Dying For Decades and Still Looking for Ships

On November 11, 2025 the New York Times published an article about the US Merchant Marine. Today few cargo ships operate under the US flag. President Trump and his supporters have other ideas. A bill was drafted that funds cargo ship building. It stipulates that the vessels must have Americans as part of their crews. Not many Americans are sailors. Merchant marine sailors can earn more than $100,000 a year.

I reached for John McPhee’s Looking For a Ship. The book had been resting on a shelf in my kitchen for months. The title is not compelling. I wondered if it, written in 1990, was still relevant. A blurb online noted that the book chronicled one of the last ships in the US Merchant Marine.

Thirty-five years later the Merchant Marine is still dying.

I own more than a few of McPhee’s books. He has written dozens and more articles than I care to count. McPhee is respected by authors and loved by readers.

McPhee’s writing is sharp, pointed and grounded in facts. He tends to avoid adjectives and adverbs. The writing is not sparse but McPhee likes clean sentences, with clear verbs and nouns and proper nouns. He writes with precision. It takes practice and forces the writer to think through word choice. I have endeavored to employ that style in this post. It has been a most interesting exercise.

The stream of consciousness of a Kerouc, Woolf or Proust stands in opposition to McPhee’s prose. Sometimes McPhee’s writing presents like journalism. Other times it reads like literature. It has been called “creative nonfiction.”

Looking For a Ship opens with a seaman, looking for a ship. He needs work and finding the right posting is complicated business. Good jobs are scarce. Selecting a good ship can set up a sailor for years or even a lifetime. A bad ship can result in less money, injury or even death.

The seaman, Andy Chase, finds a spot of the S.S. Stella Lykes. 635 feet long, the container ship plies the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. Most containers have “STD” on the shipping manifest. “Said to Contain” is all that people know about what is in a container until it is opened. The Lykes’ cargo is extraordinarily random mix of things.

McPhee’s attention does not stay on one seaman, one ship, or one journey. McPhee’s prose wanders. He writes about other sailors, ships and ports. He reports on shipwrecks, pirates and union halls. Sailors tell their histories, talk of their families. It comes as no surprise that many are wanderers. The captain, Paul McHenry Washburn, tells many stories. Washburn, like many other sailors, did not plan his career path. It made more money and sense than boxing or the circus.

McPhee does not generalize or make assumptions about the people he meets on the ship or in the ports. Each person is treated as an individual. This commitment to facts and individuality sets McPhee apart from many other writers.

Sentence by sentence and paragraph by paragraph, Looking For a Ship explains what it is like to be an American merchant marine seaman in the 1980s. Neither romantic nor glamorous, it is an honest and dangerous way to make a living. McPhee has admiration for these sailors and their way of life. It may be nonfiction, but it is extremely creative, well worth time and consideration.

David Potash

December 28, 2025 Reviews No Comments on Dying For Decades and Still Looking for Ships

Writing Into Being

Thinking about a novel as a linear work of art, using chronology to explain how the story unfolds over time, offers the easiest path to a simple explanation. But what if unspooling the narrative leads one back to the start? Perhaps the geometry supporting the creative endeavor is not Euclidean. Maybe our expectations for lines, planes, intersections and causality are not in alignment with the author’s rules. How would one explain a Zen novel, a novel that swallows its tail as it builds a world dependent upon the writing and reading of the narrator? Or a quantum work, which changes when it is read?

While all this might sound like the makings of an imposing work of experimental literature, something conceptual and challenging, it need not be inaccessible in skilled hands. Ruth Ozeki tells a terrific story in a exceptionally innovative way in her award winning A Tale for the Time Being. It is a super book, compelling and smart. Its stories are engaging. It raises questions of knowing and being, epistemology and ontology, without pedantry. The Booker Prize short-listed the novel in 2013. I’ll have to see what book won, for this novel is outstanding.

Nominally, the story is about a writer – whose life bears significant similarities to Ozeki – finding the diary of a traumatized teenage Japanese girl and letters penned by the girl’s grandfather. Our narrator lives in the pacific northwest, like Ozeki, and the diary and related materials wash up from the ocean. Struggling with her own writing, our narrator named Ruth, becomes obsessed with the girl and her family. As the novel moves around in time and place, much more is revealed. Observations, meaning-making and understanding emerge through discreet events, eventually building into something greater.

There’s Ruth’s story, the story of those around Ruth and those she encounters as she investigates the girl. Nao, the Japanese youngster, tells her story through her diary. Her voice is vibrant and her situation painfully difficult. Her father is depressed and suicidal. Her mother is working and absent. Her great grandmother is a life force, wise beyond her hundred-plus years. Her grandfather, a brilliant young philosopher, was forced into the military as a kamikaze pilot during World War II. And while much of what transpires is traumatic, if not simply awful, Ozeki is able to affirm a very positive message.

The crafting of the novel is exquisite without being too writerly. Mostly. Occasionally, awareness of the interlocking pieces hinted at a more intrusive authorial presence. Where Ozeki’s empathy truly shines in her depiction of Nao. It is haunting and memorable. Surrounding the story are footnotes, appendices, references and re-references, all crafting an inclusive and connected world.

In addition to being a novelist, Ozeki is an emerita professor, a filmmaker, and a Buddhist priest. She’s taught, lived in Japan, and directed TV shows. A Tale for the Time Being hints at these and other talents, for it is a novel of dazzle and great depth.

David Potash

December 25, 2025 Reviews No Comments on Writing Into Being

Coming of Age in a Moment in History

Historical fiction is tricky. Too much history and it feels contrived. Not enough history and one wonders why the author chose those characters at that particular time and place. Done well, though, and something special can happen – the reader gains appreciation and understanding while enjoying a story. Roslyn Bernstein’s The Girl Who Counted Numbers gets it right.

Bernstein, an emerita professor of journalism and creative writing at Baruch College, has written five books and scores of articles. She knows how to tell a tale. In 1961, Bernstein spent more than half a year in Jerusalem. That experience was the genesis for the novel, the story of a 17-year-old Jewish American girl who travels to Israel to solve a family mystery. Bernstein’s heroine, Susan Reich, is a smart, intrepid sleuth in a strange land. She wrestles with questions of identity, agency, justice, racism, and Jewishness. While one is tempted to conflate Bernstein with Reich, the author is clear: the book is fiction.

The primary quest driving the book and the visit to Israel is for Susan to gain information on a missing family member. Her father immigrated to the US as a child while his brother, Yakov, remained in Poland. All contact among family members was lost during WWII. Reich’s father challenges Susan to track down information about Yakov. The horrors of Europe before and throughout the war are woven through the narrative.

Reich’s time in Israel coincides with the Eichmann Trial. A major Nazi figure who played a critical role in the Holocaust and the murder of untold numbers of Jews and others, Eichmann was captured by Israeli intelligence officers in Argentina following years of investigation. Eichmann was tried for his crimes, convicted, and executed in 1962. It was a global event that helped to define the horrors of the Holocaust to the entire world. Hannah Arendt, who briefly appears in The Girl Who Counted Numbers, wrote about the trial in her book Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil. Bernstein tracks the trial and how different people at the time talked about it – or not.

Bernstein’s novel incorporates another important historical event, the increased immigration of Moroccan Jews to Israel. Through financial support from US organizations and the government of Israel, more than 120,000 Jews were incentivized to immigrate over a decade. The Moroccan Jews faced many difficulties in their new country, including discrimination, poverty and limited economic opportunity. Bernstein situates Reich in the midst of this demographic seeking rights. Susan falls in love with a charismatic Moroccan Jew, a young man keen on leading a protest movement.

As you might imagine, the three threads of the novel facilitate fascinating interactions. Susan grows up quickly in the novel, becoming an adult with agency. Her relationship with her father, her family, and her history changes. Susan begins to chart a new future. She comes to understand, as do we as readers, the complexities of choice and identity. It is much easier to judge, particularly with the benefit of time and foreknowledge, than to understand. Above and beyond being an entertaining novel, The Girl Who Counted Numbers contains a powerful message about learning and growth.

David Potash

November 29, 2025 Reviews

Who Decides & Who Is to Blame? Unaccountability Sinks and Modern Life

Making sense of what works and what doesn’t, at the big picture, at the macro level, is an extraordinarily difficult task today. Decades past we might have looked to wise elders, economics, history, or some combination of traditional academic disciplines to ask the right questions about the large systems that organize and structure our lives. We had “isms” that could guide us and help us understand. But what of recent times? Why are so many people frustrated? How is it that so many complain about feeling disempowered with their jobs, with their government, and their rights as citizens? Or as consumer? If think that people matter, why are so many feeling disempowered? Where are we headed and what is driving us there?

Dan Davies, an author and former economist, has been mulling over these and related questions for many years. He is an extremely innovative thinker, akin to a business entrepreneur, analyst and anthropologist. Davies writes across disciplines, and he is very much attuned to changes being wrought by technology. In his 2024 book The Unaccountability Machine: Why Big Systems Make Terrible Decisions – and How the World Lost Its Mind, he struggles to explain something elusive that is nevertheless sensed by many. The title encapsulates the difficult task Davies has set for himself.

The book weaves together several related, yet distinct threads. Davies is most effective and successful when he looks at the ways that society, over the past fifty years or so, has steadily industrialized decision making. Big decisions, he emphasizes, are increasingly now made by systems and policies, not by groups of people responding to special circumstances. As the amount and flow of information surges, we build models so that we are not confused and overwhelmed. This, he stresses, is a normal and sensible reaction.

For example, if you are running a business, it is important to have systems and processes to figure out how pay employees, how to track expenses, how to deal with various issues. As the size of your business grows, the complexity of your systems and processes grows – often exponentially. Add tech to the mixture and it can become even more complex.

Our growing reliance – and distrust – of systems is a simple and extremely powerful observation by Davies. While it might be difficult to prove – there is no way to measure such a claim – it nevertheless resonates when we consider businesses, the economy, and so very much else. To be sure, a powerful individual or situation might break a system or render it ineffective. That power, though, merely redirects and reshapes new models and systems. It is difficult to imagine a major factor in contemporary life that does not involve large systems, governed by policies, and almost all without any real accountability.

What decisions are Davies talking about? The examples, once considered, are all around us. Did the airline cancel your flight? You speak with a representative who cannot refund your fees because it is airlinepolicy. It does not even make sense to be angry at the employee. Wonder what happened in the latest financial crisis? Untold amounts of money may have been lost, but no one was responsible. The bankers remain employed, as do the brokers, economists and wealth managers. Read about a particularly stupid decision by a government agency? The spokesperson will issue a statement citing law, policy or process – but no one ever “owns” the decision. As a memorable illustration, Davies explains how squirrels lacking proper paperwork, shipped via airlines through Amsterdam, were were eventually all killed. Policy did them in, along with an industrial chopper. It is an ugly story, pulling together rules for airlines, for the airport, for international travel, and for animals. Once Davies provides the details, it is easy to see how simple solutions to solve straightforward problems can prove to be extraordinarily difficult, leaving truly disastrous consequences.

To explain at least some of the factors that led us to this uncomfortable place, Davies looks to the history of Stafford Beer, the father of cybernetics. Beer, a business professor and consultant, was an extremely influential player in the development of many modern corporations. He advanced systems thinking, the integration of technology, advanced the power of teams, a developed what was later labeled operations research. Beer’s work paved the way for conceptualizations of organizations and their functions. Moreover, it can provide insight into the ways that different stakeholders obtain and use information for different means. Information management can be even more consequential than we realize.

Davies walks us through leveraged buy outs to illustrate the phenomenon. He is very familiar with Wall Street and the power, for good and bad, of capital. An LBO features a small amount of up front money, joined with lots of debt, to takeover a business. The business’s assets are then used for more debt and/or stripped, undermining the company’s viability. Those doing the LBO, though, face little to no risk. As “good” LBO targets are snapped up, the markets increasingly took to buy outs of poor businesses or poor targets. The financial system knows that such moves were destructive in the past and most likely will be in the future – to businesses, communities, and our collective future. But the system and processes made stepping away irrational. The very structure and incentives of our large financial systems can cause tremendous damage.

It is thinking along these lines that make The Unaccountability Machine such a compelling book. Davies is on to something deep in modern life. He has unearthed an information/system ontology that, unchecked and unexamined, is leading to tremendous inefficiencies and unhappiness. He also offers a unique perspective from which to look at, analyze, and consider these larger issues. Yet before reading this book, I had neither the observation, language or arguments to even think about what it is or what to call it. This book makes for a very interesting read.

David Potash

September 25, 2025 American Culture Today, Reviews

Horrific Press, Great Outcomes and Fascinating History: The Mongols

Few figures in history have been more feared than Genghis Khan. While there have been more than a few truly horrific political leaders able to act on global ambitions, Genghis Khan stands out as an exceptional empire builder. During his sixty-one years (1162 – 1227), he conquered created what many consider the largest state ever, covering much of Asia, from China to parts of Europe. Hundreds of millions were affected by him and tens of millions lots their lives. But what do we know of Genghis Khan as a person? Jack Weatherford, an anthropology professor and author, penned an accessible best-selling biography that has remained in print – and popular – for more than two decades. Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World reads like a novel and sheds a great deal of light on this extraordinarily fascinating – and understandably polarizing – figure.

Weatherford’s aim is to explain, to contextualize, and to appreciate the impact of Khan and his empire. Questions of morality are view through an anthropological lens. Weatherford’s goal is not to judge, but to document and explicate. With that as a grounding, the book provides a extremely interesting history of a compelling man. Khan, through ruthless intelligence, was able to build power within Mongolian culture and then across a continent. He was rigorously meritocratic, restless to a fault, and innovated in how he treated and organized peoples. From military structure to rights for women to how conquered lands were treated, Khan established a kind of rough “fairness” for those under his control. His approach benefited him, naturally, and distinguished the Mongolian army and empire from all others. He sought great power without any sustained interest in cultural conversion. If one agreed to submit to the power of Genghis Khan and his taxes and wants, life could be good. Resist his empire and death was more than likely.

Without any real practice of agriculture or the making of goods, the Mongol economy depended upon taxes and plunder. Accordingly, outcomes mattered more than anything else to sustain Mongolian rule. What mattered and did not to Khan and his people is very interesting. The Mongols greatly valued Mongol life. There were no sacrifices of troops. They had little interest in torture or excessive cruelty, in contrast to many leaders of the period. The Mongols had no sense of honor and were not keen on proselytizing. The unusual admixture of traits and preferences gave the Mongols great advantages in their drive to expand. They used terror and general fear to achieve their aims. Genghis Khan, who appreciated the value of scribes, laws and structure, took advantage of all and more. They welcomed the terrible press, for it made sieges all the easier.

Weatherford’s book moves quickly. He knows how to dwell on an anecdote and when to pull back to explain broader themes. The big picture does not suffer, for he shows how the Mongolian empire had an incredible impact on world trade and commerce. Were it fiction, it would stand on its own as an incredible story. All in all, Genghis Khan is a fascinating window into an ancient and little understood world.

David Potash

August 24, 2025 Reviews

Magic of Mules

Rinker Buck is a character, a raconteur, a man you cannot help but admire. Author, former journalist and inveterate adventurer, he has made improbably journeys a hallmark of his life.

As a teenager, Rinker and one of his brothers flew a rebuilt Piper aircraft across the country. That became Flight of Passage, an award-winning book. In 2022, he wrote Life on the Mississippi, an account of his time on a home-built flatboat on the river. Between the two, in 2015, Buck penned The Oregon Trail: A New American Journey. It is a wild tale of Buck’s trip in a covered wagon from Missouri to Oregon. Rinker, by the way, came from a large family, and a different brother joined him on this adventure.

The book is a travel memoir, a personal history, a space for observation and reflection, and a training guide for those who might take DIY all too seriously. Rinker’s reason for the trip were complicated. He was reshaping a career, redirecting his life after a painful divorce, and working to come to grips with his childhood. His father, a charismatic, successful, and self-destructive man, took his children on a much shorter wagon journey through Bucks County, PA. The time in the wagon resonated with Rinker and in some ways, the entire adventure was an attempt to give himself clarity about his family and himself.

As one might imagine, the trek across the west was a tremendous adventure. No one had attempted such a feat in many decades. Complicating the effort, the history of the Oregon trail was hazy. There was no one route. People came, went, came back again over decades until train travel took over continental America. The Buck brothers met extraordinary people and made many, many friends. They had problems, disasters, mistakes and much to learn across the thousands of miles. Parts of Oregon Trail are truly funny, especially if you appreciate the challenges with trying to do something on your own. The Buck brothers also found moments of true transcendence.

The true heroes of the adventure, though, at least to me, are the three mules that made it all a reality. Rinker gives us a good history of mules, the vital role they played in American and world history, and the difficulties of finding and managing a reliable team. Mules, the offspring of a male donkey and a female horse, are not so much stubborn as sensible. They are indefatigable and surprisingly interesting. Buck’s journey is wholly dependent upon the hard work of Beck, Bute and Jake. Each had their strengths and weaknesses, their personalities. Averaging twenty plus miles a day, the trio towed the Becks, their wagon, their pup wagon (worthy of its own history), over two thousand miles. Think about that!

My other takeaway from the Oregon Trail was overwhelming admiration for the courage and drive of the tens of thousands of Americans who sought a better life out West. What they endured – willingly – in pursuit of that dream is beyond impressive. It reflects something fundamental of the American story. For that and more, I am most grateful to Rinker Buck.

David Potash

August 6, 2025 Reviews

Rethinking Attica and the Carceral Imperative

The 1971 Attica prison riot lives in collective culture as a violent event during a period of historical civil unrest. It is a call out in history text books and a reference in studies of America’s criminal justice system. Details of what actually happened, though, are far from well known. As the years add up, fewer are aware of what transpired and why. Pay attention, look more closely, and understanding Attica explains a great deal about America, its political history, and the power of government to shape a narrative.

To make sense of Attica, historian Heather Ann Thompson devoted more than a decade to research, filing numerous Freedom of Information Requests and challenging New York State and other government entities for records. With perseverance and luck (her words), she found all manner of material. With great skill and insight, she wrote the uprising’s definitive history: Blood in the Water: The Attica Prison Uprising of 1971 and Its Legacy. It is truly an outstanding work, well worthy of its many accolades and awards.

The Attica State Correctional Facility is located in Erie County, New York, not far from Buffalo. In 1971, as today, many of its inmates are people of color from the New York City area. Erie County is primarily White. Thompson sketches this out effectively, along with the rebellions of prisoners across the country in the period. Conditions in many prisons were deplorable, with inmates housed in outdated facilities designed for far fewer people. Prisoners sought changes that might bring them basic decencies. Their requests were often met with retribution, violence and disdain. The problem was nationwide and linked by many to broader questions of civil rights and justice.

Thompson addresses the budding tensions fairly, as one might analyze a labor conflict. She explains, expands, and teases out the nuance that is woven into change, resistance, and negotiation and/or resolution. We meet prison officials, prisoners, and numerous figures involved in the criminal justice system in New York State. The riot, or takeover of part of the prison, happens almost accidentally. There was initial violence, with a guard severely beaten (he later dies of his wounds), a prisoner murdered, rape and other terrible trauma. Surprisingly quickly, however, leadership among the inmates took hold. The inmates organized and began to think about their situation and requests. Their prisoners – guards – were protected. In a fluid situation, leadership among the prisoners sought stability and some relief. The inmates negotiated, seeking protections and greater opportunities, such as competent medical care. Elected and civil officials from around the country made their way to Attica. It was a major news story and a flashpoint for race, law and order.

NYS Governor Nelson Rockefeller, ambitious for the presidency and publicly supported by President Richard Nixon, decided to end negotiations. He ordered NYS police and others retake the prison by force. Hundreds of criminal justice professionals, armed to the teeth, stormed the prison and began shooting everywhere. They killed 39 people, hostages and prisoners, and wounded hundreds more. The prisoners were not armed. It was a naked display of power.

Government officials lied and/misled about the nature of the attacks, the violence, and what was transpiring in the prison. Worse still, as the prison fell under official control, wounded inmates were beaten, tortured and denied medical care. Thompson provides chilling details of the violence, which was truly terrible. It was also not initially reported to the public. Much of what happened took many years and court cases to emerge. Many records remained sealed to this day. In brief, Attica was a bloodbath, a site of racist violent retribution of government officials against prisoners. The weeks following the Attica uprising were horrific for the inmates. “Blood in the Water” is an apt title for the book.

The story does not end in 1971, though, for the state worked hard to prosecute prisoners involved in the riot. Thompson tracks the court cases, the multiple investigations, and the four-decade plus push for accountability. She documents how police and other state officials murdered and tortured inmates and then covered up crimes. The details of Attica emerged slowly, report by report and case by case. Lawyers, both for the state and the prisoners, devoted their professional careers to cases both holding prisoners and officials accountable. So, too, did coroners, prison officials and many others involved. Ultimately, no government official was ever held responsible for the deaths in retaking the prison or the following deplorable behavior of prison officials.

Thompson brings the history into a full circle through investigation of the lives of the guards and their families. Families of guards killed during the retaking of the prison struggled to find justice and support. Over time, many found connections with the inmates. The entire hisstory calls into question what justice might or could mean.

Thompson raises so many questions. Blood in the Water is more than a moment in history; it is a study of how broader societal trends in law, crime, and criminal justice intersect with civil unrest, political ambition, and the tremendous power of the state.

David Potash

August 5, 2025 American Culture Today, Reviews

A Celestial How To Do It

Andy Weir is an immensely talented writer. His first science fiction novel, The Martian, was an outstanding read (and a pretty good movie, too). Project Hail Mary, his latest, is fascinating and an even more engaging work. Tucked in between and published in 2017 is Artemis, an adventure caper set on the moon. The book highlights Weir’s strengths as well as some his weaknesses.

The story is told in the first person. Our narrator is “Jazz” – a twenty something who lives on Artemis, the only city on the moon. She is an ethical smuggler, a great friend with edges, and a troubled protagonist. A complicated back story founds out the picture. Solicited into a crime much more serious than smuggling, with all manner of complications, Jazz works to resolve her personal problems through ingenuity, courage and a healthy does of science. The city is saved along the way. She is a very smart, well-rounded heroine.

The science in Artemis is extraordinarily interesting. Physics, chemistry, and advanced technologies are examined in great detail. Weir’s world building is outstanding. The book even comes with schematics. If you follow along closely, it’s possible to imagine and see much of the action. It may be science fiction, but the book is far from fanciful.

While the story is strong, if a little convoluted, the characters other than Jazz are thinly sketched. Internal dialogue, complexity of thought and nuance simply are not part of Weir’s focus. They are types, and in some cases, stereotypes. The characters serve in function of the plot. Weir gives more attention to the airlock mechanisms than emotions. Artemis lacks the staying power of Weir’s stronger books. The technology and science are simply what interests him here, along with intersecting plot lines. It is fun to get caught up in remembering high school chemistry to guess next steps.

Artemis is entertaining, a good read for a summer holiday, but not for extended consideration.

David Potash

July 14, 2025 Reviews

Martial Mindset: Bush’s War Cabinet

James Mann is a journalist and author. An expert on American foreign policy, he does his research thoroughly and writes with clarity. One of Mann’s strengths is that he knows how to build a narrative with direction and surety. Read his works and one comes away with a real sense of learning something.

Rise of the Vulcans: The History of Bush’s War Cabinet is Mann’s best-known book. Published in 2004, it straddles the boundary between journalism and history. It was a best-seller for good reasons. Mann tells the history of the six key figures in President Bush’s war cabinet: Vice President Cheney, Secretary of State Powell, Deputy Secretary of State Armitage, Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld, Deputy Secretary of Defense Wolfowitz, and National Security Advisor Rice. Collectively, these well-known leaders helped to guide Bush and America into the invasion of Iraq. Understanding the team, their backgrounds and values, goes far in explicating the Republican foreign policy establishment. That goal – explication of them and how they thought – is the goal of Mann’s book. It is not an examination of how and why the US made the decision to invade.

The book spans more than three decades. We learn of the figures’ childhoods, education, and their rise to influence. As one might expect, amid the diversity of backgrounds there were multiple alignments and affiliations. One of Mann’s skills is teasing out those connections, something akin to backwards looking analysis. The book makes clear how the right background, ambition, and ability to skillfully play the Washington “game” of power could situate one in a position of privilege. Mann’s study likewise illustrates how the wrong choice, the wrong move, or simply bad luck could derail or delay a career. For each of the six, success was neither instantaneous nor assured. Each took different paths to secure a spot in history.

Mann sees the Bush group as representing both Cold War and post-Cold War thinking. He rightly stresses the prevalence of military thinking to the group. They had outsize faith in military solutions, regardless of the source of the issue. Accordingly, the group consistently advanced a military-first mindset, shaping policy and American priorities. Their influence spanned decades and remains a vital strand of thinking. The nickname “Vulcan” was self-assigned. The group believed that they were forging a military machine that would protect and advance US interests. Interestingly, that outsize belief may have been one of the reasons that they were chosen to be in Bush’s cabinet. Criticized for his lack of foreign policy bono fides, Bush intentionally sought out cabinet members that would burnish his reputation.

The traits that all shared, that seem to have pervaded the Bush establishment, included confidence, optimism that America was in the right (if only be default), and that American knowledge, values and problem-solving would eventual prevail in any situation. Mann is very effective in demonstrating how their confidence emerged, was rewarded and reinforced. We know more today about the missteps, the assumptions, and the outright errors of the Bush team. Mann, writing at the time, was able to forecast the strengths and weaknesses that could lead to all manner of consequences, good and bad.

Entertaining, illuminating and disheartening. Rise of the Vulcans remains a relevant book. One of Mann’s strengths is his ability to know how to explain while remaining disciplined. He does not pretend to explain broad historical movements. Nor is this a study of causality. Rather, the book humanizes political leadership and group think, something we would be well-served to always keep in mind.

David Potash

July 6, 2025 Reviews

Southern Industrialism, New Deal to Civil Rights

How the South organized and worked to become an industrial force is the focus of Katherine Rye Jewell’s Dollars for Dixie: Business and the Transformation of Conservatism in the Twentieth Century. An outgrowth of Jewell’s Boston University dissertation, this closely researched book is very interesting. Using the SSIC (Southern States Industrial Council) as a framework, Jewell traces evolving and shifting strategies on behalf of southern businesses. Politics and intentionality were critical factors in the transformation of the south’s economic profile.

Jewell, a professor of history at Fitchburg State University, begins the book by tracking the emergence of the SSIC in the shadow of the NRA. Neither fully on board nor opposed to the NRA, business rallied around the SSIC to position the south as a special market, different from the north and cities, committed to lower wages and high productivity. Textile firms made up the majority of the SSIC’s membership. Southern business leaders tended to portray themselves as civic leaders, committed to the health and well-being of their communities. It was very much business in the owner-proprietor mindset, not managerial capitalism. Furthermore, business leaders championed traditional regional values, which meant the perseverance of class, gender and race norms. Holding on to that status quo was central to the argument of maintaining southern “values” in a changing world.

The Wagner Act, accordingly, was viewed as a great threat by the SSIC. Organized labor could hardly be aligned with southern values. Voters democratic leanings in the New Deal made SSIC leadership’s commitment to conservatism clear. The response, for southern conservative Democrats has limited national power, was to advance the South as a bastion of free markets and free labor. This is part two of Dollars for Dixie.

The SSIC’s strategies included no minimum wage, linking agriculture to industry, and emphasizing southern exceptionalism. Defensive actions, all geared to preserve a class and race based economic system, kept the organization active through the end of the 1930s. During the war, decentralization of industry became a key focus. After the war, the South and the SSIC tried to position itself as a bulwark of democracy. Local control was the main message. The first political battle was against the FEPC (Fair Employment Practices Commission), which was castigated as meddlesome and intrusive. By the end of the 1940s, the SSIC’s brand of conservatism neither had a home in the national Democratic or Republican parties. Anticommunism was the path forward to garner influence and support, especially as the SSIC downplayed racial conflict. It was, after all, bad for business. The SSIC may have emphasized southern traditions, but in many ways it stressed the South’s alignment with national values. The book does not end with a hard date, but instead a soft landing in the widespread changes affecting the region in the latter half of the 1950s and 1960s. Big picture, as Jewell summarizes, the SSIC’s efforts did not stop federal interventions or competition from abroad, but did shape thinking and policy.

Dollars for Dixie teaches a great deal, from the study of business organizations to the interplay of local and national politics. It underscores the complexity of conservatism, which is best understood in context. The book further expands appreciation of the South, which was and remains far from monolithic. Jewell’s monograph also offers fascinating reminders, too, of the many arguments made over the years to keep wages low and power in place.

David Potash

July 1, 2025 Reviews