Littérature scientifique sur le sujet « Brooklyn Sabbath School Union »

Schoolteacher Maritcha Lyons was among the pioneering African American women who, in 1892, built one of the first women’s rights and racial justice organizations in the United States, the Woman’s Loyal Union of New York and Brooklyn (WLU). The WLU is recognized for its antilynching work in alliance with Ida B. Wells, and as an organizational springboard to the National Association of Colored Women. This essay examines struggles on “the color line” by Lyons, other WLU members, and women educators, through their community’s engagement in 1880s and 1890s Brooklyn and New York contention over school integration, and a 1903 debate on the founding of the Brooklyn Colored Young Women’s Christian Association. These women’s and their community’s battles against segregation and for separate institutions reveal lesser known aspects of WLU women’s activism, and the complexities of urban racism and Black resistance in the “Progressive Era” that witnessed Reconstruction’s dismantling, lynching, and “Jim Crow.”

Bernard of Clairvaux, ordering the young Aelred to write a treatise on charity, recognized that he was no ordinary theologian. The work of De speculo caritatis confirmed this belief and demonstrated theological competencies of the Abbot of Rievaulx which placed him among the constructors of the Cistercian school of charity. His insightful analyses attest to his in-depth familiarity with the progress of God’s love penetrating the human heart. It certainly goes beyond the knowledge derived from the Augustinian theology, propagated in the monasteries at that time, traces of which are visible throughout his work. It is also the effect of his formative training with the novice monks during his years of being the Novice Master. Possibly, it is also influenced by his very own experience of God, reaching the levels of mystical closeness to God. All these components, void of the structure of the work subjected to the purpose outlined by St. Bernard, yielded quite a coherent doctrine on charity, from which logically follow mystical implications, i.e. the experience of God Himself. There is a summary and a few conclusions from these contemplations. 1. Alread does not explicitly talk about the human condition of viatoris much emphasized by contemporary theology, but he understands the man’s feeling of being lost without God and it is in Him that the Abbot sees completeness of human existence. Following the Augustinian conviction, he implies that nothing and nobody can give the man absolute happiness, except for God; this is why he will not cease seeking in his heart, his deepest actions of his spiritual powers, until he rests in God’s essence, truth and goodness. This is what the Abbot calls the eternal sabbath of God, which by itself is the internal life of the Holy Trinity, yet on the outside, it appears as the purpose of perfection for all creation. The man, naturally, has this divine sabbath etched deeply in his heart, since this is the disposition he received from his Creator, being made of His image (having spiritual faculties of God) and likeness (operations of these faculties drawing to God). 2. Love is the rule according to which the world exists and operates, and the man has an important role to play in it, due to his memory, conscience and freedom, whose operations liken him to God. Thanks to them, he can not only decipher the loving intentions of the Creator, but respond to them in a loving collaboration, which leads him to a happy union with God. This collaboration could not have been shattered even by the sin, redeemed through Christ’s blood, which became the beginning of a new loving proposition made by God and now available in the sacrament of faith and practice of caritas. Certainly, on the part of the man, this collaboration is now more difficult, since the sin weakened his spiritual powers, which in their forgetfulness, error and foolishness lean toward the objects of this world through physical desire. Human love, willing to return to its original form of collaboration with God, must now be ascetic in its character, expressed as mortifications, denials and sacrifices. Aelred calls it, „circumcision of the inner and the outer man”. 3. The circumcision stands for the internal work that the man must do to root the vices out of his heart and install virtues in their place. It is a slow process of spiritual comeback to God, which lasts throughout the entire life of a man and culminates in the eternal sabbath of God. At the same time, it is the time of receiving graceful love, continually supported and animated by God. It is a process of spiritual internalization, i.e. further and further departure from the exterior and physical objects so as to concentrate more and more on the internal and spiritual object of God’s presence in the deepest layers of the human heart, where the full union with God takes place. This union begins with the sacrament of faith received at baptism. Aelred only briefly mentions the mystery of God inhabiting (taking residence in) the human soul, which takes part with God’s grace poured out by the Holy Spirit, but he concentrates more on the idea of the sabbath, the rest, which makes possible participation in the life of God. 4. Aelred and the whole Cistercian school knew that the process of internalizing proceeds according to human nature; this is why he first mentions the basic grace of the humanity of Jesus Christ. The idea was to provide the man, through Jesus Christ, with physical and pious stimuli to make him fall in love with God’s charity and engage his feelings and senses so as to free him of his physical desires and direct his will toward the spiritual love. It is done through the practice of meditating the humanity, contemplating the Scriptures, especially the events from the life of Jesus Christ and his followers. Later on, special types of grace start to appear: compunction (compunctio), or the so called, God’s visits (spiritalis uisitationes), which depending on the stage of spiritual advancement in a man are designed to either awaken those who are asleep, i.e. numb, or console those who are saddened on their way, and lastly, to reward and sustain those who yearn for heavenly goods. Actually, Aelred distinguishes three moments within the long process of God’s intervention into the human soul, reflected in three stages of spiritual life: fear of the beginners, purification of the advanced and love of the accomplished. 5. This is where we can see most of the mystical repercussions of his teaching on charity. The initial visits make room for the next ones, and once their mission of inciting to greater love is complete they face the various trials and undertake, in the name of God, a number of mortifications, followed by practice of virtues. These, in turn, lead to even greater love. For example, the Abbot describes pouring of God’s grace into the human soul through basting in the glory and wisdom of God, so that the soul is lost in love and desires to become united with God in eternity. These are but special graces of God affecting human feelings; however they are not the unity with God, although they appear to be its powerful manifestations. It is only through engaging the will, which combines the functions of the other spiritual powers, that the unity with God’s will is accomplished, signs of that is the willingness of the soul to undertake mortifications and sacrifices for God. Then, it is not a surprise that „the yoke of Christ is sweet and the burden is light”. 6. The union of soul with God is truly about aligning the will (love) of the man with will (love) of God Himself, i.e. being directed by His Spirit and allowing to be transformed by His Divine caritas. It is possible, because caritas, like any human love, weaves into the human psychological structure, marking three distinct stages: choice (predilection), growth (action and desire) and fruits (attaining the object). Within the right choice Aelred distinguishes three types of love: of God, neighbor and oneself, although all of them lead to God, as their source. The Abbot pictured this in the idea of three sabbaths, complementing at the same time the concept of the eternal sabbath. The decisive moment of love is its movement, its growth: actions and desires, which make the man constantly prone and open to God, to unite with Him (rest in Him) finally in the eternal sabbath. 7. Alread makes a longer stop here to discuss the role of affections (affectus, passiones), which influence the actions of will. Besides reason, they are the cause of love’s movement. Their role is indispensable, because they lend inciting sweetness to a mystical encounter with God and stimulate to greater love. By themselves, however, they can be deceitful, when they are not subjected to the will. This is why he proposes to move not through the affections, but according to them, so that they are guided by the will. This is especially true in the case of love of neighbor. The general rule then is that neighbors would rejoice together in God and that each one would rejoice God in each other. Against this background, the Abbot promotes the spiritual affects received from God, rational ones encouraging developing virtues, official ones inducing to love a person, natural ones telling to love one’s friends and foes. He also permits physical affects, attracting with their outer appearance, as long as they do not lead to a vice. 8. The growing love finds its outlet in the fruits, which constitute the third and last component of the internal structure of love operating within the man. It is about rejoicing in the object attained, resting for spiritual powers on an object, which one desired in one’s love. Aelred considers temporary and eternal fruits. The latter refers to the ultimate union with God in heaven, after death, which is the rest in the eternal sabbath of God. We can taste it here on earth to ease human frailty, through contemplation and the sweetness of special graces of God. The former, on the other hand, appreciates the role of others (parents, teachers, instructors, friends) in acquiring the true wisdom of life; we use all of them to sweeten our lives and delight our spirit. Particularly helpful here is a friend, if there is one, who through spiritual friendship can share in our joys and sorrows, as well as the most intimate desires of the soul, so that they merge into unity in spirit. Two years ago, during the Cistercian Studies Conference at the 43rd International Medieval Studies Congress in Kalamazoo, Mi, a discussion was started as to the mystical competencies of Aelred of Rievaulx and his possible mystical predispositions. Our contemplations can cast some more light on this issue.

IntroductionCoffee, as a stimulant, and the spaces in which it is has been consumed, have long played a vital role in fostering communication, creativity, and sociality. This article explores the interrelationship of café space, communication, creativity, and materialism. In developing these themes, this article is structured in two parts. The first looks back to the coffee houses of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries to give a historical context to the contemporary role of the café as a key site of creativity through its facilitation of social interaction, communication and information exchange. The second explores the continuation of the link between cafés, communication and creativity, through an instance from the mid-twentieth century where this process becomes individualised and is tied more intrinsically to the material surroundings of the café itself. From this, we argue that in order to understand the connection between café space and creativity, it is valuable to consider the rich polymorphic material and aesthetic composition of cafés. The Social Life of Coffee: London’s Coffee Houses While the social consumption of coffee has a long history, here we restrict our focus to a discussion of the London coffee houses of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. It was during the seventeenth century that the vogue of these coffee houses reached its zenith when they operated as a vibrant site of mercantile activity, as well as cultural and political exchange (Cowan; Lillywhite; Ellis). Many of these coffee houses were situated close to the places where politicians, merchants, and other significant people congregated and did business, near government buildings such as Parliament, as well as courts, ports and other travel route hubs (Lillywhite 17). A great deal of information was shared within these spaces and, as a result, the coffee house became a key venue for communication, especially the reading and distribution of print and scribal publications (Cowan 85). At this time, “no coffee house worth its name” would be without a ready selection of newspapers for its patrons (Cowan 173). By working to twenty-four hour diurnal cycles and heightening the sense of repetition and regularity, coffee houses also played a crucial role in routinising news as a form of daily consumption alongside other forms of habitual consumption (including that of coffee drinking). In Cowan’s words, “restoration coffee houses soon became known as places ‘dasht with diurnals and books of news’” (172). Among these was the short-lived but nonetheless infamous social gossip publication, The Tatler (1709-10), which was strongly associated with the London coffee houses and, despite its short publication life, offers great insight into the social life and scandals of the time. The coffee house became, in short, “the primary social space in which ‘news’ was both produced and consumed” (Cowan 172). The proprietors of coffee houses were quick to exploit this situation by dealing in “news mongering” and developing their own news publications to supplement their incomes (172). They sometimes printed news, commentary and gossip that other publishers were not willing to print. However, as their reputation as news providers grew, so did the pressure on coffee houses to meet the high cost of continually acquiring or producing journals (Cowan 173; Ellis 185-206). In addition to the provision of news, coffee houses were vital sites for other forms of communication. For example, coffee houses were key venues where “one might deposit and receive one’s mail” (Cowan 175), and the Penny Post used coffeehouses as vital pick-up and delivery centres (Lillywhite 17). As Cowan explains, “Many correspondents [including Jonathan Swift] used a coffeehouse as a convenient place to write their letters as well as to send them” (176). This service was apparently provided gratis for regular patrons, but coffee house owners were less happy to provide this for their more infrequent customers (Cowan 176). London’s coffee houses functioned, in short, as notable sites of sociality that bundled together drinking coffee with news provision and postal and other services to attract customers (Cowan; Ellis). Key to the success of the London coffee house of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries was the figure of the virtuoso habitué (Cowan 105)—an urbane individual of the middle or upper classes who was skilled in social intercourse, skills that were honed through participation in the highly ritualised and refined forms of interpersonal communication, such as visiting the stately homes of that time. In contrast to such private visits, the coffee house provided a less formalised and more spontaneous space of sociality, but where established social skills were distinctly advantageous. A striking example of the figure of the virtuoso habitué is the philosopher, architect and scientist Robert Hooke (1635-1703). Hooke, by all accounts, used the opportunities provided by his regular visits to coffee houses “to draw on the knowledge of a wide variety of individuals, from servants and skilled laborers to aristocrats, as well as to share and display novel scientific instruments” (Cowan 105) in order to explore and develop his virtuoso interests. The coffee house also served Hooke as a place to debate philosophy with cliques of “like-minded virtuosi” and thus formed the “premier locale” through which he could “fulfil his own view of himself as a virtuoso, as a man of business, [and] as a man at the centre of intellectual life in the city” (Cowan 105-06). For Hooke, the coffee house was a space for serious work, and he was known to complain when “little philosophical work” was accomplished (105-06). Sociality operates in this example as a form of creative performance, demonstrating individual skill, and is tied to other forms of creative output. Patronage of a coffee house involved hearing and passing on gossip as news, but also entailed skill in philosophical debate and other intellectual pursuits. It should also be noted that the complex role of the coffee house as a locus of communication, sociality, and creativity was repeated elsewhere. During the 1600s in Egypt (and elsewhere in the Middle East), for example, coffee houses served as sites of intensive literary activity as well as the locations for discussions of art, sciences and literature, not to mention also of gambling and drug use (Hattox 101). While the popularity of coffee houses had declined in London by the 1800s, café culture was flowering elsewhere in mainland Europe. In the late 1870s in Paris, Edgar Degas and Edward Manet documented the rich café life of the city in their drawings and paintings (Ellis 216). Meanwhile, in Vienna, “the kaffeehaus offered another evocative model of urban and artistic modernity” (Ellis 217; see also Bollerey 44-81). Serving wine and dinners as well as coffee and pastries, the kaffeehaus was, like cafés elsewhere in Europe, a mecca for writers, artists and intellectuals. The Café Royal in London survived into the twentieth century, mainly through the patronage of European expatriates and local intellectuals such as Wyndham Lewis, Ezra Pound, T. S. Elliot, and Henri Bergson (Ellis 220). This pattern of patronage within specific and more isolated cafés was repeated in famous gatherings of literary identities elsewhere in Europe throughout the twentieth century. From this historical perspective, a picture emerges of how the social functions of the coffee house and its successors, the espresso bar and modern café, have shifted over the course of their histories (Bollerey 44-81). In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the coffee house was an important location for vibrant social interaction and the consumption and distribution of various forms of communication such as gossip, news, and letters. However, in the years of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the café was more commonly a site for more restricted social interaction between discrete groups. Studies of cafés and creativity during this era focus on cafés as “factories of literature, inciters to art, and breeding places for new ideas” (Fitch, The Grand 18). Central in these accounts are bohemian artists, their associated social circles, and their preferred cafés de bohème (for detailed discussion, see Wilson; Fitch, Paris Café; Brooker; Grafe and Bollerey 4-41). As much of this literature on café culture details, by the early twentieth century, cafés emerge as places that enable individuals to carve out a space for sociality and creativity which was not possible elsewhere in the modern metropolis. Writing on the modern metropolis, Simmel suggests that the concentration of people and things in cities “stimulate[s] the nervous system of the individual” to such an extent that it prompts a kind of self-preservation that he terms a “blasé attitude” (415). This is a form of “reserve”, he writes, which “grants to the individual a [certain] kind and an amount of personal freedom” that was hitherto unknown (416). Cafés arguably form a key site in feeding this dynamic insofar as they facilitate self-protectionism—Fitch’s “pool of privacy” (The Grand 22)—and, at the same time, produce a sense of individual freedom in Simmel’s sense of the term. That is to say, from the early-to-mid twentieth century, cafés have become complex settings in terms of the relationships they enable or constrain between living in public, privacy, intimacy, and cultural practice. (See Haine for a detailed discussion of how this plays out in relation to working class engagement with Paris cafés, and Wilson as well as White on other cultural contexts, such as Japan.) Threaded throughout this history is a clear celebration of the individual artist as a kind of virtuoso habitué of the contemporary café. Café Jama Michalika The following historical moment, drawn from a powerful point in the mid-twentieth century, illustrates this last stage in the evolution of the relationship between café space, communication, and creativity. This particular historical moment concerns the renowned Polish composer and conductor Krzysztof Penderecki, who is most well-known for his avant-garde piece Threnody to the Victims of Hiroshima (1960), his Polymorphia (1961), and St Luke Passion (1963-66), all of which entailed new compositional and notation techniques. Poland, along with other European countries devastated by the Second World War, underwent significant rebuilding after the war, also investing heavily in the arts, musical education, new concert halls, and conservatoria (Monastra). In the immediate post-war period, Poland and Polish culture was under the strong ideological influence exerted by the Soviet Union. However, as Thomas notes, within a year of Stalin’s death in 1953, “there were flickering signs of moderation in Polish culture” (83). With respect to musical creativity, a key turning point was the Warsaw Autumn Music Festival of 1956. “The driving force” behind the first festival (which was to become an annual event), was Polish “composers’ overwhelming sense of cultural isolation and their wish to break the provincial nature of Polish music” at that time (Thomas 85). Penderecki was one of a younger generation of composers who participated in, and benefited from, these early festivals, making his first appearance in 1959 with his composition Strophes, and successive appearances with Dimensions of Time and Silence in 1960, and Threnody in 1961 (Thomas 90). Penderecki married in the 1950s and had a child in 1955. This, in combination with the fact that his wife was a pianist and needed to practice daily, restricted Penderecki’s ability to work in their small Krakow apartment. Nor could he find space at the music school which was free from the intrusion of the sound of other instruments. Instead, he frequented the café Jama Michalika off the central square of Krakow, where he worked most days between nine in the morning and noon, when he would leave as a pianist began to play. Penderecki states that because of the small space of the café table, he had to “invent [a] special kind of notation which allowed me to write the piece which was for 52 instruments, like Threnody, on one small piece of paper” (Krzysztof Penderecki, 2000). In this, Penderecki created a completely new set of notation symbols, which assisted him in graphically representing tone clustering (Robinson 6) while, in his score for Polymorphia, he implemented “novel graphic notation, comparable with medical temperature charts, or oscillograms” (Schwinger 29) to represent in the most compact way possible the dense layering of sounds and vocal elements that is developed in this particular piece. This historical account is valuable because it contributes to discussions on individual creativity that both depends on, and occurs within, the material space of the café. This relationship is explored in Walter Benjamin’s essay “Polyclinic”, where he develops an extended analogy between the writer and the café and the surgeon and his instruments. As Cohen summarises, “Benjamin constructs the field of writerly operation both in medical terms and as a space dear to Parisian intellectuals, as an operating table that is also the marble-topped table of a café” (179). At this time, the space of the café itself thus becomes a vital site for individual cultural production, putting the artist in touch with the social life of the city, as many accounts of writers and artists in the cafés of Paris, Prague, Vienna, and elsewhere in Europe attest. “The attraction of the café for the writer”, Fitch argues, “is that seeming tension between the intimate circle of privacy in a comfortable room, on the one hand, and the flow of (perhaps usable) information all around on the other” (The Grand 11). Penderecki talks about searching for a sound while composing in café Jama Michalika and, hearing the noise of a passing tram, subsequently incorporated it into his famous composition, Threnody (Krzysztof Penderecki, 2000). There is an indirect connection here with the attractions of the seventeenth century coffee houses in London, where news writers drew much of their gossip and news from the talk within the coffee houses. However, the shift is to a more isolated, individualistic habitué. Nonetheless, the aesthetic composition of the café space remains essential to the creative productivity described by Penderecki. A concept that can be used to describe this method of composition is contained within one of Penderecki’s best-known pieces, Polymorphia (1961). The term “polymorphia” refers not to the form of the music itself (which is actually quite conventionally structured) but rather to the multiple blending of sounds. Schwinger defines polymorphia as “many formedness […] which applies not […] to the form of the piece, but to the broadly deployed scale of sound, [the] exchange and simultaneous penetration of sound and noise, the contrast and interflow of soft and hard sounds” (131). This description also reflects the rich material context of the café space as Penderecki describes its role in shaping (both enabling and constraining) his creative output. Creativity, Technology, Materialism The materiality of the café—including the table itself for Penderecki—is crucial in understanding the relationship between the forms of creative output and the material conditions of the spaces that enable them. In Penderecki’s case, to understand the origins of the score and even his innovative forms of musical notation as artefacts of communication, we need to understand the material conditions under which they were created. As a fixture of twentieth and twenty-first century urban environments, the café mediates the private within the public in a way that offers the contemporary virtuoso habitué a rich, polymorphic sensory experience. In a discussion of the indivisibility of sensation and its resistance to language, writer Anna Gibbs describes these rich experiential qualities: sitting by the window in a café watching the busy streetscape with the warmth of the morning sun on my back, I smell the delicious aroma of coffee and simultaneously feel its warmth in my mouth, taste it, and can tell the choice of bean as I listen idly to the chatter in the café around me and all these things blend into my experience of “being in the café” (201). Gibbs’s point is that the world of the café is highly synaesthetic and infused with sensual interconnections. The din of the café with its white noise of conversation and overlaying sounds of often carefully chosen music illustrates the extension of taste beyond the flavour of the coffee on the palate. In this way, the café space provides the infrastructure for a type of creative output that, in Gibbs’s case, facilitates her explanation of expression and affect. The individualised virtuoso habitué, as characterised by Penderecki’s work within café Jama Michalika, simply describes one (celebrated) form of the material conditions of communication and creativity. An essential factor in creative cultural output is contained in the ways in which material conditions such as these come to be organised. As Elizabeth Grosz expresses it: Art is the regulation and organisation of its materials—paint, canvas, concrete, steel, marble, words, sounds, bodily movements, indeed any materials—according to self-imposed constraints, the creation of forms through which these materials come to generate and intensify sensation and thus directly impact living bodies, organs, nervous systems (4). Materialist and medium-oriented theories of media and communication have emphasised the impact of physical constraints and enablers on the forms produced. McLuhan, for example, famously argued that the typewriter brought writing, speech, and publication into closer association, one effect of which was the tighter regulation of spelling and grammar, a pressure toward precision and uniformity that saw a jump in the sales of dictionaries (279). In the poetry of E. E. Cummings, McLuhan sees the typewriter as enabling a patterned layout of text that functions as “a musical score for choral speech” (278). In the same way, the café in Penderecki’s recollections both constrains his ability to compose freely (a creative activity that normally requires ample flat surface), but also facilitates the invention of a new language for composition, one able to accommodate the small space of the café table. Recent studies that have sought to materialise language and communication point to its physicality and the embodied forms through which communication occurs. As Packer and Crofts Wiley explain, “infrastructure, space, technology, and the body become the focus, a move that situates communication and culture within a physical, corporeal landscape” (3). The confined and often crowded space of the café and its individual tables shape the form of productive output in Penderecki’s case. Targeting these material constraints and enablers in her discussion of art, creativity and territoriality, Grosz describes the “architectural force of framing” as liberating “the qualities of objects or events that come to constitute the substance, the matter, of the art-work” (11). More broadly, the design features of the café, the form and layout of the tables and the space made available for individual habitation, the din of the social encounters, and even the stimulating influences on the body of the coffee served there, can be seen to act as enablers of communication and creativity. Conclusion The historical examples examined above indicate a material link between cafés and communication. They also suggest a relationship between materialism and creativity, as well as the roots of the romantic association—or mythos—of cafés as a key source of cultural life as they offer a “shared place of composition” and an “environment for creative work” (Fitch, The Grand 11). We have detailed one example pertaining to European coffee consumption, cafés and creativity. While we believe Penderecki’s case is valuable in terms of what it can tell us about forms of communication and creativity, clearly other cultural and historical contexts may reveal additional insights—as may be found in the cases of Middle Eastern cafés (Hattox) or the North American diner (Hurley), and in contemporary developments such as the café as a source of free WiFi and the commodification associated with global coffee chains. Penderecki’s example, we suggest, also sheds light on a longer history of creativity and cultural production that intersects with contemporary work practices in city spaces as well as conceptualisations of the individual’s place within complex urban spaces. References Benjamin, Walter. “Polyclinic” in “One-Way Street.” One-Way Street and Other Writings. Trans. Edmund Jephcott and Kingsley Shorter. London: Verso, 1998: 88-9. Bollerey, Franziska. “Setting the Stage for Modernity: The Cosmos of the Coffee House.” Cafés and Bars: The Architecture of Public Display. Eds. Christoph Grafe and Franziska Bollerey. New York: Routledge, 2007. 44-81. Brooker, Peter. Bohemia in London: The Social Scene of Early Modernism. Houndmills, Hamps.: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007. Cohen, Margaret. Profane Illumination: Walter Benjamin and the Paris of Surrealist Revolution. Berkeley: U of California P, 1995. Cowan, Brian. The Social Life of Coffee: The Emergence of the British Coffeehouse. New Haven: Yale UP, 2005. Ellis, Markman. The Coffee House: A Cultural History. London: Weidenfeld & Nicholson, 2004. Fitch, Noël Riley. Paris Café: The Sélect Crowd. Brooklyn: Soft Skull Press, 2007. -----. The Grand Literary Cafés of Europe. London: New Holland Publishers (UK), 2006. Gibbs, Anna. “After Affect: Sympathy, Synchrony, and Mimetic Communication.” The Affect Theory Reader. Eds. Melissa Gregg and Gregory J. Siegworth. Durham: Duke University Press, 2010. 186-205. Grafe, Christoph, and Franziska Bollerey. “Introduction: Cafés and Bars—Places for Sociability.” Cafés and Bars: The Architecture of Public Display. Eds. Christoph Grafe and Franziska Bollerey. New York: Routledge, 2007. 4-41. Grosz, Elizabeth. Chaos, Territory, Art: Deleuze and the Framing of the Earth. New York: Columbia UP, 2008. Haine, W. Scott. The World of the Paris Café. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP, 1996. Hattox, Ralph S. Coffee and Coffeehouses: The Origins of a Social Beverage in the Medieval Near East. Seattle: U of Washington P, 1985. Hurley, Andrew. Diners, Bowling Alleys and Trailer Parks: Chasing the American Dream in the Postwar Consumer Culture. New York: Basic Books, 2001. Krzysztof Penderecki. Dir. Andreas Missler-Morell. Spektrum TV production and Telewizja Polska S.A. Oddzial W Krakowie for RM Associates and ZDF in cooperation with ARTE, 2000. Lillywhite, Bryant. London Coffee Houses: A Reference Book of Coffee Houses of the Seventeenth, Eighteenth, and Nineteenth Centuries. London: George Allen & Unwin, 1963. McLuhan, Marshall. Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man. London: Abacus, 1974. Monastra, Peggy. “Krzysztof Penderecki’s Polymorphia and Fluorescence.” Moldenhauer Archives, [US] Library of Congress. 12 Jan. 2012 ‹http://memory.loc.gov/ammem/collections/moldenhauer/2428143.pdf› Packer, Jeremy, and Stephen B. Crofts Wiley. “Introduction: The Materiality of Communication.” Communication Matters: Materialist Approaches to Media, Mobility and Networks. New York, Routledge, 2012. 3-16. Robinson, R. Krzysztof Penderecki: A Guide to His Works. Princeton, NJ: Prestige Publications, 1983. Schwinger, Wolfram. Krzysztof Penderecki: His Life and Work. Encounters, Biography and Musical Commentary. London: Schott, 1979. Simmel, Georg. The Sociology of Georg Simmel. Ed. and trans. Kurt H. Wolff. Glencoe, IL: The Free P, 1960. Thomas, Adrian. Polish Music since Szymanowski. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2005. White, Merry I. Coffee Life in Japan. Berkeley: U of California P, 2012. Wilson, Elizabeth. “The Bohemianization of Mass Culture.” International Journal of Cultural Studies 2.1 (1999): 11-32.

George Frederick Bristow (1825-1898), a pillar of the nineteenth-century New York musical community, was educated, lived, and worked in New York for his entire life. A skilled performer (piano, organ, violin, conducting), he was a decades-long member of the Philharmonic Societies of New York and Brooklyn, and conducted the Harmonic Society, Mendelssohn Union, numerous church choirs, and pickup choral and instrumental ensembles organized for special events. He taught music privately and in the public school system. Bristow’s professional activities were those of a highly skilled urban journeyman musician--typical of many who worked in America during the period. Bristow was a steadfast and outspoken supporter of American composers throughout his career. This started in 1854 with his participation--along with William Henry Fry and editor Richard Storrs Willis--in a months-long journalistic battle that centered on the Philharmonic Society’s lack of support for American composers, an activity that has dominated his historical reputation. But he was also a prolific composer: of five symphonies, two oratorios, an opera, many secular and sacred choral pieces, chamber music, songs, and works for piano and organ. As a quiet and self-effacing individual, Bristow was not a self-promoter. But many of his contemporaries regarded him as a skilled performer, a generous colleague, and the most important American classical composer during much of the mid-century period.

Abstract In 1969, My present, sister, and I moved from our row house apartment in the Jackson Heights section of Queens, New York, to a first-floor rental in a two-family house on Long Island. The reason was the racial desegregation of our neighborhood public schools. The civil rights movement, whose first stirrings had focused on southern school systems in the 1950s, had spread the country and was increasingly coming closer to home. This was apparent in the racial violence that now engulfed cities like Newark no less than Birmingham. Perhaps even more frightening than spectacular eruptions like the riots that followed the assassination of Martin Luther King were more lasting structural changes in everyday life. The previous year, a political struggle over school integration erupted in the Brooklyn neighborhoods of Ocean Hill–Brownsville, and in the ensuing arguments, which resulted in a state takeover of the schools, even former allies—the teachers’ union, black activists, Jewish residents—found themselves bitterly divided.

Abstract There were many aspects to the complex social phenomenon of the Second Great Awakening, a period of revivals that enlisted rural and urban Americans in the cause and practices of evangelical Protestantism during the opening decades of the nineteenth century. The cause was to convert a young nation of postrevolutionary Americans and immigrants in search of a new life. The practices ranged from camp meetings, domestic devotion, mission work, Sabbath worship, and the religious instruction of children to various social and moral reform agendas embraced by the country’s broad range of conservative and liberal Protestants. The significance of two interrelated strands concerns us here, whether the discussion refers to Methodists, Baptists, Congregationalists, or Adventists. On the one hand, the revival of evangelical Protestantism meant for its participants the return to the primitive truth of Christianity as experienced in the press and duress of camp-meeting conversion or congregational renewal. On the other hand, the success of the revival, its staying power, depended on subsequent application of the new vision of purpose through the convert’s involvement in such voluntary efforts as tract distribution and the formation of sabbath societies or through the consumption of tracts, the practice of temperance or abstinence, and the attendance of church or associational meetings. The benevolent work of the voluntary organizations such as the American Bible Society (ABS), the American Sunday School Union (ASSU), and the American Tract Society (ATS) provided the activity to which converted or rededicated Christians applied their commitment.

Abstract Then Smith’s song first proclaimed America a “sweet land of liberty” and 1 \i a “land of the noble free” at Boston’s Park Street Church on 4July 1831, ‘over two million Americans were in bondage. In fact, a majority of the nation’s residents, including Native Americans, slaves, and women, were denied the franchise and other legal rights. Then-president Andrew Jackson was a slaveholder who wagered his human property on horse races and championed the removal of all Native Americans from lands east of the Mississippi. In 1831, Ohio disqualified African Americans from jury duty, Indiana required all African Americans entering the state to post bond, Mississippi made it illegal for free African Americans to remain in the state, and the white citizens of New Haven, Connecticut, voted seven hundred to four to prevent the construction of a college for African Americans.1Thus, despite Smith’s nationalist and evangelical fervor, not all (or even most) Americans could embrace ‘‘America”‘s promises without raising serious questions about the state of the union. Even in Boston, where ‘‘America” premiered and Smith’s fellow reformers held positions of high privilege, public transportation, schools, lecture halls, housing, churches, and public entertainment were divided along the color line. When an African American came to own a pew on the “whites only” lower floor of Boston’s Park Street Church one year before ‘‘America” was first performed there, he was prevented from occupying it. The Liberator reported that at the Sabbath school singers’ premiere performance of ‘‘America,” “the colored boys were permitted to occupy pews one-fourth the way up the side aisle;’ while “the colored girls took their seats by the door, as usual.”2 For many Americans, then, singing of a “sweet land of liberty” meant denying the reality of their own experience.