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HISTORICAL STUDIES IN EDUCATION
New Perspectives on
the History of
the Twentieth-Century
American High School
Edited by Kyle P. Steele
Historical Studies in Education
Series Editors
William J. Reese, Department of Educational Policy Studies,
University of Wisconsin-Madison, Madison, WI, USA
John L. Rury, Education, University of Kansas, Lawrence, KS, USA
This series features new scholarship on the historical development of
education, defined broadly, in the United States and elsewhere. Interdis-
ciplinary in orientation and comprehensive in scope, it spans methodolog-
ical boundaries and interpretive traditions. Imaginative and thoughtful
history can contribute to the global conversation about educational
change. Inspired history lends itself to continued hope for reform, and
to realizing the potential for progress in all educational experiences.
New Perspectives
on the History
of the Twentieth-
Century American
High School
Editor
Kyle P. Steele
University of Wisconsin Oshkosh
Oshkosh, WI, USA
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer
Nature Switzerland AG 2021
This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the
Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights
of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on
microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and
retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology
now known or hereafter developed.
The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc.
in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such
names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for
general use.
The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and informa-
tion in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither
the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with
respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been
made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps
and institutional affiliations.
Cover credit: Harris & Ewing, photographer. Central High School. United States Wash-
ington D.C. District of Columbia Washington D.C, None. [Between 1910 and 1920]
Photograph. https://www.loc.gov/item/2016854783/.
This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature
Switzerland AG
The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland
Series Editors’ Preface
The high school is an institution that almost all Americans are familiar
with, but its past is still being explored by historians. Focusing on the
twentieth century, this volume offers a diverse collection of essays exam-
ining various facets of that history. It begins with two accomplished
scholars reflecting on their own influential books and proceeds with
chapters considering a range of issues in the social history of secondary
schooling. Most deal with facets of high school experiences that previous
generations of scholars have neglected, raising questions and offering
insights along the way. In these respects the volume highlights new
perspectives on this uniquely American institution and sketches a research
agenda for the future.
As editor Kyle Steele points out, high schools began as rather elite insti-
tutions in the nineteenth century, but continued to be an avenue to higher
social status throughout the twentieth century. David Labaree suggests in
the book’s second chapter that secondary schools have contended with
dual purposes of equal access and unequal outcomes for most of this
time. The tensions inherent in this set of circumstances are a focal point
to one extent or another in each of the essays herein. They are evident
in discussions of curricular reform in “essential” schools and other insti-
tutions, gendered inequity in Philadelphia, status distinctions in students
activities, racial conflict during the Civil Rights era, public perceptions
of institutional quality, and inequality in the physical structures of these
v
vi SERIES EDITORS’ PREFACE
William J. Reese
John L. Rury
Acknowledgments
This volume would not have been possible without interest and encour-
agement from Bill Reese and John Rury, who recommended it be consid-
ered for their Historical Studies in Education series at Palgrave Macmillan.
The volume also benefitted greatly from its editor at Palgrave, Milana
Vernikova, who was remarkably helpful in moving it through its various
phases, always doing so with both efficiency and care.
I feel very fortunate to have worked with this group of scholars. I
was regularly humbled by their talents and skills as historians, and I was
impressed, to a person, by their professionalism. Truth be told, I was
warned that editing a book could be quite cumbersome. “It’s like herding
cats,” one colleague joked. That certainly was not my experience. I found
the process to be delightful. It is worth mentioning, too, that nearly all
of the editorial back and forth took place during the pandemic. So, at a
time when it was easy for us all to feel disconnected, I was thrilled to have
an excuse to talk writing and ideas (and, often, to just chat) over email,
on the phone, and on Zoom. I truly looked forward to our conversations
about the history of the high school—but, just as much, our conversations
about the rest of it all. Special thanks to Walter Stern, Erika Kitzmiller,
Bill Reese, Alex Hyres, Cam Scribner, Kevin Zayed, Jon Hale, Liz Hauck,
Bob Hampel, and Caitlin Cieslik-Miskimen, all of whom helped shape my
thinking about this volume and, in some cases, read all or parts of my own
contributions.
vii
viii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Lastly, I want to thank my kids, Henry (6) and Jack (4), for tolerating
me sometimes reading after dinner and sometimes pacing around talking
(“too loud,” they said) to other historians on the phone. As this volume
was wrapping up, they were wrapping up a school year with extended
closures, then intermittent closures, virtual learning, masks, and COVID
tests. Their flexibility and joy during it all were a reminder of precisely
what I should be grateful for during a pandemic, as well as what school is
really about.
Contents
13 Epilogue 347
Kyle P. Steele
Index 357
List of Contributors
xi
List of Figures
xiii
xiv LIST OF FIGURES
Kyle P. Steele
K. P. Steele (B)
University of Wisconsin Oshkosh, Oshkosh, WI, USA
e-mail: steelek@uwosh.edu
sights and sounds from those years: the music, the fashion, the friend-
ships, the triumphs, the blunders, and, above all, how it made us feel. As
Temple University psychologist Laurence Steinberg put it, “There’s no
reason why, at the age of sixty, I should still be listening to the Allman
Brothers.”2
Unsurprisingly, elements of our popular culture—television, music, and
film, in particular—regularly tap into (or cash in on) the “reminiscence
bump.” Scores of television shows, from Dobie Gillis (1959–1963), to
What’s Happening!! (1976–1979), to Saved by the Bell (1989–1993), to
Glee (2009–2015), have placed high schoolers and their social worlds
at the center of the story, and we should expect even more of them
to materialize next pilot season. Musicians have similarly rhapsodized
about the high school experience. Before and since Chuck Berry’s album
“After School Sessions” (1957), The Beach Boys, Alice Cooper, Bruce
Springsteen, Nirvana, and Taylor Swift, to name a few, have all found
inspiration for lyrics, not to mention hit songs, by mining the rites of
passage surrounding the institution. Recently even, in January of 2021,
seventeen-year-old Olivia Rodrigo’s song “Drivers License” debuted at
the top of the Billboard 100, breaking records for the number of streams
it accumulated on Spotify and Apple Music in the weeks that followed.
As with many pop songs before it, “Drivers License” describes a love lost,
which Rodrigo muses about while driving alone “through the suburbs.”
And where did Rodrigo and her special person purportedly meet? As
actors on the set of the television show “High School Musical: The
Musical: The Series.” 3
Movies, of course, have also explored the social worlds of high
schoolers. Compared to other media, films have had a tendency to present
those worlds, as well as the high school as an institution, in more hyper-
bolic and dangerous terms, as overrun by unscrupulous and degenerate
teenagers, ineptly corralled by the adults who struggle to understand
them. This point is made apparent not only by the plot lines of the
most beloved and successful high school movies of the last seventy years—
including Blackboard Jungle (1955), Carrie (1976), House Party (1990),
and Booksmart (2019)—but also, of late, by historians of education. Sevan
Terzian and Patrick Ryan’s edited volume American Education in Popular
Media (2015), for example, features several terrific essays that explain how
films about high schools have shaped our view of them, however distorted
that view might be.4
1 WHAT IS THE TWENTIETH-CENTURY AMERICAN HIGH … 3
before graduation? And, if we “truly never leave high school,” and are
constantly reminded of its social and cultural import, then how does this
near-ubiquitous institution live on in our memories, refracted by time and
age? If we are truly searching to understand “education in the broadest
sense,” as Lawrence Cremin and Bernard Bailyn put it sixty years ago,
then our narratives about high schools would need more points of view.14
Without question, there are many models of scholarship that address
questions like these, including books by David Labaree and Robert
Hampel, both contributors to this volume. Additionally, Gerald Grant
takes us inside the halls of Hamilton High in his “sociologically informed
history” of a school in transition from the 1950s through the 1980s.
James Anderson describes how Black students accessed high schools in the
Jim Crow South, despite virulently racist laws and policies that attempted
to impede them. Paula Fass utilizes yearbooks to help us understand
how New York high schools in the 1930s and 1940s acted to Ameri-
canize immigrant youth. Stephen Lassonde shows how high schools in
New Haven pulled the children of Italian immigrants spatially and cultur-
ally away from their neighborhoods. Sherman Dorn traces the arrival
and institutional response to the dreaded “high school dropout” in the
1960s. Beth Bailey brings to life the dimensions of high school dating in
her single-volume history of courtship. Pamela Grundy uses high school
basketball to show how North Carolinians grappled with the politics of
race, class, and gender throughout the twentieth century. Carlos Kevin
Blanton uncovers the damaging English-only policies put in place in Texas
high schools. Yoon K. Pak captures the lived experience of Japanese Amer-
ican high schoolers in Seattle during World War II.15 And more recently,
a wave of books and articles by John Rury and Shirley Hill, Michelle
Purdy, Jon Hale, Dionne Danns, and V. P. Franklin, among others, take
great care to uncover the perspectives of Black teenagers as they fought to
access secondary education, desegregated private schools, engaged in local
activism, and furthered the aims of the long Civil Rights Movement.16
The chapters that follow expand on this scholarship in service of four
distinct but related ends: as an introduction to the history of the Amer-
ican high school in the twentieth century; as a reevaluation of the power
of narratives that privilege the perspective of school leaders, administra-
tors, and the curriculum; as a glimpse into the worlds created by the
students themselves; and, most critically, as a means of sparking conver-
sations about where the field may look next for stories worth telling.
6 K. P. STEELE
Indeed, the chapters that follow prove that the question this introduc-
tion poses—“What is the twentieth-century American high school?”—is
far from fully answered. The question’s ultimate un-answerability, in fact,
is what makes the field exciting. To borrow a phrase from Eric Foner
in his book The Story of American Freedom, “[t]he title…as is perhaps
obvious, is meant to be ambiguous or ironic (one might even call is
postmodern).”17
In terms of style, I encouraged the contributing authors to address
the topic at hand from their varied perspectives, training, and interests, as
well as in their unique style and voice. As a result, some of the chapters
approximate journal articles in the history of education, while others are
slightly less formal (a couple even include autobiography). Some contain
elements that are more sociological than historical, and others connect
their arguments to ongoing debates regarding education policy and the
American high school. The fact that the chapters are wide-ranging not
only reflects a strength inherent to edited collections, but, in this case, it
also reflects the important tendency toward interdisciplinary thinking and
writing in the field.18
In terms of organization, each of the chapters present standalone
arguments that can be read and interpreted on their own. That said, I
have arranged them to suggest that the authors are regularly engaged in
overlapping or complimentary themes, either in their guiding questions,
historiographical interventions, chronologies, or research methods. What
follows, therefore, may also be read as: a pair (Chapters 2 and 3), followed
by a pair (Chapters 4 and 5), followed by trio (Chapters 6–8), followed
by a pair (Chapters 9 and 10), followed by a pair (Chapters 11 and 12).
For clarity, the spacing of the table of contents indicates this arrangement.
Chapters 2 and 3, for example, present scholars reflecting on their
books on American high schools over thirty years after they were written.
First, David Labaree considers his conclusions from The Making of an
American High School (1988), suggesting that, over the course of his
career, he has come to understand the high school as an ideal model for
examining the conflict at the center of education writ large. On the one
hand, that is, the high school has claimed to be egalitarian and demo-
cratic (and therefore inclusive), yet, on the other hand, it has promised
to be elite and to confer status (and is therefore stratified). The system,
Labaree proposes, is at odds with itself. In Chapter 3, RobertHampel
revisits his book The Last Little Citadel (1986), which was completed
as part of three books from A Study of High Schools, alongside Horace’s
Another random document with
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"It's got to be something universal," I told Rizzo. "Something
universal ... in the widest sense of the term."
He looked up from his desk, which was wedged in between the end
of his bunk and the curving dome wall. The desk was littered with
printout sheets from the computer, each one of them part of the
message.
"You've only said that a half-million times in the past couple weeks.
What the hell is universal? If you can figure that out, you're damned
good."
What is universal? I wondered. You're an astronomer. You look out
at the universe. What do you see? I thought about it. What do I see?
Stars, gas, dust clouds, planets ... what's universal about them?
What do they all have that....
"Atoms!" I blurted.
Rizzo cocked a weary eye at me. "Atoms?"
"Atoms. Elements. Look...." I grabbed up a fistful of the sheets and
thumbed through them. "Look ... each message starts with a list of
numbers. Then there's a long blank to separate the opening list from
the rest of the message. See? Every time, the same length list."
"So?"
"The periodic table of the elements!" I shouted into his ear. "That's
the key!"
Rizzo shook his head. "I thought of that two days ago. No soap. In
the first place, the list that starts each message isn't always the
same. It's the same length, all right, but the numbers change. In the
second place, it always begins with 100000. I looked up the atomic
weight of hydrogen—it's 1.008 something."
That stopped me for a moment. But then something clicked into
place in my mind.
"Why is the hydrogen weight 1.008?" Before Rizzo could answer, I
went on, "For two reasons. The system we use arbitrarily rates
oxygen as 16-even. Right? All the other weights are calculated from
oxygen's. And we also give the average weight of an element,
counting all its isotopes. Our weight for hydrogen also includes an
adjustment for tiny amounts of deuterium and tritium. Right? Well,
suppose they have a system that rates hydrogen as a flat one:
1.00000. Doesn't that make sense?"
"You're getting punchy," Rizzo grumbled. "What about the isotopes?
How can they expect us to handle decimal points if they don't tell us
about them ... mental telepathy? What about...."
"Stop arguing and start calculating," I snapped. "Change that list of
numbers to agree with our periodic table. Change 1.00000 to 1.008-
whatever-it-is and tackle the next few elements. The decimals
shouldn't be so hard to figure out."
Rizzo grumbled to himself, but started working out the calculations. I
stepped over to the dome's microspool library and found an
elementary physics text. Within a few minutes, Rizzo had some
numbers and I had the periodic table focused on the microspool
reading machine.
"Nothing," Rizzo said, leaning over my shoulder and looking at the
screen. "They don't match at all."
"Try another list. They're not all the same."
He shrugged and returned to his desk. After a while he called out,
"their second number is 3.97123; it works out to 4.003-something."
It checked! "Good. That's helium. What about the next one, lithium?"
"That's 6.940."
"Right!"
Rizzo went to work furiously after that. I pushed a chair to the desk
and began working up from the end of the list. It all checked out,
from hydrogen to a few elements beyond the artificial ones that had
been created in the laboratories here on Earth.
"That's it," I said. "That's the key. That's our Rosetta Stone ... the
periodic table."
Rizzo stared at the scribbled numbers and jumble of papers. "I bet I
know what the other lists are ... the ones that don't make sense."
"Oh?"
"There are other ways to identify the elements ... vibration
resonances, quantum wavelengths ... somebody named Lewis came
out a couple years ago with a Quantum Periodic Table...."
"They're covering all the possibilities. There are messages for many
different levels of understanding. We just decoded the simplest one."
"Yeah."
I noticed that as he spoke, Rizzo's hand—still tightly clutching the
pencil—was trembling and white with tension.
"Well?"
Rizzo licked his lips. "Let's get to work."
We were like two men possessed. Eating, sleeping, even talking was
ignored completely as we waded through the hundreds of sheets of
paper. We could decode only a small percentage of them, but they
still represented many hours of communication. The sheets that we
couldn't decode, we suspected, were repetitions of the same
message that we were working on.
We lost all concept of time. We must have slept, more than once, but
I simply don't remember. All I can recall is thousands of numbers,
row upon row, sheet after sheet of numbers ... and my pencil
scratching symbols of the various chemical elements over them until
my hand was so cramped I could no longer open the fingers.
The message consisted of a long series of formulas; that much was
certain. But, without punctuation, with no knowledge of the symbols
that denote even such simple things as "plus" or "equals" or "yields,"
it took us more weeks of hard work to unravel the sense of each
equation. And even then, there was more to the message than met
the eye:
"Just what the hell are they driving at?" Rizzo wondered aloud. His
face had changed: it was thinner, hollow-eyed, weary, covered with a
scraggly beard.
"Then you think there's a meaning behind all these equations, too?"
He nodded. "It's a message, not just a contact. They're going to an
awful lot of trouble to beam out this message, and they're repeating
it every seven hours. They haven't added anything new in the weeks
we've been watching."
"I wonder how many years or centuries they've been sending out this
message, waiting for someone to pick it up, looking for someone to
answer them."
"Maybe we should call Washington...."
"No!"
Rizzo grinned. "Afraid of breaking radio silence?"
"Hell no. I just want to wait until we're relieved, so we can make this
announcement in person. I'm not going to let some old wheezer in
Washington get credit for this.... Besides, I want to know just what
they're trying to tell us."
It was agonizing, painstaking work. Most of the formulas meant
nothing to either one of us. We had to ransack the dome's meager
library of microspools to piece them together. They started simply
enough—basic chemical combinations: carbon and two oxygens
yield CO2; two hydrogens and oxygen give water. A primer ... not of
words, but of equations.
The equations became steadily longer and more complex. Then,
abruptly, they simplified, only to begin a new deepening, simplify
again, and finally become very complicated just at the end. The last
few lines were obviously repetitious.
Gradually, their meaning became clear to us.
The first set of equations started off with simple, naturally-occurring
energy yielding formulas. The oxidation of cellulose (we found the
formula for that in an organic chemistry text left behind by one of the
dome's previous occupants), which probably referred to the burning
of plants and vegetation. A string of formulas that had groupings in
them that I dimly recognized as amino acids—no doubt something to
do with digesting food. There were many others, including a few that
Rizzo claimed had the expression for chlorophyll in them.
"Naturally-occurring, energy-yielding reactions," Rizzo summarized.
"They're probably trying to describe the biological set-up on their
planet."
It seemed an inspired guess.
The second set of equations again began with simple formulas. The
cellulose-burning reaction appeared again, but this time it was
followed by equations dealing with the oxidation of hydrocarbons:
coal and oil burning? A long series of equations that bore repeatedly
the symbols for many different metals came up next, followed by
more on hydrocarbons, and then a string of formulas that we couldn't
decipher at all.
This time it was my guess: "These look like energy-yielding
reactions, too. At least in the beginning. But they don't seem to be
naturally occurring types. Then comes a long story about metals.
They're trying to tell us the history of their technological development
—burning wood, coal and eventually oil; smelting metals ... they're
showing us how they developed their technology."
The final set of equations began with an ominous simplicity: a short
series of very brief symbols that had the net result of four hydrogen
atoms building into a helium atom. Nuclear fusion.
"That's the proton-proton reaction," I explained to Rizzo. "The type of
fusion that goes on in the Sun."
The next series of equations spelled out the more complex carbon-
nitrogen cycle of nuclear fusion, which was probably the primary
energy source of their own Cepheid variable star. Then came a long
series of equations that we couldn't decode in detail, but the symbols
for uranium and plutonium, and some of the heavier elements, kept
cropping up.
Then came one line that told us the whole story: the lithium-hydride
equation—nuclear fusion bombs.
The equations went on to more complex reactions, formulas that no
man on Earth had ever seen before. They were showing us the
summation of their knowledge, and they had obviously been dealing
with nuclear energies for much longer than we have on Earth.
But interspersed among the new equations, they repeated a set of
formulas that always began with the lithium-hydride fusion reaction.
The message ended in a way that wrenched my stomach: the fusion
bomb reaction and its cohorts were repeated ten straight times.
I'm not sure of what day it was on the calendar, but the clock on the
master control console said it was well past eleven.
Rizzo rubbed a weary hand across his eyes. "Well, what do you
think?"
"It's pretty obvious," I said. "They have the bombs. They've had them
for quite some time. They must have a lot of other weapons, too—
more ... advanced. They're trying to tell us their history with the
equations. First they depended on natural sources of energy, plants
and animals; then they developed artificial energy sources and built
up a technology; finally they discovered nuclear energy."
"How long do you think they've had the bombs?"
"Hard to tell. A generation ... a century. What difference does it
make? They have them. They probably thought, at first, that they
could learn to live with them ... but imagine what it must be like to
have those weapons at your fingertips ... for a century. Forever. Now
they're so scared of them that they're beaming their whole history out
into space, looking for someone to tell them how to live with the
bombs, how to avoid using them."
"You could be wrong," Rizzo said. "They could be boasting about
their arsenal."
"Why? For what reason? No ... the way they keep repeating those
last equations. They're pleading for help."
Rizzo turned to the oscilloscope. It was flickering again.
"Think it's the same thing?"
"No doubt. You're taping it anyway, aren't you?"
"Yeah, sure. Automatically."
Suddenly, in mid-flight, the signal winked off. The pulsations didn't
simply smooth out into a steady line, as they had before. The screen
simply went dead.
"That's funny," Rizzo said, puzzled. He checked the oscilloscope.
"Nothing wrong here. Something must've happened to the
telescope."
Suddenly I knew what had happened. "Take the spectrometer off and
turn on the image-amplifier," I told him.
I knew what we would see. I knew why the oscilloscope beam had
suddenly gone off scale. And the knowledge was making me sick.
Rizzo removed the spectrometer set-up and flicked the switch that
energized the image-amplifier's viewscreen.
"Holy God!"
The dome was flooded with light. The star had exploded.
"They had the bombs all right," I heard myself saying. "And they
couldn't prevent themselves from using them. And they had a lot
more, too. Enough to push their star past its natural limits."
Rizzo's face was etched in the harsh light.
"I've gotta get out of here," he muttered, looking all around the
cramped dome. "I've gotta get back to my wife and find someplace
where it's safe...."
"Someplace?" I asked, staring at the screen. "Where?"
THE END
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