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My New Book!
My New Book!

Monday, June 30, 2025

June 30, 2025: Models of Critical Patriotism: Hannah Griffitts

[As the author of a book on the contested history of American patriotism, every day of 2025 feels strikingly relevant. So for this year’s July 4th series, I wanted to share & expand on excerpts from that book that feature models of critical patriotism from across our history, leading up to a weekend request for further conversations!]

On a Revolutionary poem that models multiple patriotic perspectives.

First, the book excerpt: “[Annis Boudinot] Stockton’s Mid-Atlantic Writing Circle colleague Hannah Griffitts (1727– 1817), a Philadelphia Quaker who contributed dozens of poems to her cousin Milcah Martha Moore’s voluminous commonplace book, linked feminism to incipient revolutionary patriotism even more clearly in her 1768 poem “The Female Patriots.” Griffitts opens with a complaint about the lack of patriotic activism from her community’s men, who, “supinely asleep, & deprived of their Sight/Are stripped of their Freedom, and robbed of their Right.” She then argues for the need for her titular female patriots to take up that cause: “If the Sons (so degenerate) the Blessing despise,/Let the Daughters of Liberty, nobly arise.” She admits that in traditional political terms “we’ve no Voice,” but makes the case for the boycotting of English goods as a key way these female patriots can nonetheless take action: “As American Patriots, our Taste we deny”; and so “rather than Freedom, we’ll part with our Tea.” And she ends by highlighting the broader revolutionary effects of not only such boycotts, but also her own poem and writing: “a motive more worthy our patriot Pen,/Thus acting—we point out their Duty to Men.” By expressing and enacting their female patriotism, then, Griffitts and her peers likewise offer a feminist critical patriotic perspective on the frustrating, counter-productive absence of women from these public debates.”

That last point is without doubt my favorite thing about Griffitts’s unique and engaging poem. I’ve written a good bit, in this space and elsewhere, about Abigail Adams’s request to her husband John that he and his fellow Framers “Remember the Ladies,” lest those ladies “foment a Rebellion” of their own. I like Adams’s letter a lot, and especially love that idea of a potential further revolution from American women (something I focus on a good bit in the section of my book from which the above excerpt is drawn). But in truth, Adams kept her perspective more or less private, and so it’s really published, public writers from the period like Griffitts, Annis Stockton, and others (including one of my favorite Americans, Judith Sargent Murray) who modeled female patriotism in both their words and deeds. One of the most important effects of broadening our definition of American patriotism—perhaps my book’s most central goal—is that it can allow us to better remember impressive and inspiring figures, texts, communities, and events beyond the familiar refrains, and I don’t think that’s more true of any American moment than these Revolutionary women writers.

Griffitts’s poem also models a second form of American patriotism from my book’s four categories: active patriotism. I define active patriotism as service and sacrifice in order to push the nation closer to its ideals, and I don’t know of any single line that sums up that concept better than Griffitts’s “rather than Freedom, we’ll part with our tea.” I know the line, like the poem overall, is a bit tongue-in-cheek (and delightfully so); but at the same time, there’s no doubt that giving up comforts is one of the more challenging sacrifices we can make, especially during difficult times when we need those comforts more than ever. I’ve been inspired by many such collective sacrifices during this fraught first half of 2025, illustrated nicely by the Target boycott (in which my wife and I took part) among many others. This form of active patriotism can be easily overlooked but is one of the most genuinely collective things we can do as a community, and one potently modeled by Hannah Griffitts’s “The Female Patriots.”

Next patriotic model tomorrow,

Ben

PS. What do you think? Models of patriotism you’d share?

Saturday, June 28, 2025

June 28-29, 2025: June 2025 Recap

[A Recap of the month that was in AmericanStudying.]

June 2: GraduationStudying: George Moses Horton’s Poem: A series inspired by my younger son Kyle’s high school graduation kicks off with the layers behind a deceptively simple poem.

June 3: GraduationStudying: Crummell and Douglass’s Debate: The series continues with an impromptu graduation day debate that exemplifies one of our most complex and crucial questions.

June 4: GraduationStudying: Du Bois’s Speech: Two lessons from one of my favorite speeches by my favorite American, as the series commences on.

June 5: GraduationStudying: The Graduate: One aspect of the iconic 1967 film that hasn’t aged well, and two that still feel very relevant.

June 6: GraduationStudying: That Suncreen Speech: The series concludes with three stand-out quotes from Mary Schmich’s famous 1997 advice for graduates.

June 7-8: What’s Next for Kyle: And a follow-up update on what’s next for my favorite recent graduate!

June 9: Revolutionary War Figures: Ethan Allen and the Green Mountain Boys: In honor of the Continental Army’s 250th birthday, a Revolutionary War series kicks off with the less than noble side to a folk hero.

June 10: Revolutionary War Figures: Molly Pitcher: The series continues with why the iconic hero who might not have existed still matters.

June 11: Revolutionary War Figures: The “Black Regiment”: Three telling details about the Continental Army’s longstanding African American regiment, as the series fights on.

June 12: Revolutionary War Figures: Benedict Arnold: The benefits and limitations to remembering our most infamous traitor the way that we do.

June 13: Revolutionary War Figures: YA Novels: The series concludes with three groundbreaking historical novels that reflect the evolution of YA literature as well as our Revolutionary memories.

June 14-15: Revolutionary War Figures: The Continental Army: For the Continental Army’s 250th, a special post featuring three details about its formation and evolution.

June 16: American Nazis: Madison Square Garden: For the 80th anniversary of Operation Paperclip, a series on Nazis in America kicks off with an infamous 1939 event.

June 17: American Nazis: Ford, Lindbergh, and Coughlin: The series continues with three famous figures who reflect the breadth and depth of American Nazism.

June 18: American Nazis: The Plot Against America: Three telling and compelling layers to Philip Roth’s 2004 novel, as the series marches on.

June 19: American Nazis: Wernher von Braun: Three striking lines from Tom Lehrer’s satirical song about the Nazi turned American scientist.

June 20: American Nazis: Neo-Nazis and Charlottesville: The series concludes with how we can respond to a resurgent Neo-Nazi movement.

June 21-22: American Nazis: Project Paperclip and Hunters: A special weekend post on one of our best cultural representations of Operation Paperclip and Nazis in America.

June 23: Sound in Film: Vitaphone’s Anniversary: A series on the 100th anniversary of a groundbreaking cinematic technology kicks off with contexts for that pioneering moment.

June 24: Sound in Film: Al Jolson: The series continues with how the first spoken dialogue in an American film reflects some of our worst and best.

June 25: Sound in Film: Mid-Century Evolutions: How two films and one genre reflect the changing landscape of film sounds, as the series talks on.

June 26: Sound in Film: Dialogue Dubbing: Revealing one of film’s hidden histories through three characters whose dialogue was dubbed by a different performer.

June 27: Sound in Film: Meaningful Music: The series concludes with a link to a wonderful piece from FilmStudier Vaughn Joy on how one iconic film uses music.

Next series starts Monday,

Ben

PS. Topics you’d like to see covered in this space? Guest Posts you’d like to contribute? Lemme know!

Friday, June 27, 2025

June 27, 2025: Sound in Film: Meaningful Music

[100 years ago this week, the brothers Harry and Sam Warner struck a deal with Bell Labs to use their innovative Vitaphone technology in the production of the first sound films for Warner Brothers. So this week I’ll AmericanStudy a handful of contexts for talking pictures!]

I’m going to hand off this last post in my sound in film series to my favorite current FilmStudier, the awesome Vaughn Joy. Earlier this year for her weekly Review Roulette newsletter, Vaughn focused her review of White Men Can’t Jump (1992) on the film’s unique and vital use of both soundtrack and score. I couldn’t say it any better about the role of these elements of sound in film, so I hope you’ll check out Vaughn’s review to round off the week’s series!

June Recap this weekend,

Ben

PS. What do you think? Examples of sound in film you’d highlight?

Thursday, June 26, 2025

June 26, 2025: Sound in Film: Dialogue Dubbing

[100 years ago this week, the brothers Harry and Sam Warner struck a deal with Bell Labs to use their innovative Vitaphone technology in the production of the first sound films for Warner Brothers. So this week I’ll AmericanStudy a handful of contexts for talking pictures!]

On three characters whose dialogue was dubbed by a different actor than the on-screen performer, reflecting one of cinema’s more hidden histories.

1)      Goldfinger: Dialogue dubbing was apparently more or less ubiquitous in the early (ie, Sean Connery’s 1960s) Bond films—for example, the same German actress, Monica “Nikki” van der Zyl, dubbed at least 15 women across those early films, including Bond’s leading ladies in most of them. But it still feels pretty strange when a Bond film’s principal villain, a character who is on screen almost as much as Bond himself, is voiced by someone other than the actor we’re watching. And that was the case with Auric Goldfinger from the 1964 film of that name—he is played by German actor Gert Fröbe, but voiced by Englishman Michael Collins. I can’t lie, when I found out that it wasn’t the actor onscreen saying “No Mr. Bond, I expect you to die!,” I was both shaken and stirred.

2)      Darth Vader: This example of dialogue dubbing is obviously much, much more widely known than Goldfinger’s. But while of course George Lucas was happy to have James Earl Jones’s iconic and booming voice for his first trilogy’s iconic villain (turned sympathetic Dad), it also seems, from the behind-the-scenes footage that has since been released, that the actor walking around in Vader’s outfit (David Prowse) had a voice that quite simply would not have worked for the character no matter what. Prowse still got to wear the black suit and visit all those sets and act opposite the films’ other main performers, but it’s fair to say that Jones provided the performance most fully associated with the character—which of course reveals something about both the importance of dialogue and the complicated situation in play whenever dialogue is dubbed.

3)      Trish in Exit Wounds: And if that situation is always complicated to start with, I can only imagine how painful it feels for an actor to only find out that they’ve been dubbed when they watch the completed film for the first time. Apparently that was the case for Eva Mendes in the 2001 Steven Seagal and DMX action film Exit Wounds—Mendes filmed the entire role, producers were unhappy with her performance (believing she didn’t sound “intelligent enough”), the part was dubbed by an unidentified actress, and Mendes only discovered the change when she watched the film at the theater. Of course some toxic combination of sexism and racism had to be in play for them to feel that way about Mendes but not, y’know, Steven Seagal—a reminder that dialogue dubbing is always connected to other issues as well as sound in cinema.

Last film sound studying tomorrow,

Ben

PS. What do you think? Examples of sound in film you’d highlight?

Wednesday, June 25, 2025

June 25, 2025: Sound in Film: Mid-Century Evolutions

[100 years ago this week, the brothers Harry and Sam Warner struck a deal with Bell Labs to use their innovative Vitaphone technology in the production of the first sound films for Warner Brothers. So this week I’ll AmericanStudy a handful of contexts for talking pictures!]

On two specific films and one genre that reflect the changing mid-century landscape of cinematic sounds.

1)      King Kong (1933): Just a half-dozen years after those first true “talkies” about which I wrote in yesterday’s post, pioneering percussionist and sound designer Murray Spivack was faced with a more significant challenge: producing the noises for the titular monster, along with his fellow prehistoric creatures, in King Kong. As that second hyperlinked article traces, Spivack went to great lengths to record various animal noises and other sound effects, and the results were truly groundbreaking; much of Kong looks and feels as dated as you’d expect nearly a century later, but the sound effects remain impressive to this day. And when we remember that Warner Brothers had purchased Vitaphone less than a decade before, Spivack’s successes become even more impressive still.

2)      World War II Newsreels: I’m not going to pretend I have a lot more to add to that excellent hyperlinked 2014 European Journal of Media Studies article from (then-) PhD candidate Masha Shpolberg. Nor do I want to suggest (no more than Shpolberg does) that we should emphasize a topic like film sounds when it comes to the era and the horrors of the Second World War. But the question of how the evolving cultural medium of film brought those horrors to audiences far from combat is a really interesting one, and Shpolberg makes a great case that newsreels did so through a particularly striking set of sound elements.

3)      Singing in the Rain (1952): I don’t know exactly when the first films that we could call truly nostalgic for the early days of Hollywood began to be released, but I like the symbolism of the very reflective and metatextual Singing in the Rain coming out exactly 25 years after the release of The Jazz Singer. But while Singing represented Hollywood’s earlier days in its content, I agree with this post from film studies student Gordon Taylor that this early 1950s film uses sound in “incredible” ways that reflect how far the industry had come in that quarter-century since Al Jolson’s famous line. Indeed, while of course there have been further evolutions in the 75 years since Singing, I would venture to argue that much of the modern age of cinematic sound can be found by the 1950s.  

Next film sound studying tomorrow,

Ben

PS. What do you think? Examples of sound in film you’d highlight?

Tuesday, June 24, 2025

June 24, 2025: Sound in Film: Al Jolson

[100 years ago this week, the brothers Harry and Sam Warner struck a deal with Bell Labs to use their innovative Vitaphone technology in the production of the first sound films for Warner Brothers. So this week I’ll AmericanStudy a handful of contexts for talking pictures!]

On two contradictory yet interconnected AmericanStudies layers to an iconic “talkie.”

About seventeen and a half minutes into The Jazz Singer (1927), the popular singer and vaudevillian Al Jolson, having just performed a live-recorded version of the song “Dirty Hands, Dirty Face,” speaks directly to the audience (the folks listening to him perform in the film’s nightclub setting; but also, clearly, the audience watching the film in theaters) the first recorded words of dialogue in an American film: “Wait a minute, wait a minute, you ain’t heard nothin’ yet.” As yesterday’s post hopefully made clear, the development of sound technology in film was a multi-stage process, and it’s important not to over-emphasize a single moment or film (at least not at the expense of a nuanced sense of how such things evolve over time). But nonetheless, it’s difficult to overstate how much of an impact this audible line of dialogue (part of about two minutes’ worth of recorded dialogue across The Jazz Singer) would have made on film audience used to reading dialogue on caption cards inserted amidst filmed scenes (a technique which Jazz Singer still uses for much of its dialogue).

In this February 2019 Saturday Evening Post Considering History column on the history and influence of Blackface, I noted that for much of The Jazz Singer, including its triumphant finale, Jolson’s character Jack Robin (the stage name of Jacob Rabinowitz) performs in Blackface. While he isn’t in Blackface for that iconic line of recorded dialogue, Blackface minstrelsy overall is a defining feature of the film and its legacies in American culture and society. So I’d ask you to check out that column if you would and then come on back for a second AmericanStudying layer.

Welcome back! If as I argue in that column one significant feature of much of 20th century American popular culture (from Vaudeville to film to cartoons to TV variety shows and more) was thus Blackface performance, another was the striking number of Jewish American artists who helped shape that culture. High on that list was Al Jolson, who had been born Asa Yoelson in Lithuania and who would become one of the first openly Jewish performers to become stars in the United States. And to my mind it's no coincidence that the film role which truly cemented Jolson’s cultural significance was that of Jacob Rabinowitz, a character who is destined to take over his father’s role as cantor in a Lower East Side synagogue before he rebels, runs away from home, and finds his way instead to the titular role of jazz singer. I love the fact that it’s a Jewish American performer who speaks the first recorded words of dialogue in an American film—exactly as much as I loathe how much of that film said performer spends in Blackface.

Next film sound studying tomorrow,

Ben

PS. What do you think? Examples of sound in film you’d highlight?

Monday, June 23, 2025

June 23, 2025: Sound in Film: Vitaphone’s Anniversary

[100 years ago this week, the brothers Harry and Sam Warner struck a deal with Bell Labs to use their innovative Vitaphone technology in the production of the first sound films for Warner Brothers. So this week I’ll AmericanStudy a handful of contexts for talking pictures!]

On three other historic moments that help contextualize the one we’re commemorating this week.

1)      De Forest’s Alternative: I first learned about the groundbreaking scientist and inventor Lee de Forest when I made him the Memory Day Nominee for August 26th (his birthday, in 1873). De Forest’s inventions (and one in particular, the audion) helped shape virtually every significant 20th century communications and media technology, from the telephone to radio to television to, yes, sound films. But while the audion did play an important role in the development of Vitaphone, over those same years de Forest would also create his own sound-on-film system, Phonofilm, which he debuted in April 1923. Unfortunately for him, its sound quality was apparently not the greatest, and so the brothers Warner decided to make their June 1925 deal with Western Electric’s Bell Laboratories instead.

2)      Don Juan (1926): Just over a year after they signed that deal, Warner Brothers formally introduced the new technology with the August 5th, 1926 premiere of their silent film Don Juan, starring John Barrymore as the Latin lothario. There was no spoken dialogue (that would come about a year later, with the famous moment I’ll discuss in tomorrow’s post), but the film did feature both a symphonic score and sound effects. Perhaps even more important as a demonstration of the technology were the series of shorts that preceded the film, most of which featured live-recorded music and one of which also qualified as a “talkie,” as it included an “Introduction of Vitaphone Sound Pictures” from studio spokesperson Will Hays. Don Juan made a substantial haul at the box office (nearly $1.7 million), yet not enough to recoup the new technology’s costs—both telling details, I’d say.

3)      Carnival Night in Paris (1927): For the first year (and beyond), both shorts and feature film scores utilizing Vitaphone were filmed in New York City, where the technology had been invented and where a sizeable number of musicians and recording studios could be found. But it was inevitable that the technology, like every aspect of the film industry in the 1920s, would migrate to Hollywood, and Vitaphone did so first with the 1927 short Carnival Night in Paris. Filmed in Hollywood and featuring the Henry Halstead Orchestra and hundreds of background dancers, this short was on its own terms eminently inconsequential—yet, as with every significant moment in the development of this technology, it helped change everything for film and America in the years to come.

Next film sound studying tomorrow,

Ben

PS. What do you think? Examples of sound in film you’d highlight?

Saturday, June 21, 2025

June 21-22, 2025: American Nazis: Project Paperclip and Hunters

[In the summer of 1945, Nazi scientists began arriving in the United States, recruited to work in the US government and eventually its space program as part of Operation Paperclip. But they weren’t the first nor the only American Nazis by any means, and this week I’ve AmericanStudied a handful of others, leading up to this weekend post on an interesting and fraught recent cultural representation of Paperclip.]

[NB. Serious SPOILERS for the first season of Amazon Prime’s Hunters in this post’s final paragraph; I haven’t seen season two.]

On a more historical and a more fictional side to a recent TV show’s depiction of Nazis in America.

Like all the histories about which I’ve written in this week’s series, the US government’s Project Paperclip program needs a great deal more of a place in our collective memories. The program’s very name reflects the idea that the Nazi pasts of the scientists brought to the United States in the months after the war’s end would be excised from their files, these personal and collective histories elided so that the US could advance its Cold War and (eventually) Space Race goals and deny the Soviet Union the same opportunities. We can debate whether bringing the scientists over and employing them was the right or wrong decision (I’d side with “wrong,” but I understand the other arguments), but to my mind the purposeful erasure of their Nazi histories was unequivocally wrong, and frankly an implicit recognition that there was a shameful side to this program that was always intended to be withheld from the American people. So any means by which we can better remember Paperclip and those fraught decisions and questions is a very good thing indeed.

One such means, and I’ll freely admit the one through which I initially learned about Project Paperclip (I had already written in this space about von Braun, but I don’t think I had known about that overall/official frame for the operation until watching the show earlier this year), is Amazon Prime’s controversial alternate history show Hunters. I understand and largely agree with that hyperlinked article’s critiques of the show’s depiction of the Holocaust, but would say that when it comes to the histories of Paperclip and Nazis in America, Hunters get a couple of seemingly contradictory, equally accurate things impressively right. On the one hand, the show depicts the ways in which the majority of the ex-Nazis disappeared into everyday American life, many of them in Huntsville, Alabama (site of the U.S. Space & Rocket Center). And at the same time, the show recognizes that some ex-Nazis (like von Braun) ended up instead in far more prominent public positions—while the show’s choice to make the first ex-Nazi we meet the US Secretary of State is as exaggerated as everything else about Hunters, I’d argue that exaggeration (and perhaps especially the fact that his Nazi past has been kept secret) is not all that far from the truth of von Braun’s influence on the US government for decades.

The last ex-Nazi we meet in Season 1 of Hunters is also a prominent figure who has been hiding his Nazi past—but in this case, I would argue that in service of a “twist” the show does a significant injustice to its historical subjects. [Again, SPOILERS from here on out.] Throughout the show’s arc, Al Pacino’s Meyer Offerman serves as a mentor and father-figure to Logan Lerman’s Jonah Heidelbaum, bringing Jonah into the team of Nazi hunters who are tracking down these hidden figures and delivering vigilante justice to them. But in the final episode’s final minutes, Jonah learns that Meyer is himself an ex-Nazi, none other than “The Wolf” who terrorized Jonah’s grandparents during their time in a concentration camp. The revelation allows Jonah the chance to make his own final decision about vigilante justice and murder (something he’s been struggling with throughout the show), but it doesn’t quite work within the show’s plot—and much more importantly, to my mind it doesn’t work at all within the show’s historical and cultural themes. After all, this twist literally collapses the distinctions between Nazis and Jews, Holocaust perpetrators and victims/survivors—and that’s an injustice not only to the Holocaust itself, but also to better remembering the histories of those Nazis who found their way to the United States in the decades after committing those horrors.

Next series starts Monday,

Ben

PS. What do you think? Other histories or stories you’d highlight?

Friday, June 20, 2025

June 20, 2025: American Nazis: Neo-Nazis and Charlottesville

[In the summer of 1945, Nazi scientists began arriving in the United States, recruited to work in the US government and eventually its space program as part of Operation Paperclip. But they weren’t the first nor the only American Nazis by any means, and this week I’ll AmericanStudy a handful of others, leading up to a weekend post on an interesting and fraught recent cultural representation of Paperclip.]

On how to respond to a resurgent neo-Nazi movement. [NOTE: I originally shared this post a few years back; let’s just it hasn’t become less relevant since.]

The American neo-Nazi movement has been present for more than half a century—in the same mid-1960s years that Tom Lehrer was releasing “Wernher von Braun,” a dishonorably discharged Navy veteran named George Lincoln Rockwell founded the American Nazi Party (ANP), and the organization has been active in American politics ever since (despite Rockwell’s August 1967 murder by disgruntled former ANP member John Patler). Over those decades it has also spawned competing organizations such as Matthias Koehl’s New Order, a monthly magazine (The Stormtrooper), and a briefly active 1970s youth organization (the National Socialist Liberation Front, or NSLF). Reading all the info in those hyperlinked posts (none of which, to be clear, are from the organizations themselves) makes me want to take a shower, but it’s important not to look away from the fact that American Nazis have been a vocal political force (if of course a minority one) for more than 50 years.

In August 2017, however, almost exactly 50 years after Rockwell’s murder, neo-Nazis enjoyed their moment of greatest national visibility: the August 11-12 white supremacist “Unite the Right” rallies in my hometown of Charlottesville. The single most famous neo-Nazi participant in those hateful rallies was James Fields, the domestic terrorist who drove his car into a crowd of protesters, killing Heather Heyer. But while neo-Nazis might want to disavow Fields’ blatantly illegal action, I’m sure they were much happier with the Friday evening march and rally on the University of Virginia grounds, at which neo-Nazis sporting swastikas and offering Hitler salutes chanted slogans such as “Blood and soil” and “Jews will not replace us!” By emphasizing the presence of neo-Nazis at the rallies, I don’t mean to downplay the many other white supremacist forces there, nor quite frankly the centrality of these communities to mainstream 2010s right-wing American politics (there’s a reason why President Trump argued for “very fine people on both sides” in Charlottesville). But while white supremacist rhetoric and violence has been a common thread in Charlottesville and American history, the overt embrace of Nazism in this moment felt distinctly new and even more threatening still.

So how do we respond to that resurgent neo-Nazi movement (other than by punching Nazis, which I’m fine with but isn’t sufficient by itself as a collective response)? It will come as something less than a surprise to know that a main answer of mine is that we need to better engage with our histories, including those about which I’ve written in this week’s series. But we really do, for lots of reasons but especially this one: despite our understandable desire to define it as something entirely outside of and opposed to our national identity, Nazism is indeed as American as, well, the Ford Mustang. Or, y’know, the moon landing. But so too is fighting Nazis, not just on the battlefields of Europe but in communities and conversations here at home. Which is to say, the original Antifa wasn’t just all those WWII soldiers—it was also, and I would argue especially, someone like Isadore Greenbaum. As always, learning the horrific histories of American Nazism also means learning the inspiring histories of figures like Greenbaum (and the 100K New York protesters with whom he shared that 1939 activism). There are no more important lessons than those for our renewed fight here in 2020.

Special post this weekend,

Ben

PS. What do you think? Other histories or stories you’d highlight?

Thursday, June 19, 2025

June 19, 2025: American Nazis: Wernher von Braun

[In the summer of 1945, Nazi scientists began arriving in the United States, recruited to work in the US government and eventually its space program as part of Operation Paperclip. But they weren’t the first American Nazis by any means, and this week I’ll AmericanStudy a handful of others, leading up to a weekend post on an interesting and fraught recent cultural representation of Paperclip.]

On three striking lines from Tom Lehrer’s satirical song about the Nazi-turned-American scientist.

1)      “Call him a Nazi, he won’t even frown/‘Ha, Nazi, Schmazi,’ says Wernher von Braun”: As I’ll discuss at greater length in the weekend post, what was perhaps most striking about Operation Paperclip wasn’t that it brought Nazi scientists to America, but that it did so so quickly and openly. Von Braun, the scientist single-handedly responsible for the V2 rocket that killed a great many Londoners in the final year of the Blitz (among other work he did for Hitler’s Nazi regime), was among those initial arrivals in the United States in late September 1945, less than 5 months after V-E Day. He would go on to be a prominent public spokesperson as well as scientist for NASA and the Space Program, appearing for example on three Walt Disney Man in Space TV shows. Clearly von Braun was able to immediately and consistently laugh away his service to Nazi Germany, and so, it seems was the US government.

2)      “Like the widows and cripples in old London town/Who owe their large pension to Wernher von Braun”: But not all Americans were as willing or able to laugh that history away, as Lehrer’s early 1960s song illustrates. There’s no shortage of contenders for the song’s most biting couplet, but I would have to go with this one, especially as it follows “But some think our attitude/Should be one of gratitude.” Obviously those who have been permanently and fatally affected by von Braun’s rockets would show him no gratitude—and Lehrer here links “us” and “our attitude” to those London casualties. The first line in this verse, “Some have harsh words for this man of renown,” really drives home the point—after all, in 1945 what von Braun was renowned for was designing killing machines, and it was then that the US decided to not just spare him from post-war trials and punishments, but to bring him to America and make him an integral, acclaimed part of our own Cold War efforts.

3)      “Good old Americans like Dr. Wernher von Braun!”: All of this adds a great deal more to Lehrer’s spoken introduction to the song, which asks “what is it” that helped America advanced in both the nuclear and space races. “Well,” Lehrer replies, “it was good old American know how, that’s what, as provided by good old Americans like” von Braun. While of course immigrants to the US are indeed American, von Braun’s immigration took place, again, just a few months after he was employed by and making weapons for the US’s wartime adversary. Yet while on that level Lehrer’s description of him as a “good old American” could be read as ridiculous, I would say that the true satire lies deeper—that our willingness to abandon morality or ethics in pursuit of scientific and Cold War “victories” was and is, indeed, all too defining and foundational of an American trait.

Last NaziStudying tomorrow,

Ben

PS. What do you think? Other histories or stories you’d highlight?

Wednesday, June 18, 2025

June 18, 2025: American Nazis: The Plot Against America

[In the summer of 1945, Nazi scientists began arriving in the United States, recruited to work in the US government and eventually its space program as part of Operation Paperclip. But they weren’t the first American Nazis by any means, and this week I’ll AmericanStudy a handful of others, leading up to a weekend post on an interesting and fraught recent cultural representation of Paperclip.]

[NB. As of my drafting of this post, I haven’t had a chance to watch David Simon and Ed Burns’ HBO miniseries adaptation of Roth’s novel, so my thoughts here will focus on the book. I hope to get to that at some point and will add an update here if and when I do!]

On three telling & compelling layers to Philip Roth’s 2004 alternate historical fiction.

One of the consistent pleasures of reading alternate histories (as with historical fiction in general, of course) is seeing how they incorporate actual historical figures into (and refigure them within) their imagined histories. Roth’s novel includes dozens of such figures in both important and minor roles, but three of the most central are ones I’ve featured or referenced in prior posts this week: in Roth’s central premise, Charles Lindbergh is elected president in 1940 and aligns the US with Nazi Germany; he appoints Henry Ford as his Secretary of the Interior; and one of Lindbergh’s most consistent adversaries in the novel is New York Mayor Fiorello La Guardia (who in real life pushed back on the 1939 Madison Square Garden Nazi rally, among many other anti-Nazi and pro-Jewish efforts during his tenure as mayor). These historical figures make Roth’s novel a juicier read for any student of American history, but they also reflect a profound understanding of how the actual course of 1930s and 40s American history already intersected with Nazi Germany in many different ways. That is, this may be an alternate history, but it’s a potently realistic one.

Roth’s novel does also include Father Coughlin, but in a briefer and more minor role, perhaps because one of Roth’s central fictional characters is a religious leader in his own right: Newark’s Conservative Rabbi Lionel Bengelsdorf, who becomes a prominent Lindbergh supporter and who later marries the narrator Philip’s Aunt Evelyn. As far as I’ve been able to learn, no prominent Jewish American figures or leaders supported movements like the German American Bund or the America First Committee (which I wrote about in Monday and Tuesday’s posts, respectively), which makes sense given their overt and defining antisemitism. But it’s also the case that no one linked to those movements ran for president, nor gained the widespread popular support of a frontrunner for that highest office; both of which are true of Roth’s Lindbergh by the time that Bengelsdorf endorses him. So it certainly seems plausible that a conservative Jewish figure like Bengelsdorf would under those circumstances hitch his wagon to Lindbergh’s star—but it is even more plausible that doing so does not spare Bengelsdorf from the rising tide of Nazism and antisemitism, as he is later arrested when widespread white supremacist riots target Jewish Americans throughout the nation.

To my mind the novel’s most compelling characters are its younger generation Jewish Americans, however, a group that includes not only the narrator Philip, but also and most complicatedly his older brother Sandy (among others). Sandy is selected by the Office of American Absorption (OAA) for its “Just Folks” program, which places Jewish boys with Southern and Midwestern families in order to “Americanize” them; Sandy is sent to a farm in Kentucky and returns home highly critical of his family (calling them “ghetto Jews”). This complex and fraught plotline echoes the experiences of young Native Americans sent to the late 19th and early 20th century boarding schools, as well as the broader “Americanization” movement of that same period. But it also allows Roth to explore an uncomfortable truth likewise revealed by the Washington’s birthday 1939 New York rally—that American Nazis could, and did, make the case that their beliefs and movement aligned with foundational elements of American identity. One more historical echo of this profoundly, painfully historical (and, yes, frustratingly salient) alternate history novel.

Next NaziStudying tomorrow,

Ben

PS. What do you think? Other histories or stories you’d highlight?

Tuesday, June 17, 2025

June 17, 2025: American Nazis: Ford, Lindbergh, and Coughlin

[In the summer of 1945, Nazi scientists began arriving in the United States, recruited to work in the US government and eventually its space program as part of Operation Paperclip. But they weren’t the first nor the only American Nazis by any means, and this week I’ll AmericanStudy a handful of others, leading up to a weekend post on an interesting and fraught recent cultural representation of Paperclip.]

On three famous figures who reflect the breadth and depth of American support for Nazis.

1)      Henry Ford: The automobile inventor and entrepreneur wasn’t just an American Nazi supporter—he was apparently an influence on Adolf Hitler himself. Between 1920 and 1927, Ford and his aide Ernest G. Liebold published The Dearborn Independent, a newspaper that they used principally to expound antisemitic views and conspiracy theories; many of Ford’s writings in that paper were published in Germany as a four-volume collection entitled The International Jew, the World’s Foremost Problem (1920-1922). Heinrich Himmler wrote in 1924 that Ford was “one of our most valuable, important, and witty fighters,” and Hitler went further: in Mein Kampf (1925) he called Ford “a single great man” who “maintains full independence” from America’s Jewish “masters”; and in a 1931 Detroit News interview, Hitler called Ford an “inspiration.” In 1938, Ford received the Grand Cross of the German Eagle, one of Nazi Germany’s highest civilian honors.

2)      Charles Lindbergh: As I mentioned in this post on Lindbergh, the aviation pioneer likewise received a Cross of the German Eagle in 1938, this one from German air chief Hermann Goering himself. Over the next two years, Lindbergh’s public opposition to American conflict with Nazi Germany deepened, and despite subsequent attempts to recuperate that opposition as fear over Soviet Russia’s influence, Lindbergh’s views depended entirely on antisemitic conspiracy theories that equaled Ford’s. In a September 1939 nationwide radio address, for example, Lindbergh argued, “We must ask who owns and influences the newspaper, the news picture, and the radio station, ... If our people know the truth, our country is not likely to enter the war.” Seen in this light, Lindbergh’s role as spokesman for the America First Committee makes clear that that organization’s non-interventionist philosophies could not and cannot be separated from the antisemitism and Nazi sympathies of Lindbergh, Ford, and all those who took part in the 1939 Madison Square Garden rally.

3)      Father Coughlin: As the tens of thousands of attendees at that rally illustrate, American Nazism was much more than just a perspective held by elite anti-Semites—it was very much a movement. And like so many problematic social movements, it featured a demagogic voice to help spread its alternative realities—in this case, the Catholic priest turned radio host Charles Edward Coughlin. Like any media figure who worked for many years, Coughlin said different things at different times; after the 1939 rally, for example, he sought to distance himself, arguing in his weekly address, “Nothing can be gained by linking ourselves with any organization which is engaged in agitating racial animosities or propagating racial hatreds.” But by that time, Coughlin had been publicly supporting both Nazi Germany and antisemitic conspiracy theories for years; his weekly magazine, Social Justice, ran for much of 1938 excerpts from the deeply antisemitic Protocols of the Elders of Zion (as that link illustrates, a text that contributed directly to the Holocaust). Both Social Justice and Coughlin’s radio show were hugely popular, illustrating that American Nazism and antisemitism were in the 1930s (as they frustratingly seem to be today) widespread views.

Next NaziStudying tomorrow,

Ben

PS. What do you think? Other histories or stories you’d highlight?

Monday, June 16, 2025

June 16, 2025: American Nazis: Madison Square Garden

[In the summer of 1945, Nazi scientists began arriving in the United States, recruited to work in the US government and eventually its space program as part of Operation Paperclip. But they weren’t the first nor the only American Nazis by any means, and this week I’ll AmericanStudy a handful of others, leading up to a weekend post on an interesting and fraught recent cultural representation of Paperclip.]

On three telling sides to a February 1939 Nazi rally in New York City.

1)      Organizers: Thanks to prominent individual figures like the three on whom I’ll focus tomorrow (Henry Ford, Charles Lindbergh, and Father Coughlin), I think Americans have a general sense that there was support for Nazis in 1930s America. But that support was also organized, and one of the chief such national organizations, the German American Bund, was the force behind the Madison Square Garden rally. While the Bund was paralleled by other pro-Hitler organizations in the period like the Free Society of Teutonia and the Friends of the New Germany, it seems to me that the Bund were also singular in their desire to wed these pro-Nazi Germany sentiments with direct appeals to mythic images of American identity and patriotism (on which more in item 2). And the rally’s two keynote speakers reflect the Bund’s own multi-national, immigrant origins (not unlike America’s, if far more fully European): Bund leader Fritz Julius Kuhn was a German immigrant who had become a naturalized American citizen in 1934; while Bund secretary and Kuhn’s right-hand man James Wheeler-Hill was a Russian (Latvian) national and recent immigrant known as “the boy orator of the Bund.”

2)      George Washington: The rally’s February 20th date was chosen very specifically—it was George Washington’s birthday, and the stage featured a portrait of Washington flanked by both American flags and Nazi flags/swastikas. After the rally opened with a performance of “The Star-Spangled Banner,” Wheeler-Hill’s introductory speech proclaimed that “If George Washington were alive today, he would be friends with Adolf Hitler.” In my book Of Thee I Sing: The Contested History of American Patriotism, I argue that celebratory patriotism (like the communal ritual of standing for and singing the anthem) has throughout American history too often turned into mythic patriotism, the creation of myths about our history and identity that are generally used to exclude particular groups from the America being embraced (and to define those groups as un- and even anti-American). So it’s no coincidence that in Kuhn’s concluding speech, he argued that “The Bund is open to you, provided you are sincere, of good character, of white gentile stock, and an American citizen imbued with patriotic zeal.”

3)      Protesters: That speech of Kuhn’s did not go off smoothly, however—it was interrupted when Isadore Greenbaum, a 26-year-old Jewish American US Navy veteran from Brooklyn, charged the stage; Greenbaum was attacked by Nazi guards, pulled away by police, and charged with disorderly conduct (for which he paid a $25 fine to avoid a 10-day jail sentence). He wasn’t the least bit apologetic, later stating, “Gee, what would you have done if you were in my place listening to that s.o.b. hollering against the government and publicly kissing Hitler's behind while thousands cheered? Well, I did it.” Nor was he alone, as an estimated 100,000 anti-Nazi protesters gathered outside the Garden, dwarfing the 20,000 or so Nazi sympathizers inside. The protesters featured World War I veterans, members of the Socialist Workers Party, and countless other organizations and communities. This inspiring group in no way mitigates the troubling realities of the rally and its reflection of widespread American support for Hitler and the Nazis; but it does remind us that 1930s American patriotism, like every other element of our society and history, was deeply contested.

Next NaziStudying tomorrow,

Ben

PS. What do you think? Other histories or stories you’d highlight?