“Down on Main Street” – an interview with Kirin J. Makker


This interview was published in the Summer 2014 issue of the Pulteney Street Survey, the official magazine of Hobart and William Smith Colleges.  The Summer ’14 issue was devoted to the community, including pieces on the town of Geneva where the college resides.


“Down on Main Street:  An Interview with Kirin J. Makker”

by Andrew Wickenden HWS’09

During a yearlong fellowship at the Winterthur Museum and Library in Delaware, made possible by the National Endowment for the Humanities, Assistant Professor of Art and Architecture Kirin J. Makker is conducting research for her book project, The Myths of Main Street, which “analyzes how the current trope of Main Street USA (local, self-sufficient, close-knit, middle-class, homogenous) is challenged by a historical reality of networked, nationally-connected, diverse place.” The book is planned for publication in 2018.

An expert in the planning, history and evolution of small towns and rural areas, Makker is examining the developmental history of small town America during its building boom (1870-1930). The archives at Winterthur are providing much of the material she needs for several chapters of the book. She documents the progress of her research on a blog, mythsofmainstreet.wordpress.com, where she writes: “‘Main Street,’ whether in a town or city, symbolizes small business and everyday hard-working citizens. In a small town context, Main Street gains mythic ideals: it is non-corporate; it is imagined to be completely separate from urban society and its ills; it is believed to be solely guided by local people and ideas. Politicians and urban planners have attempted to recreate the small town American Main Street in revitalization building and suburbia. But professional planners are distracted by the myths of Main Street, dangerously basing policy and design decisions on nostalgia and artifice.”

Makker’s other book project, Village Improvement in America 1800-1930, is under contract with the Library of American Landscape History and is due out in early 2016. Makker also writes for the popular press, her most recent piece appeared in Dwell. Published in March 2014, the article profiles Amy and Brandon Phillips, owners of Miles & May Furniture Works headquartered at the Cracker Factory in Geneva, N.Y.

Q: Where did this idea of a nostalgic “Main Street” come from?

A: There are many answers to that question, so numerous that it’s impossible to identify just one source of nostalgic Main Street. In American and British planning, small towns have been a subject of study since the profession began in the late nineteenth century. People were fearful of dense industrial cities and larger villages, with their apparent self-sufficiency and easy access to the countryside fostered many theories about ideal places to live modeled on cities around 20-30,000 people. Ebenezer Howard’s 1902 concept of “garden cities” is probably the most well known example.

In popular culture, small towns have been narrative currency since their boom period in the 1880s; it’s often the case that ‘ideal’ versions of American concepts run parallel to the development of their inspiration. But to get back to your question, one way of looking at the source of nostalgic Main Street is to look at our recent history of small town preservation and the transformation of rural village economies from manufacturing and necessities-of-life small business to a set of shops purely about leisure and lifestyle. The source of this in the last quarter of a century is in the National Trust for Historic Preservation’s launch of their Main Street Program, started in 1977. The program was started specifically to educate and help direct local rejuvenation campaigns in communities of 5,000 to 38,000 people. The program’s pilot towns were remarkably successful – Galesburg, Ill., for example, saw a 95% increase in downtown occupancy.

By the early 1980s, the National Main Street Center had grown into a robust economic revival model for small town America based in coordinated public-private partnerships, adaptive re-use, incremental growth, and clever promotional programs. The whole program was about developing a “tourist” economy using historic building stock, renovating it into a coordinated set of leisure-based businesses. Since 1980, there have been hundreds of towns across the U.S. that have successfully worked with the National Main Street Center and the program is responsible for fostering more than $55 billion in reinvestment. In addition, their approach and economic model has been used by thousands of other towns, even if these places don’t join the Center. It’s become THE approach to reviving small town America.

This is all wonderful, but there are things we should be wary of. Their formula- looking backward to an ideal Main Street- also traffics in nostalgia. There’s a little too much “remember when…” going on in the marketing materials of many small towns eager for a tourist market. This can backfire in terms of using this type of marketing to draw new residents. The whole look of the nostalgic Main Street is generally about giving visitors a way to step back in time and out of reality. I’m not certain that this strategy is the best for giving a town a vibrant future, where a diverse cross-section of people might want to make their lives. If you want to draw young people to a town, is “antiquing” it the only strategy worth pursuing? Is a Main Street of ‘leisure’ and ‘lifestyle’ ultimately going to foster a rich community life? Sure, it works and it’s better than a dead downtown, but can’t we do better and evolve this model? That’s my concern.

There is also a romance we associate with the architecture of Main Street that’s not accurate to its history of development. We tend to view it as a relic of simpler past, when people made things by hand, there wasn’t fierce competition or a need to get the cheapest good, and everything in one’s midst was made locally. The truth is that the beauty and quick growth of Main Street, its frenzy of economic and physical development, occurred because people were clever and took advantage of the latest technologies and markets. There was nothing quaint and simple about life on Main Street in 1900. One might even have called it “cutting edge”-they didn’t want to stay small, they wanted to be big and prosperous, however and in whatever method they could.

Q: What happened to small towns in the bust (the Great Depression) that followed the small town boom?

A: As cities struggled, so did small towns. But the truth is, small towns had always been struggling as a type of urban economy because they were not large, and thus their economy was typically less diverse than that in a dense city. When a market shifts, there are always remains of the previous boom, relics of a former time. Small towns are, and have always been, in a process of overcoming the position of being remains, just as cities have, but at a much slower rate of redevelopment. In a way, one of the reasons that the small town is a site of nostalgia is because it has been affected by busts and then has been very slow to recuperate, if it does at all in one person’s lifetime.

Q: What about today-what’s the outlook for small towns? What causes today’s Main Streets to thrive?

A: Twenty years ago, if a resident wanted to gather some neighbors together to sponsor a public art project, they had to go to the public library and do hours of research in periodicals or newspapers to find information on how to run a competition, select an artist, develop a PR campaign, fund-raise, work with the city to implement, etc. Now, you just do an hour of searching on the Internet and you’re suddenly connected with all the resources you need to mount the project successfully. Five years ago, you would not have seen a small downtown shop raise more than $8,000 in a six-week fundraising campaign in order to set up space on their second floor for drinking coffee and browsing through retail. But this year, that’s exactly what occurred in Geneva [at Stomping Grounds].

Whereas suburbia used to be the ideal among the young workforce, it’s clearly not the one and only American dream out there these days. Many young workers are choosing to live in urban settings. Small towns are not densely urban, of course, but they are sometimes preferred to surburbia by these folks.

Geneva has been on the upswing because it has an enlarging and active group of residents, a critical mass of people really invested in making the downtown into a livable neighborhood. But it’s not just that social networking has gathered interested parties in small towns together around the issue of livability and civic engagement (which it of course has), but it’s also that the small town resident can become so much more informed about possibilities and all the know-how needed to make the changes they want to see. Honestly, the future is very bright for small town America.


Tracking Down the Goods sold on Main Street USA

Hoxie, Kansas ca.1900-1910 [photo courtesy of Sheridan County Historical Society, digitized by Flikr member whitewall buick]

What did they sell in these shops?  How and where did they get their goods?  Image of Main Street in Hoxie, Kansas ca.1900-1910.  [courtesy of Sheridan County Historical Society, digitized by Flikr member whitewall buick]  fun fact:  that storefront on the far left is a Mesker Bros. storefront, ordered out of a catalog and shipped from St. Louis.  [confirmation provided by Darius Bryjka]


In early April, I went to the University of Connecticut Archives and Special Collections to spend a couple of days sifting through the records of E. Ingraham Company Records. A major part of my research methodology involves following the trail of company goods right at the moment big capitalism really spread its wings. My hope is to track where a handful of companies sold their goods in order to describe a product’s national distribution, and hence its availability across small town America. I have found, and my research will argue, that one of the reasons that small town America is such a consistent idea in the nation’s cultural language is that the goods exchanged there had both local and national parameters. Some of this research has had to do with companies that literally produced small town America: the storefronts, the brick-making machinery, the lamps and posts. But other parts of the research is about the everyday objects that were sold in small towns, and how most of them during the period of small town America’s boom were not made locally or even regionally. The retailers were locals, but the items for sale on Main Street were typically sourced from manufactories or large distributors in cities. Again, Main Street is tied to the economy of very large cities and vice-versa.

For example, a $2 watch made by the E. Ingraham Company in 1898 was made in Bristol, Connecticut but was sold on several thousand Main Streets all across America in general stores or small jewelry shops. Ingraham was after the mass market that the very successful company Robert H. Ingersoll had been selling to. Ingersoll had shrewdly introduced a $1 pocket watch, the “Yankee,” in 1892, stumbling into an enormous mass market of working- and middle-class consumers interested in owning timepieces they could afford.  Most cheaper watches at the time were in the range of $4 to $6.

Robert H. Ingersoll’s Mail Order Bargain House catalog, 1898 [Winterthur Library]

Although Ingraham couldn’t make a quality watch for that little (the Ingersoll watches, not surprisingly, were cheap but not known for quality), the did start making a $2 watch by 1900 and these sold quite well, judging by how long they produced this watch (until the 1950s). Yet, when I dug around the Ingraham Company archives at UConn, I had some trouble finding records to support their efforts to take a share of the Ingersoll Yankee’s market.

As I said, I set out to spend all my time on the Ingraham Clock Co. archive. However, it turned out that what I was really hoping to find within my time period (1870-1930, Main Street’s ‘boom period,’ so to speak), wasn’t so easy to cull. I had set out to identify names and locations of retailers who ordered Ingraham watches for their shops on Main Streets in towns all over the country. Or possibly find advertising by the company that included testimonials from retailers in small towns. I have found these types of testimonials for Elgin watches of the period, so I was hopeful. However, most of the Ingraham Company’s order records at UConn’s Archives and Special Collections show sales to large distributors in cities. In addition, most of the records in the collection were from the 1940s and 50s (just the luck of what records survived, unfortunately). I did find contract letters with Sears from the 1930s, in which the mega-retailer agreed to uniquely market Ingraham watches in their stores and catalogs. But I needed letters with Sears or Montgomery Ward from around 1905 or more information about the distributors who bought $2 watches in large volume and then re-sold them in small batches to shop owners in the nation’s towns. That information may or may not be available in any archives, so in the end, the Ingraham $2 pocket watch story might not make it into the book.

Contract letter from Sears to Ingraham Co. [UConn Archives and Special Collections]

Contract letter from Sears to Ingraham Co. [UConn Archives and Special Collections]

 However, as typically happens for me, as soon as I turn my attention away from one enticing collection, I find myself in the midst of a host of material that suits some other aspect of the book research. (Nothing, I tell you, NOTHING beats the fun of serendipity in the archives!)

Ad for Dicksinson's Witch Hazel, manufactured in Middletown, Durham, Guilford, Higganam, Essex, CT between 1875 and 1950s. [Archives and Special Collections UConn]

Ad for Dicksinson’s Witch Hazel, manufactured in Middletown, Durham, Guilford, Higganam, Essex, CT between 1875 and 1950s. [Archives and Special Collections UConn]

What did I find? A glorious collection of ephemera and sales records for the E.E. Dickinson Witch Hazel Company of Essex, Connecticut. One of the chapters I’m writing is on the variety of goods and services related to a townsperson’s health, all of which they could get on Main Street. There was quite a bit of overlap between what was a “good”, a “service” and also a ways to participate in community life in the many shops and offices in downtown small town America between 1870-1930. For example, one might go to the town druggist to purchase a prescription from a local doctor, a box of candy, or sit at the soda fountain and gab with friends over a strawberry fizz. Barber and beauty shops were where one got one’s haircut or styled, but also where one socialized with a gendered group of residents. Doctors were where one received diagnoses and health recommendations, but also where one might purchase a drug remedy (many physicians made their own drugs during the early part of my period of study). I’m interested in looking at how Americans living in small towns attended to their health needs because understanding healthcare history before drug and health insurance, medical malpractice, and managed care may be valuable for understanding our contemporary struggles with the industry. Or at the very least, this history offers an interesting comparison to the practices and standards the current day.

The story of Dickinson’s Witch Hazel fits right into this chapter because it was a factory-produced astringent that became an everyday remedy for minor ills. It was sold all over the country in drugstores and used extensively in small town doctor’s offices. And this time, I found records that show national distribution. For example, during the mid-1920s there were many letters between Dickinson executives and the Druggist Supply Corporation (DSC). The DSC was made up of retailers across America, many of which were located in small towns (Fresno, CA; Peoria, IL; Ottumwa, IA; Burlington, IA; Fort Wayne, IN; Rock Island, IL among many others). By working with that organization, Dickinson assured that they would get their product into those shop owners’ hands.

Letter from Middleton Drug Store thanking Dickinson Co. for marketing booklets [E.E. Dickinson Co. Records, Archives and Special Collections, UConn.]

Letter from Middleton Drug Store thanking Dickinson Co. for marketing booklets [E.E. Dickinson Co. Records, Archives and Special Collections, UConn.]

There were also several large company scrapbooks with hundreds of ads, letters from happy vendors, testimonials, and the like. For example, there was a letter from the owner of a drug store in Grand Rapids, Michigan. He was thanking the Dickinson Company for sending him a set of booklets to give out to his customers with their purchase of a bottle of Witch Hazel. With his letter of thanks, he included a clipping from the local newspaper called “The Enterprise” which he produced, something common in small town America where businesses were typically very diverse.  The clipping documents his announcement of the Witch Hazel booklet’s availability. He also noted that he gave a bunch of the booklets to a teacher at a nearby rural school for their students.  This letter offers a wonderfully grounded example of how Main Street used to work–how, as I said earlier, it functioned locally, but drew on a national set of goods and marketing materials.  Shop owners were an active part of the process of embedding national goods with a sense of local purpose and circulation.  This drug store owner was part savvy entrepreneur, but also an educator, having handed over a bunch of the booklets to a rural school just outside of his town.

Marketing booklet distributed to drug stores across America in 1920s [Archives and Special Collections UConn]

Marketing booklet distributed to drug stores across America in 1920s [Archives and Special Collections UConn]

I could go on and on, but you’ll have to wait for the book. Overall, my visit to the Archives and Special Collections UConn was a success, both in terms of clarifying the role of Ingraham in the book and adding to my health-related goods and services chapter. [KJM]

Note: This visit to UConn’s Archives and Special Collections was funded by a 2014 Strochlitz Travel Grant. Travel Grants are awarded bi-annually to scholars and students to support their travel to and research in UConn’s Archives and Special Collections. Fellows are required to submit a blog entry to UConn on the work done at the Collections within six-weeks of their visit. Part of the above report also draws on materials at Winterthur Library, where Dr. Makker is also being supported by a 2013-14 National Endowment for the Humanities residential fellowship. A version of this essay also appears on the UConn Archives and Special Collections Blog.

The team at UConn has uploaded digitized versions of several Ingraham catalogs from the early 20th century.  A catalog from 1918-19 can be see here an archive.org.

Dickinson Witch Hazel still exists!  The company is now a subsidiary of Dickinson Brands.  Their slogan is “The leading name in witch hazel.”

For some fun reading about the use and production of witch hazel by humans, see November 2012 in The Atlantic “The Mysterious Past and Present of Witch Hazel”.

“Occupying” Main Street in the Jim Crow South

One of the broadly held myths of Main Street has to do with it being a place that serves everyone.  Need a hammer?  Get yours at the hardware store at the corner of Main and 2nd Street!  Want to get a haircut?  Go to the barbershop just down from the corer of Main and the Methodist Church. You might want to stop by their church bazaar at the same time and pick up a few tasty home baked goods.  Need a small business loan?  Go to the national bank on South Main Street.  You can get everything you need right here:  consumer goods, beauty services, church service, a beer or a meal, entertainment, bank loans, education, health care, funeral services, telegraph service, a telephone booth, and the U.S. Mail.  In addition, there are other things less easily defined that people get on Main Street; they get conversation, society, and communal membership.

But have you ever wondered how Main Street worked for African Americans during the Jim Crow era?  This is the sort of thing that keeps me up at night.  What a puzzle!  Not intrigued?  Consider:

1)  Small town American Main Streets boomed between the end of the Civil War and the Great Depression.
2)  Laws restricting African American use of public and private facilities—from restaurants to water fountains to barber shops—were on the books of states and local municipalities between roughly 1880-1965.

There’s an overlap in these time periods—which means that our “idea” of the thriving Main Street as the place where all Americans can get whatever they need cannot possibly be accurate.  How did African Americas in the Jim Crow south get loans from Main Street banks to buy farms and houses, or start businesses?  How did they gain access to schools or other educational civic institutions such as libraries or reading rooms?  How did they get insurance to care for the sick and bury their dead?  How did they tap into the social life and community of Main Street?

To get a sense of the cross section of Jim Crow laws and how they complicated access to Main Street amenities, I’m pasting below a sampling of state statutes, taken from the National Park Service’s website:

Libraries: Any white person of such county may use the county free library under the rules and regulations prescribed by the commissioners court and may be entitled to all the privileges thereof. Said court shall make proper provision for the negroes of said county to be served through a separate branch or branches of the county free library, which shall be administered by [a] custodian of the negro race under the supervision of the county librarian. Texas
Wine and Beer: All persons licensed to conduct the business of selling beer or wine…shall serve either white people exclusively or colored people exclusively and shall not sell to the two races within the same room at any time. Georgia
Barbers: No colored barber shall serve as a barber [to] white women or girls. Georgia
Burial: The officer in charge shall not bury, or allow to be buried, any colored persons upon ground set apart or used for the burial of white persons. Georgia
Restaurants: All persons licensed to conduct a restaurant, shall serve either white people exclusively or colored people exclusively and shall not sell to the two races within the same room or serve the two races anywhere under the same license. Georgia
Restaurants: It shall be unlawful to conduct a restaurant or other place for the serving of food in the city, at which white and colored people are served in the same room, unless such white and colored persons are effectually separated by a solid partition extending from the floor upward to a distance of seven feet or higher, and unless a separate entrance from the street is provided for each compartment. Alabama
Pool and Billiard Rooms: It shall be unlawful for a negro and white person to play together or in company with each other at any game of pool or billiards. Alabama
Theaters: Every person…operating…any public hall, theatre, opera house, motion picture show or any place of public entertainment or public assemblage which is attended by both white and colored persons, shall separate the white race and the colored race and shall set apart and designate…certain seats therein to be occupied by white persons and a portion thereof , or certain seats therein, to be occupied by colored persons. Virginia
Telephone Booths: The Corporation Commission is hereby vested with power and authority to require telephone companies…to maintain separate booths for white and colored patrons when there is a demand for such separate booths. That the Corporation Commission shall determine the necessity for said separate booths only upon complaint of the people in the town and vicinity to be served after due hearing as now provided by law in other complaints filed with the Corporation Commission. Oklahoma

And these are only the laws on the books; what’s above is not what was casually practiced by white landlords, business owners, folks on the street.  This period was a terrible time for black people in America.  Thus while small town building boomed between 1870-1930, African American life was at its “nadir,” as historian Rayford Logan has termed the post-reconstruction period.  On all fronts—political, social, educational and economic, black people suffered.  Main Street had written and unwritten codes reinforcing segregation and exclusion, all in support of white supremacy.  Funny thing was, these codes were about reinforcing separation and preventing interracial activity that might have implied equality.  But while pro-Jim Crow whites worried about integration, this was not the primary concern for blacks.  What they wanted was access to the facilities and services Jim Crow separated them from.  As Ruby Cobb Smith, a black Texan put it in a 1927 speech to her community, “If I cannot go to the white man’s church, I must create a church.   If I cannot read books out of his library I must in some way get one of my own.  If I cannot clerk in his stores it is my job to get one of my own.”  As consumers, producers, and sellers, blacks wanted what Main Street offered.

My research into the question of how African Americans accessed the amenities of small town America during Jim Crow has yielded complex answers.  There were alternative constructed spaces, such as negro business districts and organizations that helped to support them such as the Negro Business League, started by Booker T. Washington in 1900 (smack the middle of Main Street’s development period and roughly 20 years into Jim Crow).  There were all-black towns, such as Mound Bayou, Mississippi, founded in 1887.  And finally, there were general “uplift” member-based organizations that offered a variety of financial, health, and educational services and community life to the rural and scattered black farmer in the south.  I’m going to finish this blog post by giving a little history of the Farmers Improvement Society (FIS), founded by R.L. Smith in 1885.

FIS ConstByLaws.RLSmithPhoto

R.L. Smith argued that even though black citizens were emancipated after the Civil War, they were still in a state of “economic slavery,” largely because they lived in debt and almost purely on credit. In fact, #1 in the group’s Declaration of Purposes is “To abolish the credit system completely, or as much as lies in our power.”

graphic from RITUAL.1925small

Graphic from inside the FIS booklet RITUAL (1925)

But as you can see from the graphic on the left, the FIS was aiming for a comprehensive approach to providing the resources and services of self-help.  Thinking back to what mythic Main Street symbolizes in terms of its amenities and open-access, it is, in a kind of collective imaginary way, a place of personal opportunity and self-help or uplift.  Main Street offers everything you need to better your situation, from that hammer to a hair trim to banking.

#2 in the FIS Declaration of Purposes is education about agriculture and good farming practice.  #3 is buying bulk supplies cooperatively, even if folks have to travel to a city to make the purchases (a sort of Cosco or Ikea run, 1895-style), so as not to live on credit at the local general store.

#4 is aiding each other in sickness and death (disability and death benefits were a major benefit of FIS membership, providing relief to the families who lost heads of household).

FIS insurance certificate

FIS Insurance Policy Certificate, 1904

And finally, #5, is encouraging members to buy homes and if they own homes, to beautify them and their surroundings: “repair our highways and keep them in order; to plant suitable shade trees and shrubbery; and in general to bring up our home life to the highest American standard compatible with our incomes.”

Yes, folks, Robert Lloyd Smith required members to promise to invest in the aesthetics of their homes and landscapes.  To Smith, cash-based living, economy, agricultural science, death benefits, and home beautification were all part of a magical formula for lifting folks up out of a rough, if not economically desperate, situation.  To an architect like me, this is a fantastic sentiment.  Let’s approach these problems from several vantage points:  economic thrift and resourcefulness, education, and pride of place.

Smith established the first Farmers Improvement Society chapter in a tiny segregated town in East Texas named Oakland in December 1890.  There were roughly 200 black citizens at that time and nearly all of them became involved with the organization.  Within ten years, the black section of Oakland was considered the most progressive negro community in Texas.

Smith went on to start 1000 branches of the Farmers Improvement Society across Texas, Oklahoma and Arkansas.  The group’s overall membership was over 20,000 by 1910.  Over the next decade, the FIS established a bank in Waco as well as an agricultural college for black youth in Ladonia, Texas.  There are many other details that I don’t have the space here to get into, but suffice to say that this organization was innovative, resourceful, and highly progressive.

What’s interesting to me is that the FIS operated primarily “off” Main Street.  They didn’t start their work by building a bank or their own Oakland general store (granted, these projects would have been tremendously difficult to manage, but bear with me while I make my point).  “You said a hammer’s whatcha need?  Don’t go to the hardware store on Main Street! They’ll put you in a mound of debt, plus, you’ll have to wait until all the white folks have been waited on. They might not even have what you want by the time you’re waited on! We’re making a run to the big city in a few weeks and we’ll get one for you cheap.”  The FIS relied on the basic structure of a social group, and worked primarily through thoughtful discussion and coordinated activities such as planting trees or whitewashing their homes, pooling cash to buy supplies in bulk, and assembling enough dues to offer life-insurance.  The bricks and mortar FIS bank came decades later.

2Bridge Street.FISbank.Waco.TX.circa1910.fromSmithCobbArchive.TexasCollection

Farmers Improvement Society Bank (central building) on Bridge Street, Waco, Texas, c. 1915. Incidentally, Bridge Street was the original “Main Street” of Waco until this period when all the white businesses moved southwest, to the other side of the courthouse square on Austin Ave. Waco effectively had two Main Streets in the early twentieth century: Austin Ave (white) and Bridge St. (black). Today, the FIS bank building and other black-owned businesses of Bridge St. are underneath the Waco Convention Center and Hilton, products (?) of urban renewal.

In my other blog entries I have talked about how Main Street was not divorced from modernity and national economic development when it boomed.  Small town America, contrary to a popular myth, was a place of cutting edge ideas, innovation, and reform.  The story of the FIS, although a narrative about a scattered society, amounted to an alternative form of Main Street, a “decentered” and “fragmented” space of community that was skillfully and ingeniously accessed by disenfranchised rural African Americans in Texas, Oklahoma, and Arkansas during Jim Crow. It was Main Street life but without Main Street!  It existed virtually and operated as an organized network of people exchanging ideas through membership documents (such as their monthly newspaper The Helping Hand), chapter events, and regional encampments where several chapters met together over a long weekend.  In a sense, the FIS operated like a virtual civic group.  Thus, the FIS’s version of Main Street was as dissipated and as scattered as their membership, challenging anyone interested in the typology of Main Street and small town America to look further than our widely-held belief that bricks and mortar equals livable communities.  Community and amenities can be scattered and, in certain situations, must be in order to get people what they need, because, quite frankly, not everyone can “occupy” Main Street.  [KJM]

Helping Hand

All images courtesy of Texas Collection, Baylor University.

Post Script:  Last March while all my students were on the beach in Florida for Spring Break, I travelled to Waco, Texas to use the Texas Collection archives at Baylor University to do research on the Farmers Improvement Society.  I was funded by a research grant at the Texas Collection, the Wardlaw Fellowship Fund, and I am grateful to that family and the Collection for their generous support.

Convocation Poster

Encampment Poster