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The brainchild of an obscure Yugoslav physician, Krebiozen emerged in 1951 as an alleged cancer treatment. Andrew Ivy, a University of Illinois vice president and a famed physiologist dubbed “the conscience of U.S. science,” wholeheartedly embraced Krebiozen. Ivy’s impeccable credentials and reputation made the treatment seem like another midcentury medical miracle. But after years of controversy, the improbable saga ended with Krebiozen proved a sham, its inventor fleeing the country, and Ivy’s reputation and legacy in ruins.

Matthew C. Ehrlich’s history of Krebiozen tells a quintessential story of quackery. Though most experts dismissed the treatment, it found passionate public support not only among cancer patients but also people in good health. The treatment’s rise and fall took place against the backdrop of America’s never-ending suspicion of educational, scientific, and medical expertise. In addition, Ehrlich examines why people readily believe misinformation and struggle to maintain hope in the face of grave threats to well-being.

A dramatic account of fraud and misplaced trust, The Krebiozen Hoax shines a light on a forgotten medical scandal and its all-too-familiar relevance in the twenty-first century.

Winner, 2022 J.G. Ragsdale Book Award, Arkansas Historical Association

The Ku Klux Klan established a significant foothold in Arkansas in the 1920s, boasting more than 150 state chapters and tens of thousands of members at its zenith. Propelled by the prominence of state leaders such as Grand Dragon James Comer and head of Women of the KKK Robbie Gill Comer, the Klan established Little Rock as a seat of power second only to Atlanta. In The Ku Klux Klan in 1920s Arkansas, Kenneth C. Barnes traces this explosion of white nationalism and its impact on the state’s development.

Barnes shows that the Klan seemed to wield power everywhere in 1920s Arkansas. Klansmen led businesses and held elected offices and prominent roles in legal, medical, and religious institutions, while the women of the Klan supported rallies and charitable activities and planned social gatherings where cross burnings were regular occurrences. Inside their organization, Klan members bonded during picnic barbeques and parades and over shared religious traditions. Outside of it, they united to direct armed threats, merciless physical brutality, and torrents of hateful rhetoric against individuals who did not conform to their exclusionary vision.

By the mid-1920s, internal divisions, scandals, and an overzealous attempt to dominate local and state elections caused Arkansas’s Klan to fall apart nearly as quickly as it had risen. Yet as the organization dissolved and the formal trappings of its flamboyant presence receded, the attitudes the Klan embraced never fully disappeared. In documenting this history, Barnes shows how the Klan’s early success still casts a long shadow on the state to this day.

In the spring of 1881, W. M. D. Lee and Lucien B. Scott, wealthy businessmen of Leavenworth, Kansas, purchased land in the upper Texas Panhandle to establish the Lee-Scott Cattle Company. Their range sprawled across four Texas counties and extended into eastern New Mexico. About six months later, fifty thousand head of mixed cattle, branded LS, grazed those thousands of acres of free grass.

This book is the story of Lee and Scott’s LS Ranch from the tempestuous years of the open range to the era of “bob wire.” It is also the story of the pioneer men and women whose efforts developed the LS into a cattle empire: W. M. D. and Lena Lee, Lucien and Julia Scott, “Mister Mac” and “Miss Annie” McAllister, and Charles and Pauline Whitman.

Here are accounts of chuck wagons and wagon bosses; prairie fires, blizzards, and bog holes; ranch management problems and cowboys on strike; lobo wolves and romance; wild sprees in Tascosa and its “Hogtown” sector; LS cowboys fighting against a gang of organized rustlers in a feud that ended in tragedy; and those same cowboys on the long trails to Dodge City and Montana.

Drawing upon stories told to her by men and women who were with the LS during the 1880’s and later years, Dulcie Sullivan presents her narrative in a clear, straightforward, but sympathetic manner that gives the reader a vivid sense of how life was really lived there in those times. Especially telling is her occasional use of an almost poetic incident: the steers bedding down around a campfire to listen to the chuck-wagon cook play his fiddle, or the suit of Spanish armor found in a spring, or the hail-battered trees attempting to renew themselves, despite their grotesque shapes.

In Corsicana, Texas, Shelley Watkins, the charismatic young wife of Jerry Mack Watkins, disappeared on Labor Day, 1993; her body, tied and taped in plastic and chained to concrete blocks, was found in the Trinity River eight days later. Although a wealth of circumstantial evidence pointed toward Jerry Mack, corruption and its legacy have kept the investigation and legal proceedings in limbo for decades. Now, as DNA evidence offers hope for a long-overdue resolution, author Carol Dawson chronicles both one woman’s tragic story and the history of violence in small-town Texas.

Beginning with Shelley’s life before she arrived in Corsicana, Dawson reveals how her death perpetuates a Gothic history of crime within the town—including a devastating number of murdered women. She also delves into the closed culture of financial control and how the Watkins family became one of the town’s wealthiest, and pulls new details from the witnesses, cops, and prosecutors connected with a case that has haunted her for thirty years. Rooted in the complex history of author Carol Dawson’s hometown, and framed by her family connections to the case, The Labor Day Ghost delivers an arresting narrative that traces the way this tragedy has continued to split Corsicana’s citizenry during the long deferral of justice.

A historical account of Jewish agricultural colonies in New Jersey that examines how immigrants built farming communities in early America.

The Land Was Theirs is about Farmingdale, New Jersey, a community of Jewish farming communities in the United States established with the help of the Jewish Agricultural Society. The 50 year history of Farmingdale provides a perspective on the pressures, problems, and satisfactions of rural Jewish life as experienced in one community.

Beginning in 1919, the community grew around the small town of Farmingdale, when two Jewish families pooled their resources to establish a farm. The community evolved gradually as unrelated individuals with no previous farm experience settled and then created the institutions and organizations they needed to sustain their Jewish life. By 1945 Farmingdale was one of the leading egg-producing communities in the United States, and contributed in large measure to New Jersey’s reputation as the “egg basket of America.”

The Land Was Theirs draws from life-history interviews with 120 farmers, from the author’s personal experiences, and from a variety of private and community papers and documents. They are the pieces from which a full picture of a single Jewish farm community emerges.

Oral histories of many of the last generation of Lowell, MA, textile mill workers preceded by two introductory sections. The first presents the historic setting of economic development and subsequent decline of the textile industry in Lowell. The second is a brief explanation of the production process wherein the last generation of mill workers expended so many of their skills and so much of their energy.

Mormon prophet John Taylor’s life is usually recounted as a series of anecdotes: singing hymns in Carthage Jail before a mob assassinated Joseph and Hyrum Smith, Taylor’s life spared when, according to myth, his pocketwatch stopped a bullet; his practice of polygamy, including taking a wife fifty years his junior while on the run as a fugitive from federal marshals; and his 1886 revelation that said God would not revoke the law of plural marriage, “for it is everlasting,” a revelation whose authenticity was questioned by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for over a century but became the foundational text for breakaway sects continuing the practice of polygamy. Yet there was more to Taylor than his role in the martyrdom, his plural wives, his clashes with the federal government, and the legacy of fundamentalist Mormonism.

Taylor spent his first two decades in his home country of England before immigrating to Canada. His first wife, Leonora, was initially more interested when missionaries knocked on their door. But once he committed to the church, John Taylor was unflappable in his faith and zealous in his dedication. The Taylors moved from Toronto to Ohio, then to Missouri, and finally to Illinois as they followed their faith and their prophet Joseph Smith. John became an apostle in 1838 and a publisher thereafter, printing church newspapers. He followed Brigham Young to the Salt Lake Valley, where he became a prominent church and political leader for decades before finally ascending to the head of the faith in 1880.

In this timeless biography, Samuel W. Taylor weaves the threads of his grandfather’s life into a rich tapestry. Drawing on letters, speeches, diaries, and reminiscences, a well-rounded and riveting portrait of the third Mormon prophet comes into focus. A professional writer by trade, Samuel Taylor was uniquely suited to tell this story—and what a story it is.

The first adventurers into the New World faced a fundamental legal challenge: how to secure rights to any mineral claims they discovered. Early conquistadors worked under charters that required them to return a portion of their findings to the Spanish crown, but those without such charters had no formal protection—and the crown was slow to clarify individual rights. This uncertainty only grew as miners pushed into the lands that would become the Western United States.

When gold was discovered in California, miners suddenly found themselves operating without any governing laws during the period between the end of the war with Mexico and the establishment of formal U.S. jurisdiction. In response, and without official sanction, they formed self-governing “mining districts,” best understood as mutual protection societies. These districts marked the first organized attempt to define boundaries and create rules for establishing and maintaining mining claims. As the early rushes in California and Nevada subsided, miners carried these practices with them into Arizona and other western territories.

In Arizona, no comprehensive collection of these early regulations has ever existed. The Law of the Mineraddresses this gap by tracing the development of mineral law in early Arizona and presenting the full text of every mining district regulation that could be found. This work serves both the mining industry and historians seeking to identify the individuals involved in creating the districts and to understand these districts’ historical boundaries.

The laws that governed the institution of slavery in early Texas were enacted over a fifty-year period in which Texas moved through incarnations as a Spanish colony, a Mexican state, an independent republic, a part of the United States, and a Confederate state. This unusual legal heritage sets Texas apart from the other slave-holding states and provides a unique opportunity to examine how slave laws were enacted and upheld as political and legal structures changed. The Laws of Slavery in Texas makes that examination possible by combining seminal historical essays with excerpts from key legal documents from the slave period and tying them together with interpretive commentary by the foremost scholar on the subject, Randolph B. Campbell.

Campbell's commentary focuses on an aspect of slave law that was particularly evident in the evolving legal system of early Texas: the dilemma that arose when human beings were treated as property. As Campbell points out, defining slaves as moveable property, or chattel, presented a serious difficulty to those who wrote and interpreted the law because, unlike any other form of property, slaves were sentient beings. They were held responsible for their crimes, and in numerous other ways statute and case law dealing with slavery recognized the humanness of the enslaved. Attempts to protect the property rights of slave owners led to increasingly restrictive laws—including laws concerning free blacks—that were difficult to uphold. The documents in this collection reveal both the roots of the dilemma and its inevitable outcome.

Almost a hundred years after the death of Stephen F. Austin this first full-length biography was published. And for almost a quarter of a century—dividing his time between editing, teaching, textbook writing, and serving in various academic capacities—Eugene C. Barker pursued the study which resulted in The Life of Stephen F. Austin. His accomplishment has long been regarded as a fine example of biography in Texas literature.

The Texas Longhorn made more history than any other breed of cattle the world has known. These wiry, intractable beasts were themselves pioneers in a harsh land, moving elementally with drouth, grass, Arctic blizzards, and burning winds. Their story is the bedrock on which the history of the cow country of America is founded.

J. Frank Dobie was a tale spinner who appreciated the proper place of legend and folklore in history. In The Longhorns, he tells of the Spanish conquistadors, who brought their cattle with them; of ranching in the turbulent colonial times; of the cowboy, whose abandon, energy, insolence, and pride epitomized the booming West. He writes of terrifying stampedes, titantic bull fights on the range, ghost steers, and encounters with Indians.

A tireless prospector of the history and legends of the Southwest, Dobie spent most of his life preparing to write this book. He was born in the Texas brush country where the Longhorns made their last stand; he back-trailed them into Mexico; he pursued the vivid lore of Texas cowboys and Mexican vaqueros. No historian or naturalist has ever so related an animal to the land, its people, and its history.

2008 — Gold Award in Californiana – California Book Awards – Commonwealth Club of California
2010 — NACCS Book Award – National Association for Chicana and Chicano Studies

City plazas worldwide are centers of cultural expression and artistic display. They are settings for everyday urban life where daily interactions, economic exchanges, and informal conversations occur, thereby creating a socially meaningful place at the core of a city.

At the heart of historic Los Angeles, the Plaza represents a quintessential public space where real and imagined narratives overlap and provide as many questions as answers about the development of the city and what it means to be an Angeleno. The author, a social and cultural historian who specializes in nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Los Angeles, is well suited to explore the complex history and modern-day relevance of the Los Angeles Plaza. From its indigenous and colonial origins to the present day, Estrada explores the subject from an interdisciplinary and multiethnic perspective, delving into the pages of local newspapers, diaries and letters, and the personal memories of former and present Plaza residents, in order to examine the spatial and social dimensions of the Plaza over an extended period of time.

The author contributes to the growing historiography of Los Angeles by providing a groundbreaking analysis of the original core of the city that covers a long span of time, space, and social relations. He examines the impact of change on the lives of ordinary people in a specific place, and how this change reflects the larger story of the city.

How Tennessee reformers reconciled Southern heritage with rising nationalism, weaving the Lost Cause into the fabric of American progress and identity.

The Lost Cause and the Great War tells the stories of central Tennessee Progressive-era reformers to illustrate the fascinating broader issue of how Southerners steeped in Lost Cause Civil War mythologies simultaneously developed patriotic American fervor. Focusing on Luke Lea, a prominent politician and American army officer who attempted to capture Kaiser Wilhelm II during World War I, the book reveals the intricate interplay between three competing ideas: attachment to the memory of the Confederacy, intense American nationalism, and advocacy for progressive reforms.

Hunt shows that Lea and his contemporaries sought either to harmonize these competing loyalties or to compartmentalize them to use when needed. Through insightful accounts of Tennessee’s 1928 presidential campaign, the American Legion’s response to cuts to veteran benefits in 1933, and the redefinition of America’s global role post–World War II, Hunt shows how these reformers achieved a balance that held until the Civil Rights movement disrupted this delicate consensus.

Hunt’s rich account reveals how Lea and others like him wove national patriotism and Southern collective memory into a cohesive narrative that supported their broader Progressive goals. The book offers much to readers interested in Southern history, the Gilded Age, Prohibition, World War I, World War II, and the beginnings of the Civil Rights movement. It provides vivid examples of how collective memory and narratives shape social and political movements. General readers will discover how white Southerners who remained devoted to vindicating the Confederacy nonetheless became fervent supporters of America's growing nationalism in the early twentieth century.

In the early nineteenth century, Lowell, Massachusetts, was widely studied and emulated as a model for capitalist industrial development. One of the first cities in the United States to experience the ravages of deindustrialization, it was also among the first places in the world to turn to its own industrial and ethnic history as a tool for reinventing itself in the emerging postindustrial economy. The Lowell Experiment explores how history and culture have been used to remake Lowell and how historians have played a crucial yet ambiguous role in that process.

The book focuses on Lowell National Historical Park, the flagship project of Lowell's new cultural economy. When it was created in 1978, the park broke new ground with its sweeping reinterpretations of labor, immigrant, and women's history. It served as a test site for the ideas of practitioners in the new field of public history—a field that links the work of professionally trained historians with many different kinds of projects in the public realm. 

The Lowell Experiment takes an anthropological approach to public history in Lowell, showing it as a complex cultural performance shaped by local memory, the imperatives of economic redevelopment, and tourist rituals—all serving to locate the park's audiences and workers more securely within a changing and uncertain new economy characterized by growing inequalities and new exclusions. 

The paradoxical dual role of Lowell's public historians as both interpreters of and contributors to that new economy raises important questions about the challenges and limitations facing academically trained scholars in contemporary American culture. As a long-standing and well-known example of “culture-led re-development,” Lowell offers an outstanding site for exploring questions of concern to those in the fields of public and urban history, urban planning, and tourism studies.

Matthew E. Stanley's intimate study explores the Civil War, Reconstruction, and sectional reunion in this bellwether region. Using the lives of area soldiers and officers as a lens, Stanley reveals a place and a strain of collective memory that was anti-rebel, anti-eastern, and anti-black in its attitudes--one that came to be at the forefront of the northern retreat from Reconstruction and toward white reunion. The Lower Middle West's embrace of black exclusion laws, origination of the Copperhead movement, backlash against liberalizing war measures, and rejection of Reconstruction were all pivotal to broader American politics. And the region's legacies of white supremacy--from racialized labor violence to sundown towns to lynching--found malignant expression nationwide, intersecting with how Loyal Westerners remembered the war.

A daring challenge to traditional narratives of section and commemoration, The Loyal West taps into a powerful and fascinating wellspring of Civil War identity and memory.

How a culture of violence legitimized lynching among ordinary people

On May 15, 1916, a crowd of fifteen thousand witnessed the lynching of an eighteen-year-old black farm worker named Jesse Washington. Most central Texans of the time failed to call for the punishment of the mob’s leaders. In The Making of a Lynching Culture, now in paperback, William D. Carrigan seeks to explain not how a fiendish mob could lynch one man but how a culture of violence that nourished this practice could form and endure for so long among ordinary people.

Beginning with the 1836 independence of Texas, The Making of a Lynching Culture reexamines traditional explanations of lynching, including the role of the frontier, economic tensions, and political conflicts. Using a voluminous body of court records, newspaper accounts, oral histories, and other sources, Carrigan shows how notions of justice and historical memory were shaped to glorify violence and foster a culture that legitimized lynching.