its name is synonymous with intellectual rigor. With nearly 170,000 alumni living and working in more than one hundred and fifty countries, its impact is far-reaching and long-lasting.
 
With The University of Chicago: A History, John W. Boyer, Dean of the College from 1992 to 2023, thoroughly engages with the history and the lived politics of the university. Boyer presents a history of a complex academic community, focusing on the nature of its academic culture and curricula, the experience of its students, its engagement with Chicago’s civic community, and the resources and conditions that have enabled the university to sustain itself through decades of change. He has mined the archives, exploring the school’s complex and sometimes controversial past to set myth and hearsay apart from fact.
 
Boyer’s extensive research shows that the University of Chicago’s identity is profoundly interwoven with its history, and that history is unique in the annals of American higher education. After a little-known false start in the mid-nineteenth century, it achieved remarkable early successes, yet in the 1950s it faced a collapse of undergraduate enrollment, which proved fiscally debilitating for decades. Throughout, the university retained its fierce commitment to a distinctive, intense academic culture marked by intellectual merit and free debate, allowing it to rise to international acclaim. Today it maintains a strong obligation to serve the larger community through its connections to alumni, to the city of Chicago, and increasingly to its global community. Boyer’s tale is filled with larger-than-life characters—John D. Rockefeller, Robert Maynard Hutchins, and many other famous figures among them—and episodes that reveal the establishment and rise of today’s institution.
 
Newly updated, this edition extends through the presidency of Robert Zimmer, whose long tenure was marked by significant developments and controversies over subjects as varied as free speech, medical inequity, and community relations.
 

The University of Iowa boasts an outstanding ensemble of buildings whose stylistic diversity reflects the breadth of Iowa’s contributions to research, education, and creative activities. In this first comprehensive guide to the university’s architecture, authors John Scott and Rodney Lehnertz reveal the artistic integrity, intellectual inspiration, and cutting-edge function of the campus buildings.Scott and Lehnertz highlight seventy-eight buildings that they consider architecturally significant, from the Greek Revival style of Old Capitol at the center of the Pentacrest, designed by John Francis Rague of Springfield, Illinois, to Art Building West, a work of art in itself designed by Steven Holl of New York City. The buildings are arranged in eleven campus zones, each illustrated with a map: Pentacrest, Iowa Avenue Campus, Main Campus North, Main Campus South, River Valley Campus, Arts Campus, Near West Campus, Medical Campus, University of Iowa Hospitals and Clinics Campus, Athletics Campus, and Oakdale Research Campus. Each building is presented with one or two pages of text, giving its architectural history and its noteworthy features, and one to three photographs, most of which were taken especially for this publication. The introductory essays provide both personal recollections and historical information about the diverse styles of campus architecture. Particularly valuable are the lists of all the extant campus buildings that the authors considered worthy of inclusion organized by building names, the names of their principal and project architects, and the date completed or occupied; another list contains information about notable campus sculptures. Also included are an essay about long-time campus architect George Horner and a highly useful glossary.Current students and their parents, alumni, and professional and amateur architecture enthusiasts will appreciate this copiously illustrated, accessible, and informative tour of the University of Iowa’s distinctive campus.

With an uncertain beginning in the sparsely populated remote northern Nevada town of Elko, a preparatory school opened its doors in October 1874 through the Morrill Act that sought to establish land-grant universities across the nation. Seven students began their higher education experience with dreams of a better future, but they probably could not have predicted that their alma mater would one day become the University of Nevada, Reno, a nationally classified Carnegie R1 “Very High Research” institution.

As both the University’s student body and the state’s population grew, the campus was transferred to Reno in 1885-86 as an effort to secure the fledgling institution’s prospects for survival. Many of the initial class of thirty-five students resided in Morrill Hall, the only building on campus, where they also received instruction and ate their meals. As the University enhanced its academic offerings, enrollment grew to more than 1,000 students by the turn of the century. A strong belief that the University must always be changing and evolving to meet the needs of its students and answer the challenges of a particular era became the guiding forces behind the administration’s decision-making. With an increasingly diverse student body and one of the most productive academic faculties in the country, the little school on the hill expanded during its first 100 years to become a leading public university in the western United States.

Today, the University continues to achieve institutional benchmarks, including a record 5,000 graduates during the 2019–20 academic year. It is exactly this kind of student success that has always been at the heart of the Wolf Pack Family’s mission to help students find the path that is right for them, and beckon others to share in their journey.

The 150th anniversary book is published in honor of this milestone and highlights numerous parts of the University’s history, showcasing why the University of Nevada, Reno has truly been a catalyst for success and change throughout the state’s story.

Unlikely Heroes is a gripping and readable account of Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka, the watershed 1954 U.S. Supreme Court ruling that ended racially segregated schools. The "unlikely heroes" whose lives and decisions that Jack Bass traces are the federal judges—primarily on the U.S. Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals—who vigorously and skillfully implemented the Brown decision in six southern states. These rich profiles show the character of the men who gave up prosperous lives, popularity, and friends to see that the constitutional rights of all U.S. citizens were protected.

In 1930, neurosyphilis struck an unsuspecting Mabel Smith. Doctors at the Central State Hospital for the Insane in Indianapolis turned to malaria therapy--a radical treatment that relied on the belief that infection with malaria might save Smith’s life by attacking the bacterium that causes syphilis.

Christin L. Hancock looks through the lens of feminist disability to examine the popular but ethically suspect treatment and its consequences. As Hancock shows, the treatment’s purported success rate relied on the disabled minds and bodies of people incarcerated in mental hospitals. The backgrounds and identities of these patients reflected and perpetuated attitudes around poverty, gender, race, and disability while betraying authorities’ desire to protect the public from women and men perceived as abnormal, sexually tainted, and unworthy of community life.

Paying special attention to the patients’ voices and experiences, Unmentionable Madness offers a disability history that confronts the ethics of experimentation.

By privileging race as the lens of analysis, sociologist Bernadette Ludwig reveals the significance of race in the lives of Liberians both during and after their immigration to the U.S.

The salience of race in these different contexts varies. Some measures, such as the impetus for Liberia’s establishment as a colony to protect the institution of slavery in the U.S., were unambiguously race-based. Since becoming an independent country, Liberia's citizenship has been restricted to Black people. Subsequently, being “Black” is a central aspect of both the nation of Liberia and what it means to be Liberian. In contrast, (Liberian) refugee resettlement and associated integration measurements by the U.S. government have been framed as race-neutral. However, upon closer examination, this has not been the case. For example, Black refugees and asylum seekers have had to overcome additional burdens compared to non-Black forced migrants, such as having a lower resettlement quota allocated to them and a higher threshold to prove persecution. Once in the U.S., African refugees face additional barriers due to systemic and individual anti-Black racism, especially in the racially divided context of places such as Staten Island, which has the largest per capita concentration of Liberians in the U.S.

Unwelcome Shores explores how Liberians have responded to these racist exclusions. For example, they vociferously reject the informal refugee label once they were resettled in the U.S., as they mostly view the label as a liability since the larger general public, the media, and the US government tend to regard Black refugees as an economic and social burden unworthy of assistance. Indeed, Black refugees’ humanity is often ignored in favor of overemphasizing presumed barbaric violence, endemic wars, cultural backwardness, and diseases, subsequently rendering them less worthy of protection and resettlement. By detailing the lack of aid and support for Black refugees and describing how Liberian refugees have had to overcome various struggles and barriers in coming to the U.S. and while living here, Unwelcome Shores highlights the overarching role of race and anti-Black racism in American society.
 

Across the country, white ethnics have fled cities for suburbs. But many have stayed in their old neighborhoods. When the busing crisis erupted in Boston in the 1970s, Catholics were in the forefront of resistance. Jews, 70,000 of whom had lived in Roxbury and Dorchester in the early 1950s, were invisible during the crisis. They were silent because they departed the city more quickly and more thoroughly than Boston's Catholics. Only scattered Jews remained in Dorchester and Roxbury by the mid-1970s.

In telling the story of why the Jews left and the Catholics stayed, Gerald Gamm places neighborhood institutions--churches, synagogues, community centers, schools--at its center. He challenges the long-held assumption that bankers and real estate agents were responsible for the rapid Jewish exodus. Rather, according to Gamm, basic institutional rules explain the strength of Catholic attachments to neighborhood and the weakness of Jewish attachments. Because they are rooted, territorially defined, and hierarchical, parishes have frustrated the urban exodus of Catholic families. And because their survival was predicated on their portability and autonomy, Jewish institutions exacerbated the Jewish exodus.

Gamm shows that the dramatic transformation of urban neighborhoods began not in the 1950s or 1960s, but in the 1920s. Not since Anthony Lukas's Common Ground has there been a book that so brilliantly explores not just Boston's dilemma but the roots of the American urban crisis.

A cultural history of the South Bronx that reaches beyond familiar narratives of urban ruin and renaissance, beyond the “inner city” symbol, to reveal the place and people obscured by its myths.

For decades, the South Bronx was America’s “inner city.” Synonymous with civic neglect, crime, and metropolitan decay, the Bronx became the preeminent symbol used to proclaim the failings of urban places and the communities of color who lived in them. Images of its ruins—none more infamous than the one broadcast live during the 1977 World Series: a building burning near Yankee Stadium—proclaimed the failures of urbanism.

Yet this same South Bronx produced hip hop, arguably the most powerful artistic and cultural innovation of the past fifty years. Two narratives—urban crisis and cultural renaissance—have dominated understandings of the Bronx and other urban environments. Today, as gentrification transforms American cities economically and demographically, the twin narratives structure our thinking about urban life.

A Bronx native, Peter L’Official draws on literature and the visual arts to recapture the history, people, and place beyond its myths and legends. Both fact and symbol, the Bronx was not a decades-long funeral pyre, nor was hip hop its lone cultural contribution. L’Official juxtaposes the artist Gordon Matta-Clark’s carvings of abandoned buildings with the city’s trompe l’oeil decals program; examines the centrality of the Bronx’s infamous Charlotte Street to two Hollywood films; offers original readings of novels by Don DeLillo and Tom Wolfe; and charts the emergence of a “global Bronx” as graffiti was brought into galleries and exhibited internationally, promoting a symbolic Bronx abroad.

Urban Legends presents a new cultural history of what it meant to live, work, and create in the Bronx.

After receiving a liberal arts education at the Munro Academy in Elbridge, New York, and a stint in the U.S.–Mexican War, James Henry Martineau spent his life as a surveyor, civil engineer, clerk, mapmaker, and pathfinder in Zion. After becoming a Latter-day Saint in 1850, Martineau went with Apostle George A. Smith to settle Parowan in southern Utah, with a commitment to building God’s kingdom in the West. As a leader in the Utah Territorial Militia he conducted military drills, witnessed events surrounding the Mountain Meadows Massacre and the legal trials of its perpetrators, explored wilderness areas, submitted reports, and drew maps to record his travels throughout the entire Mormon corridor.

These journals document his exploration of virgin lands in southern Utah, his laying out of townsites and farmland in Cache Valley, his participation in canal building and water projects in Arizona, and his near-death experiences while surveying rough, mountainous areas. His work for the Union Pacific Railroad through Weber Canyon and across the Salt Lake Promontory and Humboldt Desert in 1868 is one of the very few complete records of its kind. 

After receiving a liberal arts education at the Munro Academy in Elbridge, New York, and a stint in the U.S.–Mexican War, James Henry Martineau spent his life as a surveyor, civil engineer, clerk, mapmaker, and pathfinder in Zion. After becoming a Latter-day Saint in 1850, Martineau went with Apostle George A. Smith to settle Parowan in southern Utah, with a commitment to building God’s kingdom in the West. As a leader in the Utah Territorial Militia he conducted military drills, witnessed events surrounding the Mountain Meadows Massacre and the legal trials of its perpetrators, explored wilderness areas, submitted reports, and drew maps to record his travels throughout the entire Mormon corridor.

These journals document his exploration of virgin lands in southern Utah, his laying out of townsites and farmland in Cache Valley, his participation in canal building and water projects in Arizona, and his near-death experiences while surveying rough, mountainous areas. His work for the Union Pacific Railroad through Weber Canyon and across the Salt Lake Promontory and Humboldt Desert in 1868 is one of the very few complete records of its kind.