A Historian At Work: Using Facts to Build "Stories," Part Five of Five

Part One --- Part Two--- Part Three --- Part Four --- Part Five

Finally, to return to where I started, with the question posed by the student (see Part One). She said the book read like a novel; that it, is read like fiction rather than fact.

I hope by now I've established that my work is based on facts and evidence. But what about the "reads like a novel" part of her question?

My response is this: What a nice compliment! I hope my books do "read" like a novel -- not in the sense that the contents are fiction, but in the sense that the narrative has pace, action, "characters," and a "story"-like structure, meaning it has a beginning, a middle, and an end. That, I believe, is the best way for me to persuade my readers that "history" isn’t just a bunch of boring facts. Rather, I hope to convince readers that "history" is and can be fascinating, and that one way to understand historical events is by seeing them through the eyes of the people who participated in them.

For example, I opened the beer book with a real person, Phillip Best, walking through the streets of Milwaukee. I wanted to focus the events I was about to relate in the life and times of a real person. Put another way, I discussed a collection of larger historical events and trends: immigration and conflicts (including riots) between immigrants and "natives"; pursuit of the American dream; the prohibition effort of the 1850s; Americans' attitudes toward alcohol, and so forth -- but readers "witnessed" them through the eyes of Phillip Best.

But I also tried to avoid historians' professional jargon, to use active rather than passive verbs. Tried to describe the scenery and surroundings. Tried to populate the story with real people, quoting their own words whenever possible.

Obviously, it helped that I had access to what amounted to a built-in set of characters: Once Phillip exited the scene, Frederick Pabst and Adolphus Busch stepped in to take his place. When those two died, other Busch family members became the lens through which we could view events. The last two chapters of the book examined the craft beer “revolution” of the 1980s and 1990s, and I had my choice of real-life "characters" to serve as actors on my stage.

But through it all, I stuck to facts. Whenever I speculated about an event, I was careful to say that "perhaps" something happened. As in this example, again from Chapter One, when Langworthy learns that Phillip Best does not have enough money to pay for the brewvat.

What happened next is a credit to A. J. Langworthy's generosity and Phillip Best's integrity. Langworthy was but a few years older than Phillip. Like Phillip, he had left the security of the familiar--in his case, New York--for the adventure and gamble of a new life on the frontier. Perhaps he glanced through the door at the mad rush of people and goods flowing past unabated from daylight to dusk. He was no fool; he understood that business out in the territories would always be more fraught with risk than back in the settled east. But what was life for if not to embrace some of its uncertainty?

I don’t know if Langworthy actually looked out the door at the people passing by on the wooden walkway out side. So I said that "perhaps" he did so.

But the rest of it? I am confident, based on the facts I knew, that I captured the essence of the encounter: Langworthy in fact left the security of the east coast and moved to the frontier of Wisconsin Territory. In doing so, he embraced life's uncertainty. He knew Phillip's family had done the same, leaving Europe behind for the United States. I also knew that he let Phillip take the vat, and allowed him to pay the debt later.

In short, I believed, based on the facts, that Langworthy understood the nature of risk and uncertainty -- and empathized with Phillip's situation.

So to recap what has turned into a long (probably too long!) disquisition on the historian’s craft: Historians trade in facts. They learn to trust their judgment about those facts and how to use them. They employ the facts (and lively prose) to construct an engaging narrative, one that is centered around the lives of real people. If the historian telling the "story" is honest and thorough, and careful, readers will know that they can trust that the "story" is true.

That’s my story, anyway, and I’m stickin’ to it.

Hallelujah

This is an important day for every person in this country; indeed, for people around the planet: President Obama has lifted the ban on stem-cell research. President Obama, I have a disease that might be cured by this type of research. I speak for many when I say -- and these words are grossly inadequate: Thank you.

A Historian At Work: Using Facts to Build "Stories," Part Four

Part One --- Part Two--- Part Three --- Part Four --- Part Five

So sometimes I trust other historians’ work. But -- sometimes I don't.

Take a look at another excerpt from the book. This is from pages 102-103 of my history of American beer, Ambitious Brew. The background is the "beer wars" of the 1890s and efforts to control industry competition:

In one contest, according to Adolphus Busch's grandson August "Gus" Busch, Jr., a group of small New Orleans brewers resisted Adolphus’s efforts to control that city’s trade. A prolonged struggled drove the barrel price well below the profit zone. Finally Adolphus ended the conflict by informing the men that he planned to "control the price of beer for the next 25 years. . . whatever goddamn price I put on my beer, you go up [or down] the same goddamn price."

Gus, who claimed to have witnessed the encounter, recounted the tale years later as evidence of his grandfather’s wily ways and masterful control over lesser men. If the Busches invaded, say, Peoria, they could afford to wait out the competition; could afford to absorb the losses incurred by selling barrels at cost. Small local breweries could not. More often than not, the conqueror drove the conquered into bankruptcy.

I found this anecdote, and Adolphus's alleged quote, in Under the Influence, a book written by two St. Louis journalists, Peter Hernon and Terry Ganey. Ganey and Hernon heard the anecdote during an interview with Gus Busch. I discounted the accuracy of the tale. (Indeed, based on my reading of primary sources and other available evidence, I concluded that Ganey's and Hernon's book was an unreliable secondary source.)

Here's what I wrote in the book:

The anecdote, though it captures the brutality of the struggle, is most likely apocryphal. The most ferocious beer wars unfolded in the two decades prior to Gussie's birth in 1899. Adolphus’s health failed in 1906, leaving him frail and wheelchair-bound; from then until his death in 1913, he spent most of his time in California or Europe. Even assuming the event took place as late as, say, 1910, when Gussie would have been eleven years old, Adolphus would not have been involved and his grandson too young to comprehend the grown-ups' conversation, let alone remember it accurately some seventy-five years later. More likely the tale evolved over the years as part of the mythology that surrounded a family of successful men with over-sized personalities.

Again, this is part of my work: I can't take the evidence at face value. Instead, I examine many sources, and different kinds of evidence, and the facts (one of them, in this case, being the "fact" that Gus Busch wasn't even alive when the events in question took place), and only then do I decide which evidence is reliable and which is not.

Is this art or craft? In my opinion (based on 25 years experience), it's a craft. Historians learn how to use evidence based on experience, trial-and-error, and the wisdom acquired from that. Does that mean I'm always "right"? No. But I make the best judgments I can, using the evidence at hand.

Next time: the "story" part of the equation.

Must-Reads for Monday Morning: Microbrews, Drugs, and Journalists

How's that for a snappy title on the first Monday of daylight savings time?

From Stan: this bittersweet "turn out the lights" nod to newsmaking.

This on why we need to legalize illegal drugs (tip o' the mug to Jacob Grier).

And finally, from the folks at Reasontv, a subset of the Reason Foundation (which is, if I understand it correctly, one of the marketing partners for the upcoming fim Beer Wars): a short video about beer, consumer choice, and, er, revolution? More or less. It's short on factual accuracy, but hey, I'm used to that and besides, it features Jay Brooks (and a bunch of other good guys).

In the Kitchen: Pasta With Bok Choy and Mushrooms

This falls into the category of: "I don't feel much like cooking, but have perishables that I need to use or lose and what can I find to go with them?"

The perishables were bok choy and several mushrooms. Rummaged in freezer and found some pancetta. Rummaged further in fridge and found a couple of slices of bacon about to go off.

Proceeded from there.

Pasta with Bok Choy and Mushrooms --

• Head of bok choy, sliced coarse 
• three or four portabellos (definitely not my favorite, but there they were), chopped coarse 
• couple of garlic cloves, minced 
• half dozen or so Kalamata olives, pitted and chopped 
• can of diced tomatoes (opened) 
• a couple of chunks of pancetta, mostly the butt end 
• a couple of slices of bacon

I chopped the pancetta into several largish chunks and put them in a large pan with some olive oil and began rendering the meat. I wanted from the pancetta was the fat and flavor, not what little pork was actually in the pieces. After five or six minutes, I added the pieces of bacon. Let all of it cook. Again, what I wanted was the fat/flavor.

When sufficiently seared and rendered, I removed the meat and to that lovely pork fat, added a bit of olive oil (unlike the truly obnoxious Rachael, I use "non-virgin" olive oil when cooking. Cheaper and more flavorful).

Then I sauteed the mushrooms. I have a small pan (only ten inches in diameter), so I cooked them in two batches. Added the bok choy, tossed it around on high heat for several minutes to flavor and sear the bok.

Put the lid on the pan and cooked all of it for about five minutes (to reduce the bok to a manageable size).

Then I added the tomatoes, olives, and garlic, plus salt and pepper. Put the lid back on and cooked it on low for twenty or so minutes

. Let it sit. Put the pasta water on. While we had a drink, I added the pasta to the water (I used fussilli.) (*1)

Removed the lid from the bok-and-mushrooms and turned up the heat a bit. (I wanted to reduce the sauce.)

While that was happening, I looked at the pancetta and realized there was a bit of meat to be had. So I sliced it very thin. Paper thin. While the pasta cooked, I put the pancetta into the sauce and let it all meld.

When the pasta was ready, I added it and some of the pasta water to the sauce, and tossed and cooked all of it over medium heat.

Poured the wine. And we ate. Problem of perishables-about-to-go-bad solved.

__________________

*1: Do yourself a favor: eat good pasta. That Barilla shit is, well, shit. I buy Rustichella. Expensive? Yes. Worth it? Hell, yes!

A Historian At Work: Using Facts to Build "Stories," Part Three

Part One --- Part Two--- Part Three --- Part Four --- Part Five

But how do I know which sources are reliable, and which aren’t? Most of the time, I assess the primary sources myself: I hold them in my hand, I read them, I vouch for them (my accurate reading of them).

But I don’t always rely on primary sources. Let’s look at another exerpt from that first scene:

Phillip finally arrived at the shop owned by A. J. Langworthy, metal worker and ironmonger. He presented himself to the proprietor and explained that he needed a boiler--a copper vat--for his family’s new brewing business. Would Langworthy fabricate it for them? The metalworker shook his head. No. “I [am] familiar with their construction,” he explained to Best, “. . . but I [dislike] very much to have the noisy things around, and [I do] not wish to do so.”

Here I had an eyewitness account to Best’s visit to Langworthy’s shop: Langworthy himself. But how do I know what Langworthy said to Best (the part in the quotation marks)?

Many years after the event, Langworthy himself recounted the episode. I found his account in a history of Pabst Brewing company written by historian Thomas Cochran. I don’t have Cochran’s book in front of me (and, maddening, I can’t find a digital copy), so I can’t check the source he used.

If I remember correctly, Langworthy was interviewed for a newspaper story sometime around 1890. For whatever reason, I didn’t read that newspaper report myself (could be that I was not able to find a copy). So I quoted from Cochran’s work, citing his book as my source.

I was comfortable doing that. I was familiar with Cochran’s career and his other work. I also verified for myself many of the sources he used. I knew he was a solid historian and that I could trust his work.(*1) S

o, although I did not have access to Cochran’s primary source (and I wish I could remember now what it was), I trusted Cochran’s ability to use his sources and his accuracy. I trusted, in other words, that Cochran’s secondary account (his history of Pabst Brewing Company) was itself a valid report on the primary source (Langworthy’s account of the encounter with Phillip Best.)

Yes, Langworthy was by then an old man. But he’d likely told the story many times, if only because Best himself went on to become an important and well-known man. I decided to trust his -- and Cochran’s -- recollection of the encounter.

That’s a big part of what historians do: we weigh the evidence and either accept or reject it, based on everything we know. Next time: A case where I rejected someone else’s sources and account.

_______________________

*1: Cochran had a long and respected career as an economic historian. Indeed, he was and is regarded as one of the 20th century's most important scholars in that field. He wrote his history of Pabst Brewing with the blessings, and cooperation of, the sons of Frederick Pabst, Gustav and Fred, Jr. He had access to hundreds of documents that have since been lost or destroyed. As you might imagine, I was, and am, grateful for Cochran's careful and thorough work as a historian.