Merriam-Webster defines an Unidentified Flying Object (UFO) as “a mysterious flying object in the sky that is sometimes assumed to be a spaceship from another planet.” Although unidentified phenomena in the skies had been reported for much of human history, it was the Cold War era beginning in the late 1940s when mysterious lights and flying objects generated an intense scientific and amateur quest to understand the frontier beyond the earth’s orbit.
Tensions after World War II between the United States and the Soviet Union fueled the space race as well as fears of a nuclear apocalypse, turning American eyes – and fears – to the skies. The much-publicized sighting of UFOs in 1947 by pilot Kenneth Arnold, who described what he saw as saucer-shaped, prompted clever journalists to come up with the term “flying saucer.”
Unidentified flying objects in the heavens became a worldwide sensation within months. Reports of sightings proliferated, and UFO organizations were even formed by a fascinated public. The newly established U.S. Air Force was even tasked with investigating whether the phenomena were a national security threat.
Into this exciting new sphere of inquiry came journalist and author Frank Scully who wrote a regular column for the entertainment trade magazine Variety. From his friend Silas Newton, whom Scully knew as a wealthy Denver oilman, he learned that in 1948 at least three saucers carrying crews of tiny humanoids had landed in Aztec, New Mexico, and that the Air Force had captured the crews but was hushing up the big story. Newton supported his tale by citing “evidence” given by a mysterious scientist whom he called “Dr. Gee.”
Scully immediately assigned himself the task of publicizing the story through his Variety column and his 1950 book Behind the Flying Saucers. Unfortunately for Scully, before long Newton and “Dr Gee” (identified as Leo A. GeBauer) were exposed by San Francisco Chronicle reporter John Philip Cahn as con artists who had hoaxed the author. But not before sixty thousand copies of the book were sold.
Scully’s account refuses to die. In 2011 UFO enthusiasts claimed proof of the 1948 UFO crash when the FBI added a mysterious memo to their online repository of public records termed the “FBI Vault.” The 1950 memo written to FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover by agency official Guy Hottel states that an FBI agent heard through an informant that three flying saucers had been recovered in New Mexico. According to the FBI, the second- and third-hand claims were never worthy of investigation.
As for Frank Scully, a look at his papers at the American Heritage Center reveals that he never lost his belief in extraterrestrials. In 1963 he wrote an autobiographical book In Armour Bright which included a reiteration of his belief in the 1948 saucer crash. For him and many others, UFOs represent fascinating possibilities of life outside the Earth’s boundaries and into the frontiers of the imagination.
Thanksgiving means tables groaning with food, and families and friends gathered in fellowship. So, in that spirit, let’s delve into a sampling of the cookbooks that are part of the American Heritage Center’s Toppan Rare Books Library.
Fannie Merritt Farmer’s 1911 cookbook, Catering for Special Occasions with Menus and Recipes provides some food for thought.
Fannie Farmer was one of the pioneers of modern American cooking. She is credited with the invention of the format for the modern recipe. Her cookbooks championed the use of standardized measuring cups, tablespoons and teaspoons. Farmer wrote “correct measurements are absolutely necessary to ensure the best results”. Earlier cookbooks had often specified a pinch of this or a handful of that, but Farmer’s recipes instructed cooks to measure out ingredients in leveled off cups and spoons.
For Thanksgiving, Farmer developed two elaborate menus, each with more than a dozen dishes.
While modern readers will recognize the classic roast turkey and stuffing, there are also recipes for “Puritan Pudding” and “New England Thanksgiving Pudding” – both variants on bread pudding. The recipes call for “common crackers”, but Farmer didn’t mean Ritz or Saltines. “Common crackers” were a food staple of the 1800s and 1900s. More closely resembling hard tack than modern era crackers, “common crackers” were round and thick and could be split in half like an English muffin or crushed using a rolling pin.
Thanksgiving desserts featured in Farmer’s recipe book include the classic pumpkin pie and also a recipe for “French Vanilla Ice Cream” to be served with a liquor laced “Dewey Sauce”. Perhaps the most impressive Thanksgiving dessert recipe in the book is for “Mince Pie”. It is a hearty dish, involving 3 pounds of sugar, a quart of brandy, and 4 pounds each of lean beef and raisins. Preparing such a pie was surely a labor of love – in 1911 the raisins had to be seeded by hand.
While Fannie Farmer was helping cooks plan a feast for multitudes, Amelie Langdon’s 1907 Just for Two cookbook, pared down recipes for wives cooking only for their husbands. But even Langdon’s “Thanksgiving Dinner” menu included a dozen dishes.
Curiously, while the menu begins with “Cream of Carrot Soup”, careful perusal of Langdon’s cookbook reveals no such recipe included. Celery, on the menu as an appetizer, is an interesting choice – Langdon writes “Nervous persons, for instance, should eat lots of celery for celery is the best nerve tonic in the world.” Her cookbook provides detailed instructions for roasting a turkey and offers a helpful page titled “How to Carve a Turkey”. Langdon’s menu counsels “Plum Pudding or Pumpkin Pie”, leaving the possibly nervous homemaker to choose.
Ann Batchelder’s Own Cook Book, published in 1944 offers an eclectic approach to both cooking and Thanksgiving. Ann Batchelder, a suffragette and Vermont’s first female attorney seems an unlikely figure to pen a cookbook. However, she was also the food editor of the Ladies’ Home Journal where she had the attention of hundreds of thousands of subscribers. Her cookbook includes essays, reflections and even her own poetic homage to Thanksgiving, which she declared to be her favorite holiday:
Thanksgiving is the day for me,
From twelve o’clock to twelve o’clock;
(My, the food I’ve lived to see!)
Next day I simply sit and rock.
When it came time to select a turkey, Batchelder opined somewhat cryptically “Choose your turkey as you choose your best friend – with affinity of tastes in mind. A somewhat young and non-dieted bird is best, with an admirable figure, but not streamlined.” Batchelder’s Thanksgiving menu is less elaborate than Farmer’s or Langdon’s, perhaps because her cookbook was published during World War II when homemakers were challenged with rationing of foodstuffs like sugar and canned goods. Vegetables, which often would have come from war time home victory gardens, feature heavily in the Ann Batchelder’s Own Cook Book Thanksgiving menu.
We hope this peek into of some of the cookbooks from the Toppan Rare Books Library has whetted your appetite for a feast. Happy Thanksgiving from the American Heritage Center!
Post contributed by AHC Writer Kathryn Billington.
The 1939 film The Wizard of Oz, beloved by children and adults alike, holds a special place in cinematographic history. The award-winning movie is based on an adaptation of L. Frank Baum’s children’s novel The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. Baum’s novel was published in 1900 and the American Heritage Center is fortunate to have one of the first editions of the book in its Toppan Rare Books Library.
The AHC has also recently acquired two rare early draft scripts for the movie. For those unfamiliar with the book and movie, a brief recap is in order. The story follows the adventures of Dorothy, a Kansas farm girl, who is transported by a cyclone, along with her house, and little dog Toto, to the magical land of Oz. Dorothy’s house lands on the Wicked Witch of the East, killing her. The witch’s magical shoes become Dorothy’s and she sets off along the yellow brick road to find the great and powerful Wizard of Oz. Dorothy hopes the Wizard will help her return to Kansas. As she makes her way along the yellow brick road, Dorothy befriends a scarecrow, tin woodman and cowardly lion.
After reaching the Emerald City and being granted an audience with the Wizard, Dorothy and her friends learn that he will only help them if they kill the Wicked Witch of the West. Following a series of adventures and botched attempts by the witch to do away with the quartet, Dorothy manages to kill the witch by dousing her with water.
Dorothy and her friends return to see the Wizard, who confesses to being an ordinary man, bereft of magical powers. Dorothy despairs she will never get back to Kansas, but Glinda, the Good Witch of the South, comes to the rescue, explaining to Dorothy that she need only tap the heels of her magical shoes together three times to travel wherever her heart desires. In the end, Dorothy and Toto return to Kansas, exclaiming “there’s no place like home.”
The challenge of adapting the book The Wonderful Wizard of Oz into a script began on February 28, 1938. The effort would take months and eventually involve a whole host of writers. In hindsight it is a wonder that the script was ever completed. The story behind the writing was a saga of its own.
Herman J. Mankiewicz was the first writer hired by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM) Pictures to adapt Baum’s book into a film. Mankiewicz was an acknowledged genius of a screenwriter, albeit a troubled one. An alcoholic with a penchant for gambling, he wrote rapidly and prolifically and was well known for his sardonic wit and clever dialogue. Although never formally credited for his work on The Wizard of Oz, Mankiewicz was responsible for one of the signature aspects of the film. It was his script that established the opening Kansas scenes of the movie in black and white, expounding upon Baum’s description of the grayness of the Kansas landscape and Dorothy’s daily life. Mankiewicz envisioned the visual contrast which was to come in the film when Dorothy opened the door of her Kansas farmhouse and entered the Technicolor Land of Oz.
The Mankiewicz script that is part of the AHC collections is dated from March 3 to March 19, 1938, and follows Baum’s book in many aspects, including describing silver magic shoes and a one-eyed Wicked Witch of the West. Mankiewicz’s involvement with the film was short lived – in less than a month he moved on to other projects.
Unbeknownst to Mankiewicz, before he had even submitted his script to MGM, two other writers had also been hired to write scripts for The Wizard of Oz. Noel Langley was given the assignment on March 11, 1938. He, too, was unaware that Mankiewicz was also working on a script. Langley’s involvement with the film was complicated. Langley’s script is notable because it details the on-screen transformation of Kansas schoolteacher Miss Gulch into the Wicked Witch of the West as she peddles her bicycle through the cyclone. The Langley script also introduced the characters of Lizzie, a love interest for farm hands Hunk and Bulbo, the son of the Wicked Witch of the West. Neither Lizzie nor Bulbo made it into the final version of the film.
The Langley script which is part of the AHC collection is dated March 22, 1938, and is 43 pages in length. By June 10, 1938, Langley had been dismissed from The Wizard of Oz production team. Langley left the job feeling that the director had been pleased with his treatment of the material, so he was alarmed to learn in mid-June that two more writers, Florence Ryerson and Edgar Allan Woolf had also been hired with instructions to rewrite the script.
Ryerson and Woolf worked as a team and had collaborated on several lesser-known films in the 1930s. Ryerson was particularly known for bringing warmth to stories. Together the duo developed the idea to have Frank Morgan, who was a popular actor of the era, appear as multiple characters in the film. It is their script notes that outline having Morgan play both the eccentric fortune telling professor in Kansas and the Wizard in the land of Oz. Their script also refers to the magic shoes as red (and not silver, as in earlier scripts) and the mean schoolteacher who threatens to dispose of Dorothy’s beloved Toto as Miss Gulch. The AHC Wizard of Oz collection includes Ryerson and Woolf scripts and notes that are dated from June 4 to June 7, 1938.
Noel Langley’s dismay at Ryerson and Woolf’s hiring escalated into an angry confrontation with the film’s director. Langley demanded to have his name removed from the script. In the meantime, Ryerson and Woolf had made significant changes to earlier scripts. By July 27, 1938, they had wrapped up their edits. But Langley’s involvement with the film was not finished. Langley and the director came to an agreement and on July 30, 1938, Langley was rehired to do final edits on the script to be used for shooting. Langley continued to work on the film until October 31, 1938.
Five months later, when production on the film was complete, and the credits were prepared, Langley, Ryerson and Woolf shared the acclaim. The final credits on the film read “Screenplay by Noel Langley, Florence Ryerson and Edgar Allan Woolf. Adaptation by Noel Langley.”
The story behind the scripts provides insight into the movie-making creative process and Hollywood screenwriting in the late 1930s. For researchers interested in The Wizard of Oz, or for the just plain curious, a visit to the American Heritage Center offers the exceptional chance to compare the film scripts with the first edition of Baum’s book The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. And for true Oz aficionados, the AHC’s Toppan Rare Books Library also has thirty-four of the other books in the Oz series.
As a musical theatre scholar, it isn’t often that my search for archival materials takes me outside of New York City. As a result, it was a pleasure to be able to visit the American Heritage Center in Laramie, Wyoming. I’m a PhD candidate at Columbia University and my dissertation examines the historical representation in American musicals.
One of my chapters examines the 1969 musical 1776 and places it in conversation with Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Hamilton (2015). Both the musicals look at the “founding” of America, but they do that in different ways and have different historical contexts which alter their interpretation of history. 1776 is about the writing of the Declaration of Independence. It begins in May of 1776 and, mostly within the walls of Independence Hall, tells the stories of the compromises and improvisations that men such as John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, and Thomas Jefferson made to declare independence from Great Britain. I propose that 1776, a musical with almost exclusively white men on stage (and, a lot of them) is actually more critical of the stories surrounding the beginnings of the country than Hamilton.
I think there are several reasons for this difference, including the relationship of the creators to the presidential administrations in office when the shows opened. 1776 responds critically to the Nixon administration, while Hamilton exists alongside the Obama administration. Being able to look at Sherman Edwards’ thoughts on the subject matter and what exactly he sought to put on stage will certainly inform my chapter as I go back to revise it later this year.
Sherman Edwards was initially the sole creator of 1776 and wrote the music, the lyrics, and the book for the show. The marked folders in the archive at the American Heritage Center suggest that his notes on the show date to 1961-62, but it is probable he was working on the show earlier, presumably at least since the late 1950s.
After he plugged the show for theatre producer Stuart Ostrow, Ostrow agreed to produce the show, with the caveat that they bring on a new book writer, Peter Stone, to rework the book. As a result, the drafts here are exciting to look at because they show what difficult issues Edwards was thinking about before he began collaborating with Stone. For example, one of the songs I am particularly interested in, “Molasses to Rum,” is sung by Edward Rutledge, a delegate from South Carolina and details the hypocrisy of delegates from the Northern colonies who claim to be anti-slavery but participate in the slave trade. I was fascinated to learn that this song had been in Edwards’ very early drafts. I learned several important things about the song, perhaps most notably that it moved. In Edwards’ drafts it appears in Act One. Even though 1776 eventually became a musical with no intermission, it certainly appears in the latter half of the musical as it now stands and is one of the last songs. I argue that the song is placed in this prominent position to show the importance of the slavery issue, and to highlight our “founding fathers” failure to address it. Edwards’ drafts show that while it was an issue he clearly thought was important, he did not see it as the final crux of the musical, as it is now. Was this a change made by Peter Stone, or was it a change that happened organically as 1960s soldiered forward?
“Molasses to Rum” as it now stands includes a slave auction performed by Rutledge within the song. Rutledge climbs on a chair and bangs his cane against a table as an “auctioneer” as he acts out selling people from “Angola / Guinea, Guinea, Guinea” (etc.). In the show now this auction becomes too much and is cut off by Dr. Josiah Bartlett of New Hampshire who cries out “For the love of God, Mr. Rutledge, please.” Rutledge then returns to the A section of the song and brings it to a close. In nearly every draft I examined (even in drafts of the music) rather than exclaim “For the love of God Mr. Rutledge, please” someone from New England (the character seems to not be important) interrupts shouting, “I’ll invest three thousand pounds!” This original line might appear more confusing in context, which is presumably why it was altered, but it also implicates the New Englanders in slavery arguably more than the line in the show as it now stands. The line now implies that even though they are “willing to be considerable carriers of slaves to others” as Rutledge says of his “Northern brethren,” that Northerners cannot stomach the dehumanizing violence of slavery. In this older version though not only can they stomach the violence they are “carried away” by it as Peter Stone writes in one of the later drafts. The line becomes an embarrassing concession that Rutledge is in fact, right. The New Englanders are willing to be actively complicit in slavery, even in the room of the Congress.
Finally, in what is presumably an even earlier note than the drafts I examined, Edwards writes, to the best of my knowledge through reading his handwriting, “Idea: Rutledge – octoroon – light black man… gets more black during song?” This note dated October of ’66 suggests an idea for a performance convention that was entirely dropped in all drafts of the musical and is something I have never heard discussed. The idea that Edwards considered making the biggest proponent of slavery a Black man who is passing for white, and a member of the second continental congress, seems as though it would have added another layer of hypocrisy to “Molasses to Rum.” It may have also meant having a Black man on stage, which certainly would be different for this musical that really only puts white men in the room. I say “may” because there is a stage history of characters who are partly Black being played by white actors, such as the role of Julie in Show Boat. It also would have broken from the historical record, as far as I know, which is somewhat surprising since Edwards was invested in historical accuracy. While there was historical speculation that Alexander Hamilton had Black ancestry, I’ve never seen such a thing suggested for Rutledge. Cleary this is an idea that Edwards left behind in his writing process, but what would it mean for this character to be Black? I think it would not only highlight more hypocrisy in the system of slavery, but perhaps Edwards was imagining it as a way to offset Rutledge’s claims that enslaved people were property rather than people. If Rutledge himself was a Black man, then that would surely show the flimsy nature of his claims.
In any case, I think there is a lot more thinking to be done about this note and these drafts, and I have barely scratched the surface of my own thinking. I could write at least six more posts this length looking at other songs/moments in the show because this collection is so rich with detail.
Post contributed by Anne Melissa Potter, PhD candidate in Theatre and Performance, Columbia University.
November is Native American Heritage Month. The American Heritage Center pays tribute to the rich and diverse cultures, traditions, and histories of Native people.
The Northern Arapaho have a rich musical culture, from dramatic religious songs to haunting war songs and joyful social songs. From 1949 through 1983, Anthropologist Zdenek Salzmann spent summers on the Wind River Reservation, studying Arapaho linguistics and music. He recorded more than 100 audio tapes, documenting Arapaho songs and language. Salzmann collaborated with a number of Arapaho, including William “Bill” Shakespeare.
Among the oldest known Arapaho songs are those associated with the Sun Dance. Historically, the Arapaho were nomadic, traveling in small bands except for an annual summer meeting. It was at these summertime gatherings that the Arapaho participated in a variety of dances, including the Sun Dance. The Sun Dance dramatized and reaffirmed tribal identity and was part of a seven-day long ceremony. Singing and drumming accompanied the preparation of herb medicines. Practice sessions for the singers were held in the nights leading up to the Sun Dance.
A two-sided drum was used as accompaniment. Most of the Sun Dance songs, like the majority of Arapaho songs, are sung with intentionally meaningless syllables. Syllables are grouped together in various patterns and are passed along orally from one generation of singers to the next. Following a long night of singing and dancing, the Arapaho Morning Sun Rise Song was sung, just as the dancers were preparing to rest.
Another group of Arapaho songs is associated with peyote. It is believed that peyote came to the Arapaho of Wyoming in 1903. Its use originated among the Mexican Indians and propagated through other North American tribes. Peyote was incorporated into the Arapaho vision quest. For the Arapaho peyote ceremony, a drum is made of skin stretched over an earthenware pot containing a little water. The water is used to moisten the drumhead to ensure a consistent pitch. A gourd containing glass beads is used as an accompaniment. Singing and drumming are integral to the peyote ceremony. Four songs are sung by each man who participates, with the ritual continuing past midnight and ending at dawn with another group of songs. Some peyote songs address the nature of peyote itself, while others are repeated syllables without words. Peyote songs are accompanied by noticeably quicker drumbeats than other Arapaho songs, but the singing style is more subdued.
Some Arapaho social songs have been learned from other American Indian tribes. According to tribal legend, songs that accompany Round Dances were learned from the Gros Ventre in the late 19th century and songs for the Wolf Dance were learned from the Dakota tribe at approximately the same time.
Arapaho music can be dynamic, changing to reflect current events. War songs celebrated the tribe’s exploits in battle, and not just conquests from the days of the “Wild West”. Lyrics were changed or added to reflect Arapaho experiences during World War I and II. Tribal members also created new songs based on visions or dreams they experienced.
You can learn more about the diversity of Arapaho music and listen to traditional Arapaho songs in the Zdenek Salzmann papers at the University of Wyoming’s American Heritage Center.
Post contributed by AHC Writer Kathryn Billington.
This Halloween, we highlight the career of actor Peter Lorre (1904-1964), who is represented in two of our collections.
Lorre, who was born László Löwenstein in Hungary, began acting for the stage in Vienna in the early 1920s. He gained international fame for his portrayal of a child killer in the German film M (1931), directed by Fritz Lang.
Lorre left Germany in 1933 as the Nazis came to power. After appearing in Alfred Hitchcock’s The Man Who Knew Too Much (1934), Lorre came to America, where he became known for co-starring with actor Sydney Greenstreet in nine films, including The Maltese Falcon (1941) and Casablanca(1942).
Later, he appeared in three “horror comedies” produced by American International Pictures – Tales of Terror (1962) (in this trilogy of adaptations of stories by Edgar Allan Poe, Lorre starred in “The Black Cat”), The Raven (1963) (inspired by Poe’s poem, the film features Lorre as a magician who transforms back and forth from man to raven), and The Comedy of Terrors (1963).
Youngkin’s files contain materials on and stills from Lorre’s films, including his horror films. Among the photos is a series of pictures showing the making of a plaster mask that Lorre wore in Mad Love, as well as a picture from The Comedy of Terrors of stuntman Harvey Parry wearing a latex “Peter Lorre” mask.
Also included in the collection is a file related to Lorre’s attempt to stop actor Eugene Weingand, who vaguely resembled Lorre, from legally changing his name to “Peter Lorie Jr.”
This is Kato, as played by Chinese American actor and martial arts expert Bruce Lee in the 1966-67 television series, The Green Hornet. The series featured the adventures of Britt Reid—rich newspaper publisher by the day, masked crime-fighter by night—assisted by Kato, his valet and driver.
It was Lee’s introduction to American audiences, though he had been a child actor in the Hong Kong film industry. Lee declined the “sloppy punching” that the script called for; Lee used his martial arts training instead. The results were electric. As noted in a 2020 AHC blog post regarding The Green Hornet, “Younger viewers were astonished by what they saw. Bruce Lee’s Kato became the series’ real star, and he was soon making personal appearances across the country.”
Kato was, in fact, Filipino. At least for a few years.
The Green Hornet began as a radio program in 1936, made into two movies in the 1940s, and would run on and off until around 1952. “The Adventures of the Green Hornet” is a story complete, each broadcast depicting the life of a young newspaper publisher who is devoting his life to the breaking up of ‘rackets’ and underworld doings,” a 1936 press release said. It was patterned after The Lone Ranger, which had also been produced by the same station in Detroit, according to Catholic University media studies professor Alexander Russo. “The two programs shared a basic template,” Russo wrote, “a courageous white hero, a faithful sidekick of a different race, a classical music theme in the public domain to avoid royalty payments, and a deeply corrupt setting.”
Kato was first introduced as Japanese. “The Green Hornet (Britt Reid) is assisted by his faithful Japanese valet, Kato,” the Battle Creek Enquirer in Michigan announced in 1936. Echoing popular stereotypes of “Japanese loyalty and industriousness”, Russo said, Kato’s Japanese identity was vital to his role as valet. A few years later, however, there were references to Kato’s Filipino ancestry. “In my native Philippines, we have a saying, ‘It is easier to drown in a little wave than a big one,” Kato said in a June 1941 episode (as quoted by Russo). “Ably assisted by his Filipino servant, Kato, the Green Hornet fares forth again tonight to wreak more havoc among denizens of the underworld,” the Capital Times wrote in 1942. “Only Kato, his Filipino valet, knows [Reid] in his after-dark role,” the Shreveport Times wrote in 1947. Oddly, Kato was also, at least for a time, Korean. “Reid’s accomplice on his midnight forays is his Korean valet and chauffeur, Kato, the only person who knows his dual life,” the Pensacola News Journal wrote in 1939.
Reid/The Green Hornet might have had a dual life; Kato had several ethnic identities.
What might explain Kato’s switch in ethnicity? One version claims that this happened during the Second World War, as Japan became a US enemy. “In the early days of radio Kato was identified as a Japanese but during the war he suddenly shifted nationalities and emerged as a Filipino,” according to the Rapid City Journal. Some thought it happened immediately after Pearl Harbor, in December 1941 (“quickest change of nationality in the history of broadcasting,” George McEvoy said, writing for The Palm Beach Post).
But the dates of the articles cited above indicate that the shift took place much earlier, though the reasons were largely the same. Russo suggests that deteriorating public opinion of Japan beginning in the late 1930s might have prompted the change. In particular, the Japanese attack on China in 1937—84 years ago last July—and the atrocities that followed were condemned widely. Popular support for China soared in the US as support for Japan crashed. But because Kato’s Asian identity was essential to the program, this created a problem for the show’s producers. Filipino Kato was the solution (and, it seems, at least briefly, Korean Kato). “The Green Hornet was able to use a reconfigured Orientalism to respond to the military threat posed by Japan and internal fears about distinguishing ally from enemy,” Russo wrote.
More than a pop culture icon then, Kato has arguably been a barometer for US-Asian relations and popular American attitudes towards Asia, including stereotypes and prejudice.
(Interestingly, Kato was played by a relatively unknown Hong Kong Chinese American actor in 1966 and Lee’s films in the 1970s were not seen in mainland China until much later. “Films like Enter the Dragon and Fists of Fury were banned by Mao as spiritual pollution and rightist sentimentality,” according to Clifford Coonan in the Irish Times. In contrast, in the recent 2011 film remake of The Green Hornet, at a time when Japan is a strong US ally, Kato was played by Jay Chou, a Taiwanese singer who has sold some 30 million records, according to his Wikipedia page, and is popular in mainland China, Hong Kong, Macau and Taiwan. “The Green Hornet represents the intersection of race, citizenship, and the public sphere,” Russo wrote. To this we might now add—global commerce. But we leave this for another post.)
In 1966, Lee was asked about Kato’s ethnic identity. “Speaking for myself, I am Chinese,” he answered, according to The New York Times. “Would some knowing Oriental protest since Kato was after all a Japanese name?”
“I am a karate expert, black belt class,” Lee said. “Anyone object, I put them on their back.”
To learn more about The Green Hornet television series, see the William Dozier papers at University of Wyoming’s American Heritage Center.
And though, as Russo explained, a “universal Oriental” wasn’t a solution to The Green Hornet producers’ Asian dilemma in the late 1930s, one might argue that what eventually became Bruce Lee in popular imagination might be close–though so much more independent and defiant than the producers ever imagined, upstaging even The Green Hornet himself, the white hero.
Reflections for another post.
Post contributed by Erwin R. Tiongson, co-founder of The Philippines on the Potomac Project (POPDC) (https://popdc.wordpress.com/). The text for this post originally appeared on POPDC’s Facebook page. It is included in AHC’s Discover History blog with permission.
Alexander Russo, 2002, “A Dark(ened) Figure on the Airwaves: Race, Nation, and the Green Hornet,” in Michele Hilmes and Jason Loviglio, eds., Radio Reader: Essays in the Cultural History of Radio (New York: Routledge), pp. 257-276.
October 1922 is attributed as the first officially documented date of the University of Wyoming’s homecoming. Celebrations included class reunions, open houses, a homecoming dance, parades, and of course, the homecoming football game.
Wyoming football origins date back as early as 1893 when games were played in Prexy’s Pasture; however, the first official homecoming game was the inaugural game played in 1922 on the new Corbett Field thanks to intensive community fundraising efforts led by UW’s own Dr. Samuel H. Knight.
An alumnus of the University of Wyoming and professor of geology, Dr. Knight served as the president of the Alumni Association from 1921 to 1924 and on the athletic committee. Knight was keen on the national movement of the time to coincide football festivities with homecoming celebrations and was instrumental in collaborating with the Alumni Association to move the date of previously established alumni celebrations from the summer months to align with the first football game of the 1922 season, starting the tradition of UW Homecoming in October marked by a home football game.
As University of Wyoming Homecoming fast approaches its 99th year, UW football looks a little different. The homecoming football game is still regarded as one of the most Poke Pride-filled games of the season, second only perhaps to the Border War with Colorado State University. But it’s been a long time since UW football played its final game on the old Corbett Field, which is now occupied by the College of Business and the Wyoming Union parking lot.
In Spring 1950, construction of what is now War Memorial Stadium began and was completed in time to host the Cowboys that fall. The stadium wasn’t the only addition to UW that year though. 1950 also marked the beginning of perhaps the University of Wyoming’s tiniest and most beloved tradition – Cowboy Joe.
Generously donated by the Farthing Family of Cheyenne, the young Shetland pony became Wyoming’s mascot. From the very beginning, Cowboy Joe was adored by the community and became a staple of UW pride representing the University of Wyoming and UW athletics in parades, tailgates, and, of course, the end zone after UW touchdowns! Accompanied by Cowboy Joe, the 1950 Cowboys football season played one of their best seasons, going undefeated in the regular season and winning the Gator Bowl hosted in Jacksonville, Florida, 20-7.
Cared for lovingly by his handlers, Cowboy Joe V is now a fifth generation Wyoming mascot and has become such an icon, he even has his own social media platforms. Today, he stays closer to home, no longer flying with the team across the country but rather making regional appearances around the state and trotting the field at every home game. According to the Cowboy Joe Handlers website, “Cowboy Joe’s handlers have the privilege of working with and grooming Joe before events, trailering him to events, and showing him off at home football games and other community and university functions. Handlers have the unique opportunity to spend time with Cowboy Joe and express the deep-rooted passion for the history of the University of Wyoming.”
Much about homecoming and UW football has changed over the years but Cowboy Joe represents a long-standing tradition and brings a special joy to adults and children alike.
You can learn more about Cowboy football history at the University of Wyoming’s American Heritage Center.
Post contributed by Archival Processor Emily Hakert, AHC Accessioning Unit.
As lovers of Mexican food celebrate National Taco Day on October 4th, it seems an appropriate time to delve into the papers of Taco John’s International. The American Heritage Center has collaborated with Taco John’s to preserve their corporate history since 2004. The origin story of Taco John’s dates back to 1968, when John Turner opened his “Taco House”, a humble stand selling five tacos for a dollar to budget conscious Cheyenne diners. While Mexican food was a rarity in Wyoming, Turner’s “Taco House” soon had an appreciative customer base. Cheyenne businessmen Jim Woodson and Harold Holmes approached Turner about franchising the business, and Turner agreed to sell the rights to them for $10,000. Woodson and Holmes lacked experience in the restaurant industry, but that didn’t stop them from building a quickly expanding franchise business. They named their restaurant chain Taco John’s.
The first one hundred restaurants were prefabricated modular buildings of plywood and aluminum constructed in Cheyenne and trucked to places like Rapid City, Scottsbluff and Torrington. None of them had seating for customers, who all got their food “to-go”. John Turner provided the restaurants with tortillas and his proprietary blend of seasonings and spices. The company’s original logo was a fiendish devil proclaiming Taco John’s as the “Hottest Spot in Town.”
The success of the concept exceeded Harold Holmes and Jim Woodson’s expectations. Holmes was a private pilot and he and Woodson often traveled by small aircraft, approving sites for new restaurants and assisting franchisees in their openings. They found hundreds of individuals located in smaller cities in the West and Midwest with an entrepreneurial spirit who wanted the chance to own a quick-service restaurant. Restaurant design evolved to include seating and drive-throughs. Innovative products were added to the menu, like the Potato Olés and the Taco Bravo. The company coined the phrase “West-Mex” and trademarked “Taco Tuesday”.
Eventually, expansion put the chain in 22 states with nearly 400 locations. The company is still headquartered in Cheyenne and unlike their competitors, remains privately owned. Today, Taco John’s serves its namesake tacos, alongside burritos, quesadillas, nachos and breakfast items. It continues to be known for bold flavors, fresh ingredients and friendly customer service. Sixty-five percent of the business is drive-through, a factor that has helped the company manage through the challenging times of COVID-19.
You can learn more about the history of Taco John’s and whet your appetite for a taco or two in the Taco John’s International papers at UW’s American Heritage Center.
Post contributed by AHC Writer Kathryn Billington.
“Beef. It’s what’s for dinner.” So, Sam Elliot in his deep, husky drawl immortalized one of the most famous meat slogans in recent memory. The National Live Stock and Meat Board invented this piece of Americana and linked meat-eating to manliness for over seventy years. Now nearly forgotten, in its heyday, the Meat Board was the nation’s leader in meat advertising and much more.
I used my American Heritage Center travel grant to explore the Meat Board records for a book project tentatively called Cattle Cartel: How Big Cattlemen and Packers Harnessed the Meat Industry, 1916–1933. In it, I explain the origin of cooperation between these two groups and the many ways in which they reshaped the cattle industry. The Meat Board, I argue, embodied this new era of cooperation. It consisted of representatives from livestock associations, packers, retailers, and livestock exchanges. Surprisingly, its influence has remained largely hidden in historical literature. In the following paragraphs, I’ll tell a little bit about the Board and highlight some of its more amusing initiatives on the theme of meat and masculinity.
In 1922, industry leaders created the Meat Board to promote meat consumption. At the time, Americans ate less meat for various reasons, one being the popularity of breakfast cereal—pioneered by John Harvey Kellogg—which had replaced the traditional hearty morning meals. The Board struck back with studies on the healthfulness of meat and used that information to create all sorts of promotions. The pamphlet pictured here is called “Meat builds better Breakfasts—Better Breakfasts build better Bodies,” and it drew inspiration from eugenic contests like “Fitter Families for Future Firesides.” In its promotions like this one, the Meat Board often reinforced the age-old connection between meat and strength. The “’He-Man’ breakfast,” for example, explicitly tied a meat-centered meal to manliness.
The outbreak of WWII provided the Meat Board another opportunity to show off meat’s mettle. The Board used high school poster contests, usually directed at home economics students, to spread knowledge about meat. The annual contest themes were designed to indoctrinate students about the latest findings on meat. The posters shown here drew on the idea that meat imparted virility, more so than other foods, and was, therefore, more necessary for men on the front lines. These heavy-handed prints suggested that meat, like some sort of drug, created super soldiers. In “Meat behind the Man behind the Gun,” a steak with little arms and legs literally ran behind a soldier. Subtlety was not a virtue in meat poster art.
Meat also had a softer side, according to the Meat Board. In 1940, the Board released “Meat and Romance,” an educational and purportedly entertaining film. Intended for home economics classes, it featured newlyweds Peggy and Bill—played by Alan Ladd of Shane fame—who received a visit from Bill’s Dad, a physician, and his sister, a home economist. As Peggy, “the typical young housewife, inexperienced but eager to learn,” prepared for dinner she was given a lesson by these experts and others in meat selection, cooking, and nutrition. The local meat retailer even gave her an economics lesson on the price fluctuations of meat. The film is typical of the Meat Board’s view of “housewives” as uninformed and in need of advice. “Romance,” it appeared, was between Peggy and meat.
The Meat Board often cast women—like Peggy—as preparers of meat and “He-Men” as consumers. The Board reinforced this “separate spheres” notion about meat throughout its existence. Though the Meat Board broke up in the mid-nineties, groups like the National Cattlemen’s Beef Association (NCBA) still carry on the spirit of the Board’s promotional work. In early 2021, for instance, the NCBA sponsored a NASCAR race called the Daytona 300 and renamed it the “Beef. It’s what’s for dinner. 300.”
Post contributed by AHC 2020 Travel Grant recipient Dr. Daniel T. Gresham, Professor of History, St. Mary’s College.