The search for a “good time” is nothing new. Americans (all humans really, but for this post’s purpose we’ll be precise) across the centuries have sought a fun escape from the humdrum of everyday life. Historians, archaeologists, anthropologists, folklorists and sociologists have all looked at what drives us to do what we do.
Again, nothing new here.
But studying people’s pursuit of that fun and, in particular, studying how it changed American culture? That’s something else entirely, and it’s what Kathy Peiss does in Cheap Amusements: Working Women and Leisure in Turn-of-the-Century New York, an engaging and enlightening look at the young wage-labor working women during the latter half of the Progressive era. She uses popular culture history, feminist thought and women’s labor history to show the emergence of leisure culture among young white (European immigrant and Anglo-American) working-class women. These women, she argues, were actively involved in reconstructing cultural notions of gender, as well as heterosocial versus homosocial interaction. She also shows that the “reorientation of American culture” began not with the “elite 400,” but with the single working-class women in urban centres.
Working-class women’s leisure choices re/constructed gender identities and helped to mostly destroy the cult of “true womanhood.” Commercial dance halls, for example, often offered far less regulation and more heterosocial behavior than their middle-class counterparts; they also had lower admission and hatcheck prices for unescorted women. This served as inducement to attend dances without an escort or companion. These young working-class women rejected the social patterns of the previous generation. They flouted middle-class expectations of respectable behavior and domesticity. Instead, Peiss argues, they indulged in a world that promoted pleasure and enjoyment.
However, their choices also lead to their commodification and the commodification of women’s sexuality in general. Because many of these women were economically dependent upon “gentlemen friends” for part of the entertainment, an unbalanced scenario of “treating” developed. Treating could be anything from buying a woman a drink to helping out with her rent, depending on the extent of the relationship, and a certain amount of reciprocity was implicit. These young women’s casual contact with male strangers and wild and carefree dancing had shattered Victorian notions of decorum and propriety, but their flashy dress and those relaxed attitudes, combined with treating, blurred the lines between respectability and prostitution. Sensuality and sexuality (especially women’s sexuality) became something that could be bought and purchased legitimately.
Rather than “trickling down,” this new socially proscribed female gender-identity moved outwards to embrace others of the working class at the same time it moved up into the middle class and elite. Peiss posits this heterosociality and relaxed deportment became accepted behavior via commercialized entertainment, which began to spread the idea to the population at large through movies, nickelodeons and tamer versions of the large commercial dance halls. Modes of dress and interactions between the sexes were circulated through commercial entertainment, and previously unacceptable behavior gained acceptability among the middle-class. And all this spread so rapidly and thoroughly that middle-class moral reformers — who may or may not have been genuinely concerned with the working woman’s plight — were forced to dilute their message of cross-class sisterhood to maintain relations with working-class women. This weakened an ideology already being challenged by more liberal thinkers.
Was this all part of a larger cultural transformation? Yes. Peiss’ point, however, is that the reshaping of women’s gender-identity and its prohibitions were due in large part due to the young urban working-class women in the early twentieth century. By exploring the genesis of commercialized entertainment, as well as early twentieth century women’s labor history, this study neatly shows how the two were intertwined and how the middle-class was already changing. While a more in-depth look at the differences in immigrant/second generation and multi-generation American women would be beneficial, the connections Peiss draws between women’s wage-labor, leisure time and commercial amusements cannot be easily dismissed.
In the young and industrializing United States, the effects of Republican Motherhood and what Jeanne Boydston termed the “pastoralization of housework” led to a new ideology among the emerging idle middle class. Broadly, this class saw itself as prosperous and virtuous; it saw the working classes, and working women in particular, as promiscuous at best and wicked at worst. Rebecca Harding Davis, herself a member of the middle class, used fiction to attempt to combat this stereotype and create empathy between the classes by introducing a working woman named Deborah in Life in the Iron-Mills. However, while Davis’ portrayal of Deborah was a short-term success, it ultimately failed because it reinforced the existing gender system.
Deborah is presented as the victimized working woman instead of the depraved and promiscuous slut. Both stereotypes are middle class creations, but Davis chose one over the other to criticize class inequalities and prejudice toward immigrants. Accordingly, Deborah is described as a new immigrant worn beyond her years, a hunchback and loyal and caring to a fault. Davis knew that in order for a middle class woman to empathize with her character, said character had to be the exact opposite of what the reader expected. Deborah is thus shown in a positive light — while the other women who work at the mills go off to party and drink, Deborah goes home to tend to her family, returning to the mills to deliver dinner to her brother. This similarity allowed middle class readers to view Deborah as human, creating a sense of empathy for those who are oppressed only by a capitalist system and not through any cause of nature.
Most Western ideological systems exist only by binary oppositions and the nineteenth-century gender system was no exception. In order to prove domestic bliss as a wife and mother was the ideal, the system needed something to define itself against. Under this ideology, women were, as Boydston wrote, “ill-equipped to venture into the world of nineteenth-century business”; if wives and mothers who kept to their houses were the ideal, then women who worked outside of the home were somehow abnormal. They were even considered not to be women because they displayed traits more commonly reserved for men, the “breadwinners” who dwelt in the duplicitous and cunning outside world. Women who sought employment outside the home were symbolic threats to this concept of manhood and male authority.
Reality however, as Davis knew, was very different; through Deborah, she presents a woman who had theoretical possibility to be any woman. Despite this, however, Deborah lives up to this idealized standard; she is the “victimized heroine” injected with a shot of harsh reality, a way for her to pacify her middle class readers while still managing to convey her message about class inequality. Davis exacerbates this implicit claim by redeeming Deborah in the end, showing her audience that all the working woman lacks to be live up to the middle class standard of womanhood is material goods. By humanizing Deborah, and by extension working women in general, she sets up the middle class standard as the norm.
Was this Davis’ intention? Possibly. Davis may have redeemed Deborah as form of polite and discreet mockery. It seems more likely, though, that Deborah’s redemption is another aspect added to create empathy — and in this Davis succeeded.
However, Davis was a middle class woman representing a working class woman; her representation was slightly off kilter from the ways in which working class women presented themselves. Fanny Fern was much more straightforward, her style blunt and succinct. She is angry, not philosophical. Nor does she merely want to invoke pity. Instead, Fern wanted to force the “rose colored glasses of ideology” from the faces of the middle class. These women, she argued, are laborers and they are still women.
Fern refused to draw a line between womanhood and labor. Instead, she and others posited that the “romance of labor” was a fiction and the girls of Lowell Mills, who received so much attention, were not so much laborers in hard industry but country girls of New England. Middle class society did not wish to see reality and so created a fiction that worked within their ideology. It was easier to see working women as women who could not or would not keep to their homes, instead of women working to support themselves or their families.
To give Davis her due, she did strip away the fiction to show the true horror and horrendous necessity of factory life. Unfortunately, she maintained the romance of labor via her ending. Any working woman would have known that intervention by a kindly Quaker was unlikely; within the realm of possibility, but highly improbable. Davis’ happy ending is not realistic, but it did appeal to her readers. Deborah’s constant and selfless suffering is rewarded with an elevation, via material goods, to the middle class through the intervention of a well-meaning middle class woman. It may have been a cry to the public to act, to alleviate the conditions of people working in the mills, but it ultimately reinforced middle class hegemony.
Gloria Anzaldúa’s Borderlands/La Frontera is, perhaps obviously, about borders — of language, culture, sexuality, gender, class, spirituality, race, belief, religion, history, literature, family, ethics and morality. In other words, lots of fun stuff. This book is incredibly relevant to the way we live in the new millennium, not just with respect to race, class and culture, but to sex, gender and belief as well. Investors and analysts and politicians talk a lot about globalization and the global economy, but what they seem to ignore is that we are many people with many beliefs. We are not so much a global society as a border society, and those borders are not limited to the physical and geographical. Anzaldúa realizes this; in fact, I would say that Borderlands/La Frontera, while about living along the U.S./Mexico border, is about everything but that. It’s about what happens when cultures and beliefs collide, when capitalism and racism combine to disenfranchise those the dominant race considers Other. It’s also explains how even among the Other one can be even more Other, to the extent of seeming monstrous.
“The struggle has always been inner, and is played out in the outer terrains … nothing happens in the real world unless it first happens in the images in our heads,” she writes. We constantly live with divided loyalties, just as we may live with multiple oppressions, and Anzaldúa knows this. Her entire point is to exult in these borders — because it is when we are conscious of these borders that we connect with other people.
Even her language bears this out; she writes mainly in English (the language of the dominant group, the language she learned from childhood that was “correct”), but adds bits in Castilian, Tex-Mex and Nahuatl. This has the effect of marginalizing readers, making them feel Other, but more than that it allows Anzaldúa to rejoice in the way her world has many borders. It that allows her to claim — whether with “permission” or not — pieces of each culture. By doing so, by embracing and exulting in the smoky, hazy, ambiguous borders, she is creating culture and religion and belief and gender and sex … and inviting us to do the same.
[Bookish Note: 60 second reviews are not written in 60 seconds; they’re not really designed to be read in 60 seconds either, although they probably could be. They are so called because they short and to the point. It’s all about getting down to brass tacks, really. Oh, and just to be safe, no one sent me this book, it was bought with my own hard-earned cash.]
[The Lower East Side Tenement Museum tells the stories of immigrants who lived in 97 Orchard Street, a tenement built in 1863 on Manhattan’s Lower East Side. However, it is also fascinating to study because of what it can teach us about building forms — how they are constructed by societies, and how they construct the people who live within them. This is a short attempt to place 97 Orchard Street within a historical perspective; it is not exhaustive. Unless otherwise noted, all photos are courtesy of the museum.]
On 17 October 1874, Nathalie Gumpertz’s life altered dramatically – her husband of ten years, Julius, never returned from work and she was left to fend for herself and her children. It was an all too common story, however, and the Jewish widow eventually entered the dressmaking trade to provide for her family.1 Nathalie Gumpertz’s story resonates through the ages not so much for its unfortunate typicality – by all rights it should be lost to the ages, buried under similar and worse tales – but because she and her children were residents of 97 Orchard Street in Manhattan’s Lower East Side.
Built in 1863 by Lukas Glockner, the tenement house that provided cheap housing to new immigrants between 1863 and 1935 is now The Lower East Side Tenement Museum; its curators and interpreters have resurrected the lives of five families who lived in the building during the course of its seventy-two year occupancy, Gumpertz’s among them.2 However, at the time it was built it was only one of several tenements with minimal exterior embellishment built to house multiple working-class families. Practically anathema to the result of the United States, multifamily housing had become a necessity in New York City due to the massive flood of immigrants entering the country during and after the 1840s and because land was quickly becoming scarce. What land was available was often expensive, so it became practical to build upward reaching buildings and not sprawling monstrosities. And although still considered an ambiguous choice for those concerned with upholding or building a middle-class identity, for the working-class (which accounted for approximately sixty-two percent of New York’s postbellum population) the tenement offered inexpensive accommodations for those who could only dream of owning a home.3 As such, 97 Orchard Street and the urban tenement in general are an architectural and socio-cultural type that must be examined in the appropriate contexts in order to better understand the changing nature of the multifamily American home in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.
Cultural Constructions that Construct Culture: The Class, Gender and Ethnic Implications of 97 Orchard Street
Buildings are the products of human culture; conversely, the same buildings also create, recreate and reinforce human cultural values.4 A given society constructs houses, for example, that will support its ideas and structuring of family life and, in turn, the houses then reflect and mould the values of the children raised within its walls. The ‘home values’ (family privacy, identity and morality) of nineteenth century native-born Americans revolved primarily around the concept of private homes and home ownership, but the increasingly crowded urban centres such as New York forced these people to make allowances even as they clung to the deeply held ideal. That middle-class apartment buildings blurred the lines between the middle and working classes indicates that multifamily housing such as tenements were considered lower class, and that was indeed the case.5 What, then, made them so?
One answer embodies the idea that buildings are cultural constructions that construct culture. When the middle-class began to accept the need for apartments, they insisted that the units adhere to middle-class values by nature of their construction. The apartment building itself should reflect a particular style (it is worth mentioning that the middle-class angst over multifamily housing coincided with a period of architectural eclecticism) and the units were to replicate, as much as possible, the physical spaces of private homes.6 The tenement units in use at the time did not meet middle-class requirements for reinforcing middle-class status and values; historically, much of working-class housing was indeed substandard in terms of amenities, conveniences and space-per-person, but few had viable alternatives. However, the allocation and organisation of space was an important factor in determining differences in class values. 97 Orchard Street had four units per floor, two at the front and two along the back, each with three rooms: a front room, a kitchen and a back room/bedroom.7 While far from the Anglo-Saxon middle-class ideal that promoted a formal front parlour, dining room, kitchen and bedrooms – all of which existed as an environment separate from that of the working/economic world – the tenement units did reinforce some working-class immigrant values. Many immigrants were from rural areas and thus used to sleeping several people to a room (and a bed), and Irish, Italian and Jewish women frequently did laundry and assisted with family businesses from adjoining quarters. The kitchen was not only a place where food was prepared but a room for eating, family gatherings, sewing, reading/homework and other assorted chores. This reinforced the cultural values about home, community and gender roles that they brought to the United States from their native lands. For them, the layout of tenement units was not only acceptable but also normal.8
The sharp distinction between private and public spaces within the home was an obsession with the Anglo-Saxon middle-class but of lesser importance to the working-class, especially the immigrant working-class who had a different set of home values. Native-born Americans of the middle-class saw the home as a refuge from the world, a separate sphere where women were protected from the horrors of the working world; working-class immigrants, especially women from Southern Europe, viewed the homes as a part of a community. As such, what the middle-class perceived as a lack of privacy in tenements like 97 Orchard Street was seen by its tenants as an important part of community socialisation. The passages between units thus served much the same purpose as alleys, allowing occupants to reconstruct the social and cultural worlds with which they were familiar.9 Kinship and networks were forged through a shared use of space where contact was necessary, so the tenement became the village and the alley the common fields. Tenement units were thus as important to working-class immigrant cultural values as the rigidly defined private home was to native-born Americans.10 Both were constructed by a particular culture’s ideas about class, work, family and gender and served to reinforce that culture’s ideas.
Uniquely American? The Tenement Building as a House Type
House types are distinctly different from house styles – type refers to a basic form and design while style often relates to exterior details such as pitch and shape of the roof and the presence (or lack) of decorative moulding and other elements such as arches or turrets. Types and subtypes are relatively fixed in form, subject to change by cultural processes but at a very slow rate and then only very cautiously.11 The I-house and shotgun are both house types but whereas the I-house is clearly the descendant of the English hall-and-parlour type, the shotgun is considered uniquely American because it is a variation on an impermanent West African housing type that could have only occurred in the United States.12 Built by slaves and free blacks and defined as being one room wide and three or more rooms deep, possibly with a side hall, and a front facing gable, it has been considered the first true piece of American architecture.13
However, the tenement building is also an American variation on an imported idea and falls within the parameters cited above. Multifamily housing was and remains common among all classes in large European cities such as Paris, but the home values of nineteenth-century Anglo-Saxon Americans posited the single family residence as the ideal, thus relegating multifamily housing to the working-class. These early “tenements” were not buildings erected especially for working-class families but were in actuality ad hoc multifamily housing created out of formerly private homes that were sold or abandoned when the previous occupants moved.14 Tenements, buildings erected with the express intent of housing multiple families on each floor, did not begin to emerge until after the influx of immigrants during/after the 1840s. And while certainly based on the urban European tradition of multiple family dwellings that housed many classes of people at different levels, the tenement building in America was constructed to house only one class of person – the working-class.15 Thus, like the shotgun house, the tenement building is a uniquely American idea in that it was built on imported roots for a specific section of society.
Unlike the Parisian Buildings or “French flats” and later middle-class apartment houses, tenements such as 97 Orchard Street were constructed with less thought to privacy and modern living and more emphasis on economy for tenants and quick and high returns for owners/landlords. Calvert Vaux’s proposed four floor building design for “French flats” included not only enclosed split-level units with ceilings nine to twelve feet high, it also included an intricately (if still restrained) detailed Italianate exterior.16 97 Orchard Street, however, while also containing Italianate elements such as arches over the front windows and a projecting cornice, was a much more simple building. Built for a total cost of eight-thousand dollars in 1863 by Lukas Glockner, himself an immigrant, the building was intended as a tenement for immigrant families who needed cheap accommodations. That in doing so he earned approximately a twenty-percent return on his investment was also an incentive. However, while the three room units were small with good ventilation only in the front room, Glockner papered the walls of the units and often provided carpet and the occasional wall-painting to entice prospective tenants into leasing and to provide them with at least the semblance of comfort.17 These were mere contrivances, though; it was the construction of the building as a tenement, with the emphasis on its form as opposed to its style, that made it acceptable only to working-class families.
The “Cultural Weathering” of 97 Orchard Street
“Cultural weathering” is the term used to explain the changes in a particular place over time, whether those changes are physical, material or socio-cultural.18 As previously discussed, buildings are social and cultural constructions; however, the context and meaning of buildings can and do change over time. That change is called “cultural weathering” and reflects not only the physical changes to the structure but also the uses and meanings given to it and to the interior floor plan by its inhabitants. Tenements, as vernacular architecture, are a response to the localised needs of those who live in the region or borough; as such, it would be strange if the uses of the units did not change with the occupants.19 One of the first notable instances of “cultural weathering” at 97 Orchard Street occurred when Nathalie Gumpertz began her dressmaking business. The unit in which she resided with her children was no longer simply a place to live once she bought a sewing machine on credit and began filling orders, it was where she conducted her business and made a living.20 Thus the unit took on a new meaning to her and to those around her; in choosing to work out of her home, Gumpertz redefined her environment – its sense of place and its home values – for both herself and her children as well as for her neighbours.
In 1935, the tenement at 97 Orchard Street was shuttered and the last of its tenants ejected when the landlord could not comply with the new regulations (requiring plumbing and proper ventilation be added to each unit) instituted by the newly formed New York City Housing Authority.21 This marked an obvious and very distinct shift in the life of the building; the structure erected to provide cheap housing for working-class families no longer did so (although it very likely had squatters at some point along the way). The building sat vacant, exposed to the ravages of time and the elements until it was chosen as the site of the Lower East Side Tenement Museum, and this last shift is perhaps the most radical. Although its curators and specialists have worked to restore the building and some of its units to a particular moment in time, its new incarnation as a museum is the antithesis of its original purpose. Though the structure itself is still a specific type, a tenement, it no longer functions in that capacity and as it plays a new role in the community it must therefore be evaluated through a new lens. While the builder and designer imbue their creation with meaning, it is the people who occupy the space that define its purpose.22 The museum, while interpreting the building’s past, does not house people nor are its day-to-day occupants and visitors necessarily members of an immigrant working-class. As such, the value and meaning of 97 Orchard Street has changed even if the structure has not. It is a place that has been weathered by culture as well as by time, and continues to evolve as each generation leaves its mark.
Lukas Glocker’s investment was lucrative during his lifetime and continues to be so today. While not always the most convenient or sanitary place to live, the tenement at 97 Orchard Street was home to over seven thousand people during its original period of habitation.23 As a museum it interprets the life of the structure and its former tenants to the public, and in so doing explores the values and ideals that surrounded the concept of multifamily housing the late nineteenth and early twentieth century New York even as it adds another layer of meaning to the old brick building.
1 Lower East Side Tenement Museum, “The Gumpertz Family” <http://www.tenement.org/Virtual_Tour/vt_gumpstory.html> (19 March 2004).
2 Tenement Museum, “Introduction” <http://www.tenement.org/Virtual_Tour/index_virtual.html> (19 March 2004).
3 Cromley, Elizabeth Collins. Alone Together: A History of New York’s Early Apartments (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1990) 2.
4 Heath, Kingston William, The Patina of Place: The Cultural Weathering of a New England Industrial Landscape (Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 2001) 185.
5 Cromely, Alone Together, 2-3.
6 Cromely, Alone Together, 4.
7 Tenement Museum, <http://www.tenement.org/Virtual_Tour/index_virtual.html> (19 March 2004).
8 Cohen, Lizabeth A, “Embellishing a Life of Labor: An Interpretation of the Material Culture of American Working-Class Homes, 1885-1915” in Common Places: Readings in American Vernacular Architecture (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1986) 268-269.
9 Cohen, “Embellishing,” 269; see also, Borchert, James, “Alley Landscapes of Washington” in Common Places: Readings in American Vernacular Architecture (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1986) 284-285.
10 Borchert, “Alley Landscapes,” 286.
11 Vlach, John Michael, “The Shotgun House: An African Architectural Legacy” in Common Places: Readings in American Vernacular Architecture (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1986) 62.
12 Vlach, “Shotgun House,” 70-73.
13 Vlach, “Shotgun House,” 58-59.
14 Cromley, Alone Together, 12-14.
15 Tenement Museum, “Early Tenements,” <http://www.tenement.org/Virtual_Tour/vt_hrearlyten.html> (19 March 2004).
16 Cromley, Alone Together, 28-29.
17 Tenement Museum, “Early Tenements,” <http://www.tenement.org/Virtual_Tour/vt_hrearlyten.html> (19 March 2004).
18 Heath, Patina of Place, xxii-xxiii.
19 Heath, Patina of Place, 181-185.
20 Tenement Museum, “Dressmakers,” <http://www.tenement.org/Virtual_Tour/vt_gumpdress.html> (19 March 2004).
21 Tenement Museum, “Shuttering the Tenements,” <http://www.tenement.org/Virtual_Tour/vt_baldend.html> (19 March 2004).
22 Heath, Patina of Place, 185.
23 Tenement Museum, “Introduction,” <http://www.tenement.org/Virtual_Tour/index_virtual.html> (19 March 2004).