Faculty Bibliography

It's the first time, museum officials say, that an exhibition has been devoted to McCarthy in the United States. Appleton itself has grappled with how to treat its hometown boy. When McCarthy died in 1957 of liver failure, at age 48, his Wisconsin neighbors took the news hard. As a veteran, he could have been buried in Arlington National Cemetery, but his wish was to come back home. The service took place at St. Mary, where McCarthy had been baptized. Thousands lined the streets as his coffin passed, and most businesses and public buildings closed for the day. Exactly two years later, a bronze bust of the senator was unveiled in an emotional ceremony at the local courthouse

The same question haunts Earl Denny, 71, secretary-treasurer of the Senator [Joseph R. McCarthy] Educational Foundation, which sponsors the annual graveside service and commemorative dinner. The foundation, organized in the 1960's to challenge ''the lies by politicians, educators and members of the news media'' about McCarthy, has lobbied to establish a permanent memorial to the senator in Appleton, to turn his birthday into a national holiday, and to put his likeness on a postage stamp. ''It's an uphill battle,'' he concedes, ''but we're a pretty passionate bunch.'' The service lasts about an hour. With time to spare before the dinner, some people head downtown to the Outagamie Museum and Houdini Historical Center, where a new exhibition, ''Joseph McCarthy: A Modern Tragedy,'' is on display. It's the first time, museum officials say, that an exhibition has been devoted to McCarthy in the United States, and Appleton is the logical place. The annual memorial service for Senator Joseph R. McCarthy at his grave in Appleton, Wis. (Andy Manis for The New York Times)(pg. B7); At top, a Joseph R. McCarthy display in the Outagamie Museum and Houdini Center in Appleton, Wis. Above, the Senator in 1954 hearings. (At top, Andy Manis for The New York Times; above, Reuters)(pg. B9)

David Oshinsky reviews the book "The Brother: The Untold Story of the Atomic Spy David Greenglass and How He Sent His Sister, Ethel Rosenberg, to the Electric Chair" by Sam Roberts

The recent admission by prize-winning historian Joseph J. Ellis that he misled students at Mount Holyoke College, as well as reporters from the Boston Globe, when he claimed to have spent the 1960s as a combat veteran in Vietnam, a civil-rights worker in Mississippi and an anti-war protester at Yale has raised some obvious questions: why did he do it? What did he have to gain? And whom, exactly, did he hurt? Over time, it seems, this stigma has grown worse. In the recent U.S. presidential campaign, the media roasted George W. Bush for lacking passion and commitment during his college days in the 1960s. Unlike Al Gore, who supposedly wrestled with the issues of war and peace while at Harvard, George W. was portrayed as the polar opposite: a good-time preppie who snored his way through Yale as president of Delta Kappa Epsilon, described in the Washington Post as "the hardest-drinking jock house on campus." The implication was clear: anyone not sufficiently engaged in the moral turmoil of the 1960s was unfit to lead America today. Sometimes it's no fun to tell the truth. Like Ellis, I was a college student in the 1960s, I now teach American history at the college level and I speak personally and anecdotally about events of the not-too-distant past. My students already hold vaguely positive views of that storied decade. Movies and music have taught them to see the decade as the zenith of youthful idealism - a time of Freedom Rides, anti-war rallies, unbridled student power and, of course, free love. Naturally, they ask questions about the choices I made in this era, when I was close to their present age. Answering them honestly, I can see the disappointment in their faces

Yet no event, Mr. DePalma says, was more significant than passage of the North American Free Trade Agreement in 1993. Blending a rich history of the continent with a sharp eye for cultural observation, he shows how the leaders of Mexico, Canada and the United States overcame generations of prejudice and exploitation to devise a common economic strategy based on free trade, open borders and mutual respect. Many were alarmed by the agreement, of course. Nafta 'caused tremors in each country,' Mr. DePalma writes, 'but the fears each nation felt were something different.' Canada faced different concerns, Mr. DePalma says, and culture played the central role. Unlike the United States, where individual rights take precedence over community norms, Canada cherishes order, civility and the public good. The United Nation's quality-of-life rankings -- which include such things as health care, literacy rates and life expectancy -- place Canada at the top. Yet these benefits did not come cheaply. In seeking consensus and social comfort, Mr. DePalma notes, Canadians sacrificed the opportunities for personal advancement and creativity that are hallmarks of American-style competition. As a result free trade was long viewed as an alien concept in Canada, where people grew up believing in the virtues of collectivism and government protection. Mr. DePalma ends his elegant journey on an optimistic note. The economies of Mexico and Canada are stronger than before. Mr. DePalma contends that the openness required by free trade has lessened corruption in Mexico and increased the pressure for democratic reforms. In Canada, he writes, 'corporations were forced to streamline,' and the government followed suit, providing the first balanced budget in nearly 30 years. For Mexicans the major issue today is the creation of high-wage jobs; for Canadians it is the ability to stay competitive while retaining their generous welfare safety net. And for North Americans, Mr. DePalma concludes, it is the willingness to become 'a community of shared interest, common dreams and coordinated responses to problems that have no regard for borders.'

David M. Oshinsky reviews the book "America and the Intellectual Cold Wars in Europe: Shepard Stone Between Philanthropy, Academy, and Diplomacy" by Volker R. Berghahn

The recent admission by historian Joseph J. Ellis that he misled students at Mount Holyoke College when he claimed to have spent the 1960's as a combat veteran in Vietnam, a civil rights worker in Mississippi, and an antiwar protester at Yale has raised some questions. But such behavior is hardly unique; American history is littered with public figures who embellished their war records and took immense liberties with their past

"Roots of Disorder: Race and Criminal Justice in the American South, 1817-80" by Christopher Waldrep is reviewed

Americans seem indifferent to the phenomenon of globalization. Living within secure borders, sheltered by their country's immense military, economic and cultural power, they show little interest in exploring the connections between other societies and their own.

No event in the history of the United States attracts more public interest than the Civil War. Visitors flock to its battlefields, where re-enactments are the rage. Truckers and accountants boldly storm Gettysburg's Little Round Top or Chickamauga's Horseshoe Ridge in the tailored uniforms of "Billy Yank" and "Johnny Reb." The Civil War shelves in a typical bookstore are crammed with novels and histories like Michael Shaara's Killer Angels and James McPherson's Battle Cry of Freedom. More than 40 million people watched some or all of Ken Burns' 1990 documentary, The Civil War