Eric Brach is a lecturer in English at California Lutheran University and worked with Billy McGill on his book, Billy “the Hill” and the Jump Hook: The Autobiography of a Forgotten Basketball Legend (November 2013). Billy “the Hill” McGill passed away on … Continue reading From the desk of Eric Brach: Remembering Billy McGill
Below author Dawn G. Marsh writes about the genesis of her book, A Lenape among the Quakers (UNP, March 2014), in graduate school.
My book, A Lenape among the Quakers: The Life of Hannah Freeman, emerged from the pages of a dissertation completed to fulfill the requirements for a doctoral degree in history. The path to that dissertation topic was not out of the ordinary. But the space between the dissertation and the final manuscript is as convoluted as the course of the Brandywine River, the center of Hannah Freeman’s world.
My interest in Pennsylvania’s Indian history was both pragmatic and personal. I wanted to work with Sharon Salinger because she was a highly respected colonial scholar, and she had a reputation for being a tough dissertation advisor. And as both a Pennsylvanian and a Native American scholar, I knew that the state’s history was a perfect example of an overly mythologized colonial story that silenced and subverted the history of Native Americans. There was much work to do on that score.
During the early stage of my graduate program, Dr. Salinger brought to my attention a piece published 
in the Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography. Marshall Becker, an anthropologist, provided a brief discussion of a source he described as the “earliest known autobiography of a Native American woman.” That got my attention. I did not realize it then, but I was beginning a long journey, with Hannah at my side every step of the way. The Examination of Indian Hannah, written by Moses Marshall in 1798, is not an autobiography as such but rather a two-page deposition used to satisfy Chester County’s residence requirements in order to commit Hannah Freeman to the poorhouse. She was their first inmate and the only Native American woman. Two hundred years later, her story opened a door to a little-known past, and I walked through.
Kate Buford is the author of Native American Son: The Life and Sporting Legend of Jim Thorpe.
We know the legal facts by now. On Wednesday, June 18, the U.S. Trademark Trial and Appeal Board, part of the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office, cancelled six different trademark protections associated with the Washington Redskins professional football team. Federal trademark law does not permit registration of trademarks that “may disparage” individuals or groups or “bring them into contempt or disrepute.”
Each of the trademarks in question contained the word “redskin.” The 2–1 decision said that “the recognition that this racial designation based on skin color is disparaging to Native Americans” was demonstrated “by the near complete drop-off in usage of ‘redskins’ as a reference to Native Americans beginning in the 1960s.”
A similar ruling was handed down in1999, but was later overturned on appeal. The current case was filed in 2006 by five new petitioners, targeting registration—and the protection it ensured—of the Redskins team name between 1967 and 1990.
Prior to the decision, strong momentum had been building to pressure the football team to change its name. President Obama, Democratic members of Congress, journalists, and other members of the public have urged the Redskins to change the name, largely through denunciation.
But the new lawsuit took a different tack, hitting the $1.7 billion franchise where it would hurt: merchandise—T-shirts, license plate holders, sweatshirts, beer glasses, decals, and more. Forbes estimates the brand alone to be worth $145 million. With that much money in the game, the ruling, in turn, could have a direct effect on other NFL franchises because football’s revenue-sharing system gives them all a stake. “Maybe this is the tipping point for the rest of the league,” said Gabriel Feldman, director of the sports law program at Tulane University.
Continue reading “From the desk of Kate Buford: What’s in a Name?”
This op-ed originally appeared on Spaceflight Insider. Colin Burgess is the editor for the Outward Odyssey Series.
During a recent interview, I was asked where ideas for new books originate. I replied that they usually come quite unexpectedly and often are derived from casual conversations or notions that people suggest. The important thing is to recognize these verbal prompts when they appear, and then act on them.
However, the entire concept of the Outward Odyssey series was not mine to begin with, and on this occasion the idea came from a more traditional source. It all started with a March 2003 query from my new-found publisher, the University of Nebraska Press, and specifically the press’s then editor in chief, Gary Dunham, a self-confessed spaceflight enthusiast who said he had enjoyed publishing my two previous books, Teacher in Space and Fallen Astronauts. Dunham was excited about the possibility of a series of books on the history of space exploration, something along the lines of a “people’s history” that did not privilege technical advances nor a manifest destiny approach to the subject. His idea was to instead look at the social history of spaceflight and its impact on people. He felt eight volumes might be a good starting point, and asked me if I would consider taking on the role of series editor.
Although the project was well beyond anything I had ever attempted before then, I rather boldly and without any professional editing qualifications replied that I felt I was up to the challenge. This not only involved finding suitable authors and having each prepare a proposal based on a suggested book outline, but bringing them all up to speed on the social mandate of the series and where each book fit within the overall scheme of the series. I also emphasized their contractual obligations and offered information on the fixed style guide they had to employ in what they wrote. My role, once each proposal was found acceptable by the editorial board, would be to guide them through the writing, editing, and publication process on behalf of the press. I became basically a go-between, constantly communicating with all of the potential authors and the publisher.
I began by looking at authors of previously published books on space exploration, but then realized we needed a whole new generation of authors for the series officially dubbed Outward Odyssey. As a member of several online space forums I was able to submit notices asking for any potential authors to contact me with their ideas, resumés, and examples of any previously published articles or other works.
To kick-start the series I contacted long-time friend and spaceflight enthusiast Francis French; together we tossed around ideas for the first book in the series, which we thought should cover the first pioneering human spaceflights carried out by the United States and the Soviet Union. We felt it was important to explore both the achievements of American astronauts as well as those of the Soviet cosmonauts, and this recognition of all participants in the highly competitive international space race set the trend for the rest of the series, which embraces the spaceflight and space spectaculars (and tragedies) from all spacefaring nations. We set out to not only relate the stories of successive spaceflights, but to emphasize the stories and backgrounds of those who flew missions, especially focusing on what inspired them to saddle up on these incredible adventures.
Our book, titled Into That Silent Sea: Trailblazers of the Space Era, 1961 –1965, dominated our lives for the next couple of years and resulted in a massively oversized manuscript. In consultation with Dunham we decided that it would be an injustice to heavily crop the manuscript. Instead, it was divided evenly and became two volumes; the second book took on the title In the Shadow of the Moon: A Challenging Journey to Tranquility, 1965–1969. As before, the main title originated from Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.
Those first two books in the series traced the story of human space travel, from Yuri Gagarin’s pioneering flight in 1961 to Neil Armstrong as he was about to set foot upon the moon. In the meantime I had found another suitable author, Chris Gainor, to prepare a manuscript that detailed the centuries-long lead-up to Gagarin’s flight; launched another follow-on book that related the history of Project Apollo (called Footprints in the Dust: The Epic Voyages of Apollo, 1969–1975, with multiple chapter authors); and initiated another on the Skylab space station program. NASA journalist David Hitt had contacted me regarding the proposed Skylab book and mentioned that he was researching a book on the life of Skylab astronaut Owen Garriott. I convinced Dave to look at writing about the entire Skylab program, and he convinced Owen Garriott to join him in the project as co-author. Soon another Skylab astronaut, Joe Kerwin, asked if he could participate. Thus two NASA astronauts were involved in writing Homesteading Space: The Skylab Story along with Hitt.
Think you know American history? You may be wrong. History myths, as told in A Grizzly in the Mail and Other Adventures in American History: 1) Betsy Ross sewed the first flag. She sits with the Founding Fathers on the Fourth of … Continue reading From the desk of Tim Grove: American history myths
J. Frank Cashen was, at various times, executive vice president, chief operating officer, and general manager of the Baltimore Orioles in the ’60s and ’70s and the New York Mets from 1980 to 1991. His teams won three world championships … Continue reading Remembering Frank Cashen
“From LA, With Love” Daniel Boone’s great-great-great-great-grandson, Pat Boone, keeps leading me into new territory. How else to explain my journey from tiny Gerald R. Ford Airport in Grand Rapids, Michigan, to massive LAX? The plane lands in eternally sunny, … Continue reading From the desk of Sue William Silverman
C. Richard King is Professor of Ethnic Studies at Washington State University at Pullman and the author and editor of several books, including Team Spirits: The Native American Mascot Controversy and Unsettling America: Indianness in the Contemporary World.
On June 18, 2014, The U.S. Trademark and Patent Office Trademark Trial Appeal Board (TTAB) voided trademarks associated with Washington, DC NFL franchise, because it found the team’s name, Redskins, to be “disparaging.” The ruling, which followed precedent established by TTAB over the past two decades that had dismissed a range of trademark applications using the name, predictably was met with adulation by opponents and outrage by supporters. In fact, the decision lit up social media, spawning #newredskinnames, which dominated trending topics for much of the day. Focusing on the celebratory tones, raging resentment, and partisan politics palpable in immediate reactions, we might easily lose the larger import of the decision, while overlooking its limitations and dangers.
It is best not to think of the ruling as an end point. It rather moves the struggle to the next phase, fostering reconfigured dialogues and debate, while opening new fronts for action and reaction. Indeed, neither the name nor the brand will cease, and even if appeals uphold the decision, the franchise will retain rights, if more limited and less profitable. The organization said as much the same in its press release: “We’ve seen this story before. And just like last time, today’s ruling will have no effect at all on the team’s ownership of and right to use the Redskins name and logo” (emphasis original). This is certainly not the end. Nevertheless, the finding is a hopeful sign, or better said, another positive development for those opposed to the name. It adds to growing political pressure and the increasingly audible voices of dissent. In other words, the fight will continue with increased visibility and heightened momentum.
Much of the coverage, but happily not all, has centered on the ruling by TTAB and its propriety, the impact on and reaction of the franchise, and the minutiae of intellectual property law. The media has disappeared American Indians again, often burying, if not altogether erasing, them. Many readers will not learn the identities and actions of the five Native American plaintiffs, Amanda Blackhorse, Marcus Briggs-Cloud, Philip Gover, Jillian Pappan, and Courtney Tsotigh, who courageously brought the case to TTAB, nor will be given a fuller understanding of the long history of opposition to the team and its name, an opposition that dates back more than four decades and its in a larger pattern of empowerment. Indeed, as important as this ruling is, it is not the first time TTAB has taken up the question. In fact, it comes more than two decades after Suzan Harjo, Raymond D. Apodaca, Vine Deloria, Jr., Norbert S. Hill, Jr. Mateo Romero, William A. Means, and Manley A. Begay, Jr. filled suit against the NFL, seeking to nullify associated trademarks. Then, as now, TTAB ruled in favor of the plaintiffs.
Tim Grove is chief of museum learning at the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum in Washington DC. He has worked at three Smithsonian museums, at Colonial Williamsburg, and on the National Lewis and Clark Bicentennial Exhibition. I’ve found that … Continue reading From the desk of Tim Grove
I’m not a Game of Thrones fan, but the show came to mind the other day when I was talking about my memoir, Young Widower, with a friend who had just read it. We ran into each other in the baby aisle at the grocery store. I was comparing mashable fruits. He was picking up diapers and formula. We nearly missed each other. As I like to do when I’m running errands, I was plugged into my iPhone, catching up on old podcasts. I looked up to say hello just as a talking head summarized the immense appeal of the HBO series: “Come for the nudity. Stay for the dragons.”
It’s a particular challenge to describe Young Widower without at least touching on a whole range of difficult contexts and explanations. I’ve run into this problem at book readings, in email exchanges with editors and agents, and even while following Facebook posts about the book by well-intentioned in-laws. Someone who knows me as a husband and father replies to a link to an excerpt from the book. They are so sorry, by god, they had no idea. A brown bear. Rural Romania. What the hell were we thinking, hiking in the middle of the night? (We got stuck on the mountaintop with a lost hostel reservation.) How does a person ever get over seeing such a thing? (He doesn’t.) Wait—you were married before? (Yes.) Did your wife now know your wife then? (Yes.) Man, that must be strange being married again. I’ll bet you never expected that to happen. (Well, yes. And, no.)
Young Widower is a quiet and thoughtful memoir of grief, but it has at its heart a sensational fact. My first wife, Katie, died under those heartbreaking and graphic circumstances, which continue to resonate in my own life, but to nowhere near the scale or pitch they did during the year following her death. Beyond the attack itself, Young Widower spends far more time with the events of our ambitious life together—Peace Corps volunteers in Bangladesh, teachers in Chicago, graduate students in Miami, public-health work in Romania—my own fragile sense of a recovery, and the year of living with Katie’s family in Indiana after her death. And yet, for all of the reflection that Young Widower undertakes, from its intimate portrait of affection and marriage, to my guilt and self-incriminations at not having saved her, to the affections and frustrations of trying to grieve with other people, readers seem drawn to the book first because of that violent occasion. “Come for the bear attack,” I might mimic the talking head. “But, please, —stay for the honesty, heartbreak, candor, messiness, love, sorrow, and absence, as well as the arbitrariness of a natural world that, for us at least, seemed to lacked all reason.”
Continue reading “From the desk of John W. Evans: Stay for the Dragons”
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