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The Fabric of the Cosmos: The Illusion of Time - Documentary [1080p]

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Here is a thing we hear approximately every day: "The world is changing faster than ever before."

Robert Gordon doesn't buy it.

Gordon is an economist who has spent decades studying technological change and economic growth in America. He argues that, contrary to popular belief, the world is not changing faster than ever before. In fact, it's not even changing as fast as it was 100 years ago.

He recently made this argument in a book called The Rise and Fall of American Growth. In the New York Times, Paul Krugman called it a "magisterial combination of deep technological history, vivid portraits of daily life... and careful economic analysis."

On today's show, we talk to Gordon. His argument has profound implications for everything from how the next generation will live to whether robots really are about to take our jobs.
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subscribe to Planet Money podcast subscribe to Planet Money podcast Here is a thing we hear approximately every day: "The world is changing faster than ever before." Robert Gordon doesn't buy it. Gordon is an economist who has spent decades studying technological change and economic growth in America.

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I got into town just after sunset. The lights were on at a place called the Brick House Grill, and if you were out on South Main Street on a Friday night in February, chances are, that's where you were going. So I went in, too.

I took a seat at the bar. A man two stools over from me struck up a conversation. I told him I was a journalist from Chicago and asked him to tell me about this town. "You know how this town is called Anna?" he started. "That's for 'Ain't No Niggers Allowed.'" He laughed, shook his head and took a sip of his beer.

The man was white. I am white. Everyone else in that restaurant in Anna was white.

Later that night, I realized what shook me most about our conversation: He didn't pause before he said what he said. He didn't look around the room to see whether anyone could hear us. He didn't lower his voice. He just said it.

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I first learned about Anna in a book called " Sundown Towns: A Hidden Dimension of American Racism," about the thousands of communities across the country that, for much of the 20th century, kept themselves white. The term "sundown town" applies to places that, via policy, violence or both, barred black people from town after dark; as the book explains, the phrase is derived from "the signs that many of [these places] formerly sported at their corporate limits - signs that usually said 'Nigger, Don't Let the Sun Go Down on You in __.'"

I picked up the book in part because its author, James W. Loewen, a sociologist who taught at the University of Vermont and at Tougaloo College in Mississippi, is from Decatur, Illinois. Much of his research on sundown towns led him back to his home state, where I now live and which I wanted to better understand.

When Loewen began his research in 1999, he thought he'd find just a handful of sundown towns and "recovering" sundown towns, as he calls them, in Illinois. Instead, he found hundreds, from neighborhoods on Chicago's North Shore to suburbs in the center of the state to small towns in southern Illinois, such as Anna.

But the stories of how these communities became or stayed mostly white are often unknown, ignored or not fully told. Loewen said sundown towns sprang up all around the country from 1890 to 1940, a period he calls the "nadir" of race relations in America. "For the small, independent towns all around the state that are still all white or almost all white, it's like the civil rights movement never happened," he told me.

Anna's historical resistance to black people is, and has long been, well known in the region. Even though it may never have been codified, I found references to the fact that black people weren't allowed to live in Anna in newspaper articles from as early as 1903. In that particular reference, a woman from Anna who worked as a hotel maid in Indianapolis was quoted as saying, "I never saw more than 10 negroes in all my life until I was 18 ... as a negro is not allowed to stop in our little village of Anna."

Over the past two years, I visited the town several times to try to understand where Anna's history had left the town today. I talked with people going about their lives - in the library, the Farm Fresh milk store, the Blue Boar restaurant, the city's park, the Walmart parking lot and other pockets of Anna. I talked with public officials, historians and longtime residents. I visited a grave in the Anna cemetery that belongs to the man deemed by a local newspaper in 1916 to be "the only colored man who has ever lived in this city" and I spent some time with one of the few black families (if not the only one) living in Anna today.

Still, I'm not going to claim I know Anna's full story - I'm an outsider. But after hearing A-N-N-A said aloud that night, I realized my race made me a sort of insider, too. Would the man who first recited A-N-N-A have done so if I weren't white? Nearly everyone I met knew what Anna stands for - whether they heard it first as a "joke" at school or from their grandparents or just from living here long enough. Most people said they wished the A-N-N-A reputation would just go away and were quick to say Anna wasn't "like that" anymore.

Like what? I'd ask. If Anna has changed, how?

Anna is a city of a little more than 4,000 people located in the middle of Union County, where soybean fields and flatlands to the north give way to the forests and sandstone canyons of southern Illinois. Here, "Illinois is no longer 'the Prairie state,'" a correspondent for New York's Evening Post wrote in 1858 while covering the third Lincoln-Douglas debate, which was held in Jonesboro, a small town that shares a border with Anna.

In fact, many of Anna's earliest residents were from Tennessee, North Carolina and Virginia. In the years leading up to the Civil War, "family lines in the South still existed with these people of the new Midwest," wrote the late Anna resident George E. Parks in 1983 in "History of Union County," and some residents remained sympathetic to their southern home states. Even today, southern Illinois has more in common culturally with Kentucky and Missouri than with its other neighbors; for years, Confederate battle flags were draped on a storefront on Anna's Main Street without much objection.

For much of the 20th century, Anna was almost entirely white, except for a handful of black residents at different times. Around 1980, Anna's black population grew to about a few dozen residents. Today, Anna is one of the whitest municipalities in southern Illinois - according to the 2010 census, 95.7% of its citizens are white - and its black population hasn't changed much since that modest uptick nearly 40 years ago, according to census data.

Some residents of Anna describe their town as safe, family-centric and quaint, and contrast these features with the "problems" they perceive in bigger, less-white neighbors such as Carbondale, a city about 20 miles north of Anna that is home to Southern Illinois University, and Cairo, about 35 miles south of Anna, located at the state's southernmost tip.

Cairo has long been emblematic of a future that Anna fears: the decline of a once-thriving town. Cairo's population, roughly 2,500, is now about half of what it was in 1990, though people began leaving earlier. Some of the white people who left Cairo blamed changes in the city - its population loss, the flight of business, episodes of violence during the civil rights era - on black people. Some people still do.

Like many other small towns, Anna has lost industry. The makers of Bunny Bread - " That's what I said, Bunny Bread," as an old jingle went - and Florsheim shoes both closed factories in the early 1990s. But the city is still commercially alive. A Walmart and fast-food chains now cluster in Anna's east end, near U.S. Highway 51. Independent businesses run up and down Main Street.

The Union County Museum sits about five miles north of Anna in Cobden, a community known for its apple and peach orchards. Patrick Brumleve, who oversees the museum as the president of the Union County Historical and Genealogical Society, said Anna was named after Anna Davie, the wife of the man who founded the town in 1854. But he said he gets asked every so often about A-N-N-A by outsiders like me.

As he told me about Anna's origins, he pointed me to a book of letters published in the Jonesboro Gazette, written by the newspaper's editor, James Evans, who left his job in 1862 to join the 109th Illinois Volunteer Infantry Regiment for the Union Army - but who, along with seven other officers from the 109th, was discharged from the Union Army for disloyalty.

Though Brumleve said many residents supported the preservation of the Union, Evans' support was contingent on the continuation of slavery, and his letters show his increasing contempt for the war as the Lincoln administration took steps toward emancipation. He calls black people animals. He complains that black soldiers are treated better than white soldiers. He warns that freed black men will take jobs away from white men. When he returned home and resumed his role as editor, he wrote that he and the other officers were "perfectly satisfied of the fact that fighting to free the nigger is no wise [or] desirable task."

Stories of intimidation and violence against black people - and against white people who tried to employ them - in Anna continued for decades after the war. While the details of each incident are often vague or contradictory, newspaper accounts, oral history archives and other documents chronicle a narrative of Anna's emerging reputation as A-N-N-A.

In 1865, a black man walking toward Anna along railroad tracks outside town was shot and killed in what the Chicago Tribune said was "supposed to have been done by some Copperhead wretch" - "Copperhead" being slang for Northerners sympathetic to the Confederacy - "as the disposition of the tribe here is to kill or drive off all niggers."

And in 1874, during Reconstruction, white residents in Anna were met with demands from what the Cairo Bulletin called "ku-klux demonstrations" that they fire any black people employed in the area and "send the negroes out of the county or suffer the consequences."

By the turn of the century, Anna - at least according to the Jonesboro Gazette - was grateful it wasn't wrapped up in what the newspaper deemed a "race problem" in places where "the negro forms a considerable population"; in Cairo, for example, about 40% of residents were black, and many of them were formerly enslaved people who sought new lives in supposedly "free" states such as Illinois. "How fortunate we are to have so little of 'darkest Africa' among us," the Gazette wrote in January 1903, adding that it would be "presumptuous to place the negro in the places where only white men should fill as long as this is a white man's country."

Then, in a moment that would lodge itself in regional memory, a 23-year-old white woman from Anna was found dead in November 1909 in an alley in Cairo. Coincidentally, her name was Anna - Anna Pelley. Bloodhounds, after picking up the scent from a piece of cloth used to gag her, led Cairo police to arrest a black man named William James, an employee of the Cairo Ice and Coal Company, according to the Cairo Bulletin. Less than 72 hours later, without a trial and after the county sheriff unsuccessfully tried to spirit James out of town to safety, residents took the law into their own hands.

They led James to a pair of steel arches that spanned the intersection in the center of Cairo's commercial district, which was crowded with thousands of onlookers, most of whom came as word spread about James' arrest. With a rope around his neck, the Bulletin reported, James confessed. The mob pulled him up to hang him, but the rope broke, so they shot him repeatedly instead. They then dragged his body through the streets, set it on fire and later cut off his head and stuck it on a hitching post.

Ruel Hindman, who lived in Anna, was 7 at the time. "As I remember, in order to prove to the Anna people that he had been lynched, I think they brought one of his legs back to Anna," Hindman recalled in the 1970s, as part of an oral history project at southern Illinois' Shawnee Community College. (Hindman died in 1998.)

The night after James was killed, a band of men from Anna headed for a nearby quarry, which employed a number of black men. About 10 workers fled to the woods. "We're much obliged to the managers of the [quarry] if they will confine their force to whites in the future," the Jonesboro Gazette wrote, in language and thinking typical of the paper at the time.

Hindman, in his interview, said any black people who worked or lived in Anna were "driven out" of town after the Anna Pelley incident in 1909. There was one exception: the Sales family. John and Emily Sales had lived together in Anna for 50 years, in a small home on an alley. He worked "odd jobs," according to the 1910 census, and she was a "washerwoman," cleaning clothes. They were formerly enslaved, having fled Tennessee as the Civil War ended, and eventually settled in Anna in 1867, according to Emily's obituary in the Jonesboro Gazette.

John Sales was in his mid 90s when he died in August 1916. The Gazette wrote that "the only colored man who has ever lived in this city, died at his home Sunday night." Emily Sales died in Anna in 1932. (Their niece, Nora, who lived in the same house, died about 30 years later.) Today, Emily and John share a small tombstone in the Anna cemetery. About 100 steps away is the grave of Anna Pelley, marked by a sculpture of a woman on her knees, crying, with the inscription: "A life sacrificed but remembered by friends."

A memorial to Anna Pelley, left, was funded by hundreds of donations after her death and still stands in the Anna Cemetery. The graves of John and Emily Sales, right, have a small marker about 100 steps from Pelley's grave. (Whitney Curtis, special to ProPublica Illinois)

Michael Hunter leaned forward in his camouflage-printed office chair. When I met him last year, Hunter was the chief of Anna's Police Department, and I was curious whether the A-N-N-A reputation affected how local officials did their jobs. "I was born here and lived in the south for many years, so I don't see skin color," said Hunter, who retired in May after nearly two decades on the force. Hunter told me that when he'd pull over black motorists, they would sometimes tell him during traffic stops that they knew what Anna stood for and why he'd stopped them. He didn't like it when people assumed he was racist.

"I worked nights for 13 years. I can't tell what color anybody is at night," Hunter said. "So that always bothered me, that that was their perception." Racism is not a problem in Anna, he said, at least no more than it is in the rest of the country.

Anna's mayor, Steve Hartline, agreed. "It's a shame that wording is even out there when it comes to Anna," Hartline said. "It's really sad. I'm just sorry we have to talk about that." He added: "That is not the Anna I know."

Hartline grew up in Cobden, the town just north of Anna. He's been Anna's mayor for nearly 20 years, and he served in its Police Department for 15 years before that. He said he can't think of a single incident in Anna that had race at its center that had taken place in his years of public service.

But these incidents happened. In March 2013, four young white men attacked a black 16-year-old in a parking lot behind a furniture store on Main Street. According to police reports, one of the suspects allegedly tried to sodomize the victim with either a tire iron or an ax handle. Although one of the young men told police they attacked the victim because he was black, the police did not charge the four men with a hate crime.

In 2017, in the aftermath of the white supremacist "Unite the Right" rally in Charlottesville, Virginia, a white Anna resident named Tabitha Tripp said at a Union County board meeting that she was concerned about hate incidents in the county, and she asked the county commissioners to consider a resolution, identical to one that had recently passed the Illinois House, condemning hate groups.

The proposal was never brought up for a vote, in part because commissioners said they didn't believe it was their job to address such concerns. "The more you talk about it, it just creates that issue more," Max Miller, Union County's board chairman, told me. "I just didn't think it was worth talking about."

Some sundown towns in the Midwest have begun to confront their legacies. In March 2015, the City Council of Goshen, Indiana, voted 6-0 to pass "A Resolution Acknowledging the Racially Exclusionary Past of Goshen, Indiana, as a 'Sundown Town.'" In late 2016, the mayor of La Crosse, Wisconsin, formally apologized for the city's history of racial exclusion and signed a proclamation to work toward racial equality. "We've got issues and are not shirking away from those issues," Mayor Tim Kabat, who is white, told the La Crosse Tribune. "We recognize this is a problem and need to do something about it."

The Union County Board of Commissioners is all white. So is the Anna City Council, the Anna Police Department and every teacher at Anna-Jonesboro High School, the public high school serving Anna. "I wish we had more diversity on our staff," said Brett Detering, the school's principal.

Darrel Dexter, a local historian who lives in Jonesboro and teaches high school social studies in nearby Tamms, said that many of his black students see Anna as a "racist place." If people in Anna want their town to shed that reputation, he said, they'll have to reckon with the history of A-N-N-A. "What people need to do is to say: 'Yes, this happened. We're sorry it happened. ... It's a part of our heritage, but we're changing that,'" Dexter said. "And until people are willing to at least acknowledge that it's there, there's not going to be any change."

An Anna resident named Randy Miller, who is white, said that most people in town, including him, don't know of any specific incident that led Anna to become known as A-N-N-A. But, he said, it's not something people there are proud of. "Our forefathers have gone through and made decisions that weren't the greatest things in the world," Miller said. "But at what point do we move on from that, you know? I mean, at what point do we heal instead of coming back and going, 'Let's rip this wound open again?' ... There's got to be a solution, not just a revisiting of the problem." When he said this, he meant that everyone - white people, black people, outsiders such as myself - should focus on how to move forward.

Tripp's 18-year-old son, Gavin, graduated from Anna-Jonesboro High in the spring. He said people his age in the surrounding counties know about the lore of A-N-N-A and consider Anna to be "just a bad place for people that are different."

"They don't want to come here," Gavin added. "So that doesn't allow us to be exposed to different people or different ethnicities." Given this, he's not sure he'll stay in Anna after college.

He recalled an incident in 2016, when he was leaving the Farm Fresh milk store after school. "Somebody just drove by and yelled out the window, 'You're a nigger lover,'" Gavin said. At the time, he was dating a girl who was biracial. He said he hadn't witnessed that kind of public racism in Anna before. "I didn't think it would come out of somebody's mouth, straight to my face," he said.

One afternoon in Anna - during my second visit, in May 2018 - I approached two postal workers, both of them white, loading mail trucks behind the town's post office and asked them where I could find someone who wasn't white. "You've come to the wrong town," one of them said. "For whatever reason it's just one of those towns, I guess," his co-worker added.

But there are some black people here, and more, it seems, during the workday. One woman who works in the area and who is black told me she hates it when she's assigned a shift in the town. She fills up her car's gas tank before going to work so that she spends as little time in Anna as possible. She knows what A-N-N-A stands for, and she doesn't want to take any chances. (She asked me not to publish her name, out of concern for her safety.)

Black people also work at Choate Developmental Center, a state mental health facility in Anna. Ralph Smith, 30, has been employed there for two years. I met him while he was playing basketball with his young son in the park. People around the area, not just in Anna, have called him derogatory names based on his race, he said. One time it happened while he was pumping gas. "But all of that stuff don't get me down. ... People just don't have enough education or just haven't been around a lot," said Smith, who lives about 30 minutes outside Anna.

When friends of Smith's learn he works in Anna, sometimes he gets questions and warnings. They ask him what he's doing out there; doesn't he know Anna is a sundown town? "You'd better be safe," they tell him. Smith shrugs it off. "I think it needs more flavor around here for sure, but everything needs to be more mixed," he said. "I think the whole world needs to change - not just Anna. The whole world."

Anna's Walmart draws a more diverse crowd. James Taylor, a 61-year-old known as "Big T" in Cairo, where he lives, was shopping there on a Saturday afternoon when I met him. "In my younger days ... you weren't allowed up here after dark, period," Taylor said in the parking lot as he loaded grocery bags into his car. He added, "It was just a racist town."

For years, he avoided Anna. He now comes to town to go to Walmart and to get his car washed. Taylor said he's noticed more black people in Anna in the past 10 years - "I take my hat off to that" - but, he said, changing Anna's reputation is going to take a while. "Old heads ain't died off yet," he explained.

When Easter Smith opened the door, her house smelled like dinner. Smith, 38, moved to Anna in 2016 with her six children: Arieh, 19; Atarah, 18; Amiyah, 16; Arojae, 15; Asaiah, 12; and Aseana, 11. Smith thought hers was the only black family in Anna when she arrived, though she thinks a few more families have moved in since.

Smith never thought she would live here. Years before, when she was new to Illinois and living in Murphysboro, about 25 miles north, she got lost driving somewhere on U.S. Highway 51 after dark and called her husband for directions. She described what she saw and he knew she was in Anna. "Bae, drive fast and keep going," she remembers him saying.

But after a series of incidents that made her feel unsafe in Murphysboro, Smith said, she wanted out. Her eldest son, Arieh Hart, had an idea. He had a friend who lived in Anna and had spent weekends there. He'd grown to like it. The high school was good and it had a strong sports program. He felt he and his brothers and sisters would thrive.

Yet when Smith ran the idea by friends and school guidance counselors, just about everyone asked her the same thing: Don't you know what A-N-N-A stands for? "The look on their faces was terror," Smith said.

She prayed. She trusted God and she trusted her son. She told her husband that Anna was the place they needed to be. He disagreed. He didn't go with her. He declined to be interviewed for this story. "I have to do what women and mothers have to do," Smith said. "And that's make a better situation for your kids."

Before the family moved to Anna, Smith sat her kids down and discussed how to respond if someone called them the N-word, if they were discriminated against at school or if they didn't feel comfortable. They were not to lash out or fight.

In the family's first few months in Anna, Atarah and Amiyah received some naive questions from their white classmates. Is that your real hair? Can I touch it? How do you run so fast? How do you dance like that? For the most part, it was what they expected. But it hurt. When Atarah made the high school basketball team, someone sent her a screenshot of a message telling her teammates to be nice to her because she is black. That made her feel like her blackness was seen as a threat.

The sisters have a slew of similar stories. And when they recounted some of those stories to me, they talked over one another and finished one another's sentences. They laughed about how, sometimes, white people in Anna can be overly nice to them. When I went to church with the family one morning, I watched a white woman touch Atarah's hair and tell her she was beautiful, "like Beyoncé."

Arieh pointed out that, since they've lived in Anna, his white friends here have taught him how to do things like catch fish, drive ATVs and shoot guns. "We just learn from each other," Arieh said. "And that's what I love."

Arieh said he was called the N-word once during a football game against nearby Du Quoin High School. He kept his composure. Some time later, a few students at Anna-Jonesboro High made an Instagram account and anonymously made fun of classmates by posting photos of them along with derogatory captions, Smith said. They posted a photo of Arieh and wrote a caption calling him the N-word and Anna's "Jackie Robinson." The school disciplined the students behind the account. Some white parents, particularly upset about the post featuring Arieh, spoke to administrators about it, Smith said. That meant a lot to her.

In 2018, Arieh won Illinois' high school state wrestling championship for his weight class. As his mother followed the van carrying him and other members of the Anna-Jonesboro wrestling team back into town after the finals, people lined up on Main Street to wave and clap and cheer. Some held signs: "We ❤️ You, Arieh," read one. "State Champ #1," read another. Smith still tears up thinking about it.

This is the kind of thing that makes her wish she had moved to Anna sooner. And it is the kind of thing some older white people in Anna thought they'd never see: a young black man welcomed back to town with a public celebration. Smith got Facebook messages from people she'd never met. "I don't know you or your son personally," one message read. "And I think it has to be said that what your son has done is nothing short of a miracle. ... What I'm talking about is seeing him bring that community together. Anyone who knows the history of Anna-Jonesboro would never in a million years imagine something like this would ever happen. ... Seeing this honestly gives me hope that people can and do change."

Nevertheless, three years after Smith moved to Anna, her family still has to deal with racist comments. On the first day of Amiyah's senior year at Anna-Jonesboro High, students gathered before class outside the school for impromptu group photos. One boy, Amiyah told Smith, yelled to her, "Come on, blackie, and get in the photo." Amiyah looked at him, turned around and walked away.

Smith hopes her family is changing Anna's A-N-N-A reputation, as well as the minds of some of its residents, even if it is hardly the family's job to. Growing up near Phoenix, Smith said her family's friends called them "the Huxtables," a reference to the upper-middle class black family of "The Cosby Show." She feels her parents, and the high standards they set, prepared her well for her current life: "If anybody was going to come to Anna, God picked somebody that had the right credentials to be able to come here," she said.

Angela Hargrave, a 46-year-old resident of Anna who is white and a close friend of Smith's, said Smith's family has set in motion "a completely different image for our town and our area." "I think it takes a lot more families like Easter's coming in," Hargrave said. "But I also feel like it takes all of us that don't feel that way to step forward and to be brave enough to say, 'No, that is not what we're about.'"

Still, Smith often thinks twice about simple decisions white people seldom give much thought to - for example, which black friends she can invite to town, because she's not sure they'll all be received well. There are some she's decided not to have over: "I'm not that uppity friend that I'm too good for them now, but I'm not introducing them to my friends here. ... I'm scared that I will be looked at different for entertaining them." These kinds of calculations, she said, can be exhausting.

Smith told me her family feels pressure to always be on its best behavior. "I mean, that's just how we were taught," she said. "Act like the camera's on, act like somebody is following you, act like somebody is watching you, because nine times out of 10, they are."

On a visit to southern Illinois this spring, I went to the spot in Cairo where William James was lynched 110 years earlier. There, children glided on bicycles from the levee road along the Ohio River, down through the intersection where the steel arches stood. Patches of tiled sidewalk that once led into storefronts now faded into dirt.

When I called James Taylor, the man I had met at the Anna Walmart months before, he told me there was someone in Cairo I should meet. I hopped into the backseat of Taylor's blue station wagon, and a man named Gregory Walker, 69, sat in the passenger seat. Walker told me about a sign he said used to be posted near Anna's city limits. "It said, No Niggers Allowed," Walker remembered.

"Have you ever seen the population signs?" he asked me. The green ones with white letters. "[It looked] just like that," he added. "And it was sitting right next to the population sign." I've heard about some version of this sign from a few people in Anna, but I have yet to find physical proof of it - a document, a photo, anything. In a way, though, it doesn't matter. Because whether or not that sign really existed, it exists in the minds of many black southern Illinoisans who know what the name of the town stands for.

I told Walker about Easter Smith and Arieh Hart. "Out of 5,000 people up there, you come up with one family?" he said, laughing. "That should tell you something right there." As I drove back into Anna later that day, I passed the sign marking its border and population. "ANNA," it reads. "4500." And under it is another sign that looks just like it, a green sign with white letters. It was new since the last time I had been in town. "HOME OF ARIEH HART," it reads. "2018 IHSA 1A 152 LB WRESTLING CHAMPION."

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The Legend of A-N-N-A: Revisiting an American Town Where Black People Weren't Welcome After Dark

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Most people I met in Anna, Illinois, wish the racist lore behind the city's name would go away. So why hasn't it?

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Faulkner's fourth novel, first published on October 7, 1929, is a difficult work that has posed many problems for both readers and teachers. Because of copyright concerns we are currently not able to offer our hypertext edition of the complete work, but we will continue to offer related materials for exploring the text of the novel, and of augmenting its study, for all levels of readers. In the future we hope to be able to again offer the complete edition.

For more information contact Peter Stoicheff

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Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury: A Hypertext Resource

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Faulkner's fourth novel, first published on October 7, 1929, is a difficult work that has posed many problems for both readers and teachers. Because of copyright concerns we are currently not able to offer our hypertext edition of the complete work, but we will continue to offer related materials for exploring the text of the novel, and of augmenting its study, for all levels of readers.

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Literary mavens won't want to miss Elevator Repair Service's The Sound and The Fury, which is now enjoying a revival at the Public Theater. The show (which debuted in 2008 at New York Theatre Workshop) is sure to offer fresh insights to devotees of William Faulker's famously dense novel. All others will likely walk away completely perplexed, but perhaps delighted in that confusion.

Elevator Repair Service is most notable for its seven-hour stage adaptation of F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby. Titled Gatz, that show features one performer reading the entire novel aloud while the company acts it out. The Sound and the Fury follows the same formula, but blessedly limits itself to the first chapter ("April Seventh, 1928") of William Faulker's lengthy novel about the fall of a prominent Mississippi family.

Faulkner's title is a reference to the most famous soliloquy in Shakespeare's Macbeth, in which the titular Scotsman ruminates on life, "It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing." "Idiot" is a rather indelicate way to refer to Benjy, the mentally challenged Compson brother through whom this part of the novel is told. It is undeniable, however, that this story, which leaps across time and space with little reverence for chronology or context, occasionally seems to signify nothing. As if Faulkner's source material were not challenging enough, ERS has added layers of complication by having its actors regularly switch roles while setting the story within a new frame.

Just as Gatz took place in a bland office, director John Collins sets The Sound and the Fury at a sleepy Christmas party. David Zinn's set looks like a great-grandmother's parlor in rural Mississippi. A 1940s radio occupies center stage, with thinly upholstered furniture and halogen floor lamps spread across the hardwood floor. A lopsided Christmas tree hides upstage left. Members of the cast play cards, stack dishes, stare at the wall, and get drunk, so bored out of their gourds are they. They're so listless, in fact, that one of the guests begins reading The Sound and The Fury for entertainment.

This is Benjy (an appropriately twitchy Susie Sokol), whom costume designer Colleen Werthmann iconically outfits in an old football shirt and a mop of black hair. As Benjy reads, others join in, acting out the parts and swapping roles with wild abandon. Since the book's text remains mostly intact, the actors adopt an affected manner of speaking. A typical line reads, "'We're going to the cemetery.' Mother said." As unnatural as it sounds, it actually serves the purpose of making character shifts less confusing since the actors always identify themselves with dialogue tags. It often feels like an audio book onstage.

Matt Tierney's aggressive sound design reinforces this style. While much of it enriches the story (the swing of golf clubs, the clatter of china), other moments are more perplexing. A whining vocalization (possibly meant to signify Benjy's cries) sounds like the Islamic call to prayer, making it seems as though memaw's house is situated across the street from a mosque.

While the design and staging regularly throw us off the scent, the performances get at a deeper truth. As Caddy, the sotto voce Tory Vazquez embodies the gentleness and basic goodness that makes her Benjy's favorite sibling. Greig Sargeant is like a general playing the Compson's loyal housekeeper Dilsey. She needs to hold this ragtag army together if she's ever going to survive. Sokol endures lengthy physical restraint and contortion as Benjy, as the other members of the cast toss him from scene to scene (none of which are in chronological order). It very quickly becomes clear that this is one of those family gatherings where we rehash ancient feuds and adult children live in a state of suspended childhood.

Those not already familiar with the novel may be left totally in the dark by The Sound and The Fury. Luckily, this ERS show is stimulating enough to inspire you to have fun making up your own story, completely divorced from Faulkner's tale. Audiences should beware, however: The show runs two hours and 15 minutes, with no intermission. You might want to use the facilities beforehand. No matter how rapt you become in the world of Faulkner and ERS, a needy bladder will always win the day.

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Literary mavens won't want to miss Elevator Repair Service's The Sound and The Fury , which is now enjoying a revival at the Public Theater. The show (which debuted in 2008 at New York Theatre Workshop) is sure to offer fresh insights to devotees of William Faulker's famously dense novel.

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The Thompson-Chandler house was the conspicuous model for the Compson family home in Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury, one of the more experimental novels, which takes you inside the mind of a severely mentally handicapped boy named Benjy. In Faulkner's youth, the real boy's name was Edwin Chandler. Edwin would pace the fence, shadowing passersby, just like Benjy. The iron fence is gone now, moved to a house in Vickburg, but you can still stand in front of the vacant house and imagine.

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Take a Tour of William Faulkner's Oxford

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The Thompson-Chandler house was the conspicuous model for the Compson family home in Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury, one of the more experimental novels, which takes you inside the mind of a severely mentally handicapped boy named Benjy. In Faulkner's youth, the real boy's name was Edwin Chandler.

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Klansville U.S.A. | American Experience | PBS

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In the 1960s, North Carolina’s KKK membership grew to some ten thousand members, earning the state a new nickname: “Klansville, U.S.A.”

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Fashion at the start of the 1910s maintained elements of the previous decade, while beginning to move towards a simpler style. But mid-decade, World War I hit the Western world, causing fashion change to slow.

Fashion in the 1910s, like the decade itself, may be divided into two periods: before the war and during the war. World War I had a profound effect on society and culture as a whole and fashion was no exception. While changes in women's fashion that manifested in the 1920s are often attributed to changes due to World War I, many of the popular styles of the twenties actually evolved from styles popular before the war and as early as the beginning of the decade.

The 1910s opened with a softer silhouette than the decade before, which was dominated by the "S-shape." While the contorted shape created by straight-fronted corsets had softened into a more natural silhouette, the style in the early years of the decade still had an emphasis on the bust that echoed styles of the previous decade. The ball gown by G & E Spitzer (Fig. 1) shows how the S-curve softened in the early part of the decade but still relied on the top-heavy look. As this S-shape began to disappear altogether, skirts began to taper towards the bottom, like the example by Doeuillet (Fig. 3) and a completely new style, that of a revived empire waist, emerged as well.

An important development at the beginning of the decade was the rise of Orientalism. The Ballets Russes performed Schéhérazade (a ballet based on One Thousand and One Nights) in Paris in 1910, setting off the craze. Paul Poiret helped popularize this look, which featured draped fabrics, vibrant colors, and a column-like silhouette. He even introduced "harem" pantaloons in 1911, a ballooning pair of trousers that only the most daring of women opted to wear. The fancy dress costume (Fig. 4) worn to his party "The Thousand and Second Night" epitomizes this style.

Poiret's fashions dominated the first half of the decade if only because they were inventive and news-making. In 1911, he introduced the "hobble skirt" (Fig. 5) which narrowed so much at the bottom of the skirt that it made it difficult for women to walk. His striped dress from 1910 (Fig. 6) hints at this silhouette. He liked to claim that he had abolished the corset and, indeed, his loose chemise dresses no longer required the rigid undergarment, though other designers were also moving away from corseted looks at the same time. Another of his innovative silhouettes included the "lampshade tunic." In this way, you begin to see how Poiret's playful and inventive approach to fashion led to the popular styles of the twenties.

Though Poiret made a formidable impression on early 1910s fashion, he was by no means the only prominent designer. Lucille, or Lady Duff Gordon, was a popular designer whose London-based business crossed the Atlantic to New York and Chicago at the beginning of the decade. French designer Jacques Doucet enjoyed popularity for his fluid designs, while Mariano Fortuny of Venice patented new processes of pleating and dyeing.

In 1914, the world was thrown into the "war to end all wars." Tunics worn over skirts, like the ones seen in the picture of the Rockaway Hung Meet (Fig. 2), were a popular wartime fashion, as were simple, utilitarian clothing. Even French designers like Jacques Doucet produced simple, cotton designs during the war (Fig. 12). Women began to wear uniforms, including overalls and trousers, as they worked in munitions factories for the war effort.

Though the US didn't enter the war until 1917, the war's effect on fashion was already felt in France, the UK, and the rest of Europe. France had been the center of fashion for years and the war slowed, though did not stop entirely, production and distribution of new fashions. The Worth evening dress from 1916 shows that fashion was not entirely forgotten (Fig. 10), as does the image of women who came to enlist in the Marines in 1918 (Fig. 8). For women, military uniforms had elements of current fashion: the long skirts with tunics or jackets worn over them were reminiscent of civilian dress. The white uniforms of the female Navy Yeomen (Fig. 9) are especially evocative of styles worn by the Suffragettes.

After the war ended, simple styles continued and a "barrel"-like silhouette emerged. Fashion historian James Laver writes in Costume and Fashion: A Concise History that "the effect was completely tubular. Skirts were still long, but an attempt was made to confine the body in a cylinder" (230). This would eventually develop into the popular flapper look of the next decade and Poiret's pleated skirt and cocoon coat (Fig. 11) strongly hint at what was to come.

Paul Poiret's wife, Denise, was both his model and muse, thrusting her into the role of a fashion icon: "Muse as well as model, Denise Poiret was a living advertisement for her husband, who used her as the prototype figure for his Empire line dresses" (Lécallier). Ahead of its time, her slim figure would later become all the rage in the following decade and Poiret's chemise dresses (Fig. 2) were designed specifically with her in mind. In their 2007 exhibition about Poiret, The Metropolitan Museum of Art described Denise's influence on both her husband and fashion:

"Slim, youthful, and uncorseted, she was the prototype of la garçonne. Poiret used her slender figure as the basis for his radically simplified constructions. In 1913 he told Vogue, 'My wife is the inspiration for all my creations; she is the expression of all my ideals.' If Poiret was the prophet of modernism, Denise was its most compelling incarnation." (The Metropolitan Museum of Art)

Denise donned her husband's controversial harem pants (with a wired skirt) to an extravagant costume party called "The Thousand and Second Night" (a clear reference to the popularity of Schéhérazade) in 1911 (Fig. 1). The same style was later used in costumes he produced in 1913, and they made their debut outside of the realm of costume later that year. Together with her husband, the duo epitomized avant-garde fashion in the 1910s.

In the early 1910s, men's fashion largely continued on from the previous decade. Lounge suits - three-piece suits much like business suits today - increased in popularity as a more casual alternative to the more formal suits of years previous. There were various styles of these suits (Figs. 1 & 2). Trouser legs crept up to ankle length for a shorter look, often with the cuffs turned up. Laver writes:

"trousers tended to be rather short and very narrow, and young men were beginning to wear them with permanent turn-ups and with a sharp crease in front, which had become possible since the mid 1890s with the invention of the trouser-press." (221-222)

The lounge suit typically consisted of a sack coat, a waistcoat (vest), and trousers. Collars were worn starched and high on the neck. It was referred to as a "lounge suit" because it was far less formal than the suit worn with a frock coat. Though it was worn more frequently in the 1910s, it was previously a well-to-do man's least formal suit, one that would have been worn to lounge in his home. The lounge suit was often worn with a Homburg hat, a felt hat with a dent down the top, or a bowler hat. Men of the upper-classes continued to wear top hats. An image showing Winston Churchill and his cousin Lord Londonderry in 1919 shows how the morning suit differed from the lounge suit (Fig. 4).

While the lounge suit enjoyed popularity on a day-to-day basis, the frock coat and morning coat continued to have prominence for formal day events. Evening wear was dominated by dark tailcoats, worn with a waistcoat and trousers. However, the less formal tuxedo was also an acceptable form of evening wear. Men sported quite a range of suits, sportswear, and evening wear for every occasion (Fig. 3).

Like womenswear, menswear saw a divide between before World War I began and during/after the war. Of course, many men joined the war effort by enlisting in the military. The Victoria and Albert Museum writes, "from 1914 to the end of the decade, many men were photographed in military uniform" (History of Fashion 1900-1970).

Though men's fashion would return to the three-piece suit after the war, the conflict did have a lasting effect on both men and women's fashion. Though part of their uniform and not a fashion statement at the time, the trench coat saw its rise (and was even given its name) in the desperate conditions on the front in World War I. British officers, who outfitted themselves, began to buy the coats that had been developed in the mid-nineteenth century as a functional part of their uniform. Lighter than the coat issued by the British army, water resistant, and a khaki color, the coats helped keep officers warm and dry. Burberry (Fig. 5) and Aquascutum sold these coats to both men and women during the war. It was utilitarian at the time but would later be adopted by Hollywood, providing the garment with a lasting legacy that is still felt today.

Children's dress from 1910-1919 saw a move toward greater simplicity. The smock dress, often worn with a pinafore, which had been popular since the 1890s continued to be worn by young girls in the first part of the decade and can be seen in the fashion plate from 1914 (Fig. 1). With material rationing during the war, girl's dresses became shorter with less embellishment, like the sisters in 1919 who don't have any embellishment on their dresses at all (Fig. 4). Dress historian Jayne Shrimpton wrote for the blog Find My Past:

"By around the WWI era, many girls were wearing plainer dresses that ended above the knee (often showing long knickers underneath!), were fitted at the waist and had three-quarter length sleeves." (Moore)

Young girls had begun to wear styles that were simpler and less like mini versions of womenswear.

Young boys, too, looked less like little adults. Sailor suits, like the ones worn by the two boys in the background of the fashion plate and by the Mackay boy (Fig. 1 and Fig. 3), and knee-length trousers were popular options. Stretchy, knitted fabrics were popular for boys - and girls - as they were comfortable, allowed for greater freedom of movement, and were easy to make. Both Carnegy brother and sister wear knitted sweaters in 1916 (Fig. 2). By the 1910s, many schools had uniforms for boys consisting of a flannel blazer and shorts (for younger boys) and trousers (for older boys). The young man below has graduated onto trousers, but wears a flannel blazer and tie (Fig. 4). This uniform, or something similar, was often worn outside of school, as well. Like other aspects of fashion in the 1910s, World War I also had an effect on young boys' fashion as military elements crept into their attire in the latter half of the decade.

References:

"1910s in Western Fashion." Wikipedia, May 2, 2018. https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=1910s_in_Western_fashion&oldid=839336973.

Armstrong, Simon. "The Trench Coat's Forgotten WW1 Roots." BBC News, October 5, 2014. https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-england-29033055.

"First World War Fashions from the Illustrated London News Archive." Accessed May 31, 2018. http://www.culture24.org.uk/history-and-heritage/military-history/first-world-war/art502502.

"History of Fashion 1900 - 1970," July 11, 2013. http://www.vam.ac.uk/content/articles/h/history-of-fashion-1900-1970/.

Laver, James, Amy De La Haye, and Andrew Tucker. Costume and Fashion: A Concise History. 5th ed. New York: Thames & Hudson, 2012. http://www.worldcat.org/oclc/966352776.

Lécallier, Sylvie. "Denise Poiret by Delphi." Palais Galliera | Musée de la mode de la Ville de Paris. Accessed May 31, 2018. http://www.palaisgalliera.paris.fr/en/work/denise-poiret-delphi.

Moore, Jess. "Family Photos: What Are They Wearing?," May 24, 2011. https://blog.findmypast.co.uk/family-photos-what-are-they-wearing-1406240689.html.

"Poiret: King of Fashion." The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Accessed May 31, 2018. https://www.metmuseum.org/exhibitions/listings/2007/poiret.

Stratford, S. J. "1910 to 1919 Kids' Fashion." LoveToKnow. Accessed June 1, 2018. https://childrens-clothing.lovetoknow.com/1910-1919-kids-fashion.

"What Is a Lounge Suit, Anyway?" Moss Bros. Accessed May 31, 2018. https://us.mossbros.com/inside-pocket/post/what-is-a-lounge-suit-anyway.

Events:

1910 - Edward VII died; George V became King of England, Mariano Fortuny patents his pleating and dyeing process, Paul Poiret designs a range of loose-fitting, Oriental-inspired dresses, paving the way for modern dress.

1912 - China formed a republic, sinking of the Titanic, Nijinsky danced Afternoon of a Faun.

1913 - Armory Art Show, The first modern brassiere is patented by New York socialite, Mary Phelps Jacob. Old fashioned corsets are no longer suitable to wear under new lighter, less formal garments. The tango arrives in most European capitals. Jean Paquin designs gowns to be worn for dancing the tango, which is shown during, "dress parades" at popular "Tango Teas" held in London. Coco Chanel opens a boutique in the French seaside resort, Deauville.

1914 - Panama Canal opened, World War I begins, ushering in an era of darker colors and simple cuts. Women take over men's jobs, accelerating the trend toward practical garments. Burberry is commissioned to adapt army officer's coats for the trenches. The trench coat is born.

1915 - Birth of a Nation by D.W. Griffith, Fashion magazine La Gazette du Bon Ton shows full skirts with hemlines above the ankle. They are called the "war crinoline" by the fashion press, who promote the style as "patriotic" and "practical."

1916 - Margaret Sanger opened birth control clinic.

1917 - The U.S. declared war on Germany, Russian Czar overthrown. Invented by Gideon Sundback in 1913 the zipper is finally patented in 1917. It is first used for closing rubber boots in the 1920s.

1919 - League of Nations chartered, Hollywood's United Artists founded.

To discover primary/period sources, explore the categories below.
Have a primary source to suggest? Or a newly digitized periodical/book to announce? Contact us!

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Fashion at the start of the 1910s maintained elements of the previous decade, while beginning to move towards a simpler style. But mid-decade, World War I hit the Western world, causing fashion change to slow. Fashion in the 1910s, like the decade itself, may be divided into two periods: before the war and during the war.

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Not long before Quentin Compson, Class of 1913, jumped to his death from the Great Bridge on June 2, 1910, the Harvard Corporation chose crimson over magenta as the University's official color. The trolleys were strictly local and the Red Sox were still playing at the Huntington Avenue Grounds. Had Quentin lived to graduate, he would have seen the Great Bridge become the Anderson Memorial Bridge, the Red Sox win the World Series in their inaugural season at Fenway Park, and the opening of the Red Line, named for the University's recently designated color.

Weighed down by Southern sin, the stress of saving his family's reputation, and two flatirons tied to his feet, Quentin sank to the bottom of the Charles River. Left with a suicide note was his grandfather's pocket watch, the glass shattered and bloody and the clock hands ripped out, an eerie expression of his resistance to the flow of time.

Many would say save your tears - Quentin was just a character imagined by William Faulkner, no more real than Holden Caulfield or Billy Pilgrim. Some readers and scholars, however, have taken a different view. Scholar Kevin Starr, M.A. '65, Ph.D. '69, Allston Burr Senior Tutor in Eliot House from 1970 to 1973, counted himself among them. In an interview shortly before his death, in January, he explained why.

"Quentin Compson was as real as Falkner made him in 'Absalom, Absalom!' and 'The Sound and the Fury,'" Starr said in an email, referencing the author's given surname. "Quentin Compson was made even more real in the imagination of generations of Harvard students thrilling to these novels in English 7, which became English 70, which became English 700, and is probably English 7,000 today. Quentin Compson was certainly real to Stanley Stefancic, his wife, Jean, and their friend Tom Sugimoto in the mid-1960s when they affixed the famous plaque to Anderson Memorial Bridge."

Starr's story is no fiction. Through word of mouth, the plaque became a sort of Easter egg for Harvard lit students. Rumored to be set at the exact spot where Quentin jumped, it read: "Quentin Compson III/ June 2, 1910/ Drowned in the fading of honeysuckle." This author remained anonymous, until one of Starr's former students turned sleuth.

Southerner Dale Russakoff '75 understood better than most the depth of Quentin's homesickness in the hurried, frigid North. A decade after graduating from Harvard, she embarked on a quest to find out more about the plaque, detailing her discoveries in a Washington Post article titled " Faulkner and the Bridge to the South."

The most rewarding - and astonishing - of Russakoff's encounters was with the Rev. Stanley Stefancic, B.D. '64, a good friend of her parents back home in Birmingham, Ala. As noted by Starr, it was Stefancic, with his wife, Jean, and their fellow Faulknerphile, Tom Sugimoto, S.M. '62, who decades before had engraved and epoxied the plaque to the bridge's eastward parapet in a little alcove, inconspicuously in line with a brick and behind some ivy. In Russakoff's account, Stefancic had a limited audience in mind - lit majors seeking insight on Quentin's despair and students who felt out of place, as the eldest Compson did, at the most prestigious of universities.

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Almost immediately, the plaque made an impact on students. Joe Blatt '70, Ed.M. '77, a senior lecturer and faculty director of the Technology, Innovation, and Education Program at the Ed School, was a history and literature concentrator as an undergraduate. In his senior year, he stayed on campus during Christmas break to finish a seminar paper on imagery in Faulkner's novels.

"It was a rainy night and I was struggling with my paper," Blatt remembers. "I decided to get out to clear my head, and ended up taking a pretty long walk around Cambridge. When I crossed the Anderson Bridge it was very late, and I noticed something reflecting in the moonlight.

"Finding the plaque was like kismet or serendipity, coming upon a poetic inscription almost exactly like what I was writing about. I've never had an experience like that before or since; probably why it's stuck with me for so long."

Thirteen years later, construction crews knocked the plaque off during a renovation. Blatt, then a TV producer who walked the bridge every day on his way to work, immediately noticed the disappearance. On June 2, 1983 - the 73rd anniversary of Quentin's death - he persuaded colleagues to do a piece on the lost plaque. Before summer's end, a replacement appeared.

The new plaque, whose provenance is still a mystery, appeared with a small - and deeply contested - modification to the text. "Fading" had been replaced with "odour," a stark reinterpretation of Quentin's motives. Originalists saw Quentin as grasping at the memory of honeysuckle - symbolic of his idealized South - in a place far from home. But the new interpretation raised a different possibility, that the tormenting scent and its attached memories were inescapable even 1,200 miles from Mississippi.

"I was delighted to see it restored. The plaque gives real life to a fictional character - what better way to honor a great writer and validate the study of literature?" said Blatt. "And I did notice the change in the text, but I was mostly disappointed that the plaque was less elegant than the first one, which looked like it was made of gold or polished bronze. The new one looked cheap, like tin; it was too big for the brick where it was mounted; even the engraving was of poor quality and in an ugly font. Perhaps I'm romanticizing my recollection, but the original was a beautiful work of art. I can still see it vividly. I could even describe it to an identikit artist."

Competing interpretations aside, interest in the plaque was revived when Extension School lecturer Thomas A. Underwood, A.M. '85, Ph.D. '90, made it the centerpiece of a photography contest in his expository writing class "Southern Writers Reconsidered." (The winning student got cookies from the rest of the class.) The photos were tacked to a wall in Underwood's office until he left to teach at Boston University, where he remains today.

"I wanted them to think about Faulkner's Quentin, who was, after all, a Harvard student alienated by his surroundings," Underwood said. "It seems odd to care so much about a plaque honoring a man who never lived but who committed suicide; but the Quentin plaque, like the Smoot bridge at MIT, was part of the cultural landscape of Harvard University. Surrounded by shields that say 'Veritas,' the plaque spoke to the arts at Harvard and said 'Imagination.'"

In 2012, as another Anderson Bridge renovation began, Maria Cecilia Holt, M.Div. '05, Th.D. '14, was nearing the end of her second degree at Harvard Divinity School. Holt's earlier enrollment at Harvard had been inspired by her initial encounter with Quentin, when she read "Absalom, Absalom!" as an undergraduate at Sarah Lawrence. The plaque was a big reason she came back.

"I said, 'I have to find this plaque, I've been looking for it for 14 years."

In the summer of 2014, the bridge's parapets were demolished. Soon after, Rod Connelly, an engineer on the project, noticed an object glinting in the dirt just off the bridge near the riverbank. He brought it back to his office, where it remained in a desk drawer for two years.

In 2016, Holt was invited to a conference in Brazil to present a thesis, which focused in part on Quentin's final exit and the plaque that commemorated it. When she returned to Cambridge in the summer, she found out the parapets had been demolished and replaced, and she called the Transportation Department to ask if any precautions had been taken to save the plaque. The answer came in the mail: a photograph of Connelly's find.

A year later, construction of the Anderson Bridge is winding down, with only the smallest details remaining. One such detail: What about the plaque? It will be reinstalled, said DOT spokesman Patrick Marvin, thanks in part to Holt's help identifying its rich history - a living history, as Starr noted, equal to the devotion of generations of students.

"As the late, great Walter Jackson Bate emphasized so many times in his luminous and engaging lectures," Starr said, "life and literature need each other, and the power that passes from literature to life and life to literature is necessary for each to achieve form, meaning, and a measure of transcendence."
John Michael Baglione is a writer and author residing in Boston. His work can be found at johnmichaeltxt.com.

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Plaque honoring Faulkner character to be reinstalled on Charles River span

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Not long before Quentin Compson, Class of 1913, jumped to his death from the Great Bridge on June 2, 1910, the Harvard Corporation chose crimson over magenta as the University's official color. The trolleys were strictly local and the Red Sox were still playing at the Huntington Avenue Grounds.

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(What Caddy would wear)

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(What Miss Quentin would wear)

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The Elaine Riot: Tragedy & Triumph - Part 1

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The Elaine Riot: Tragedy & Triumph - Part 2