Countering the Dickensian stereotypes, Orphanages Reconsidered portrays how three private orphanages in Baltimore responded to the need of poor, single parents for boarding schools for their children. These innovative institutions also served as pivotal community forces, rebuilding families by providing vocational training, keeping siblings together, and encouraging orphans to maintain close ties with relatives.Fastidious research shows how the institutions-Jewish, non-denominational Protestant, and Catholic-differed in their ethnic and religious priorities, their financial support, their staffing, and their relations with the community. Nurith Zmora embellishes her portraits with institutional records, letters from the children, and published autobiographies. Author note: Nurith Zmora is Assistant Professor of History at the University of Delaware.

Exploring the only option for a growing army of children who cannot be placed for adoption or fostering, this text demonstrates from a large-scale survey of orphan alumni that they outpace the general population in most areas of life.

Although welfare reform is currently the government's top priority, most discussions about the public's responsibility to the poor neglect an informed historical perspective. This important book provides a crucial examination of past attempts, both in this country and abroad, to balance the efforts of private charity and public welfare. The prominent historians in this collection demonstrate how solutions to poverty are functions of culture, religion, and politics, and how social provisions for the poor have evolved across the centuries.

Children and youth occupy important social and political roles, even as they sleep in cribs or hang out on street corners. Conceptualized as either harbingers or saboteurs of a bright, secure tomorrow, they have motivated many adult-driven schemes to effect a positive future. But have all children benefited from these programs and initiatives? Lost Kids examines adults' misgivings about, and the inadequate care of, vulnerable children. From explorations of interracial adoption and the treatment of children with disabilities to discussions of the cultural construction of the hopeless child, this multifaceted collection rejects the essentialism of the "priceless child" or "lost youth" � simplistic categories that continue to shape the treatment of those who deviate from the so-called norm.

The lives of six African children, ages nine to sixteen, were forever altered by the revolt aboard the Cuban schooner La Amistad in 1839. Like their adult companions, all were captured in Africa and illegally sold as slaves. In this fascinating revisionist history, Benjamin N. Lawrance reconstructs six entwined stories and brings them to the forefront of the Amistad conflict. Through eyewitness testimonies, court records, and the children’s own letters, Lawrance recounts how their lives were inextricably interwoven by the historic drama, and casts new light on illegal nineteenth-century transatlantic slave smuggling.

Adoption has been a politically charged subject since the Progressive Era, when it first became an established part of child welfare reform. In A Home for Every Child, Patricia Susan Hart looks at how, when, and why modern adoption practices became a part of child welfare policy. The Washington Children�s Home Society (now the Children�s Home Society of Washington) was founded in 1896 to place children into adoptive and foster homes as a means of dealing with child abuse, neglect, and homelessness. Hart reveals why birth parents relinquished their children to the Society, how adoptive parents embraced these vulnerable family members, and how the children adjusted to their new homes among strangers. Debates about nature versus nurture, fears about immigration, and anxieties about race and class informed child welfare policy during the Progressive Era. Hart sheds new light on that period of time and the social, cultural, and political factors that affected adopted children, their parents, and administrators of pioneering institutions like the Washington Children�s Home Society.

As Timothy Hacsi shows, most children in nineteenth-century orphan asylums were "half-orphans," children with one living parent who was unable to provide for them. The asylums spread widely and endured because different groups - churches, ethnic communities, charitable organizations, fraternal societies, and local and state governments - could adapt them to their own purposes. In the 1890s, critics began to argue that asylums were overcrowded and impersonal. By 1909, advocates called for aid to destitute mothers, and argued that asylums should be a last resort, for short-term care only. Yet orphanages continued to care for most dependent children until the Depression strained asylum budgets and federally funded home care became more widely available. Yet some, Catholic asylums in particular, cared for poor children into the 1950s and 1960s.

"In Imagined Orphans, Lydia Murdoch focuses on the discrepancy between the representation and the reality of children's experiences within welfare institutions - a discrepancy that she argues stems from conflicts over middle- and working-class notions of citizenship that arose in the 1870s and persisted until the First World War. Reformers' efforts to depict poor children as either orphaned or endangered by abusive or "no-good" parents fed upon the poor's increasing exclusion from the Victorian social body. Reformers used the public's growing distrust and pitiless attitude toward poor adults to increase charity and state aid to the children. With a critical eye to social issues of the period, Murdoch urges readers to reconsider the complex situations of families living in poverty."--BOOK JACKET.

Longtime Presbyterian layperson, Dr. Kent S. Miller, emeritus professor of psychology at the Florida State University, Tallahassee, who had spent much of his professional life focused on mental disability law and the relations between the mental health and the criminal justice systems, decided to volunteer for a couple years in the Department of Children and Families in Florida to try to understand why they were getting such bad press. This book is a result of this time spent with the Florida DCF and is an analysis of the current crisis in the child welfare scene based on the author's involvement with a program that has been racked with the scandals of missing and murdered children. If as Christians we are to care for the little ones and our neighbors, then Dr. Milller posits that we must address this concern immediately for we are sabotaging our nation's future by abandoning our at-risk children--to say nothing of incurring the wrath of our Lord who demonstrated a preferential option for children--as well as for the poor.

The Progressive Era, a few brief decades around the turn of the last century, still burns in American memory for its outsized personalities: Theodore Roosevelt, whose energy glinted through his pince-nez; Carry Nation, who smashed saloons with her axe and helped stop an entire nation from drinking; women suffragists, who marched in the streets until they finally achieved the vote; Andrew Carnegie and the super-rich, who spent unheard-of sums of money and became the wealthiest class of Americans since the Revolution. Yet the full story of those decades is far more than the sum of its characters. In Michael McGerr's A Fierce Discontent America's great political upheaval is brilliantly explored as the root cause of our modern political malaise. The Progressive Era witnessed the nation's most convulsive upheaval, a time of radicalism far beyond the Revolution or anything since. In response to the birth of modern America, with its first large-scale businesses, newly dominant cities, and an explosion of wealth, one small group of middle-class Americans seized control of the nation and attempted to remake society from bottom to top. Everything was open to question -- family life, sex roles, race relations, morals, leisure pursuits, and politics. For a time, it seemed as if the middle-class utopians would cause a revolution. They accomplished an astonishing range of triumphs. From the 1890s to the 1910s, as American soldiers fought a war to make the world safe for democracy, reformers managed to outlaw alcohol, close down vice districts, win the right to vote for women, launch the income tax, take over the railroads, and raise feverish hopes of making new men and women for a new century. Yet the progressive movement collapsed even more spectacularly as the war came to an end amid race riots, strikes, high inflation, and a frenzied Red scare. It is an astonishing and moving story. McGerr argues convincingly that the expectations raised by the progressives' utopian hopes have nagged at us ever since. Our current, less-than-epic politics must inevitably disappoint a nation that once thought in epic terms. The New Deal, World War II, the Cold War, the Great Society, and now the war on terrorism have each entailed ambitious plans for America; and each has had dramatic impacts on policy and society. But the failure of the progressive movement set boundaries around the aspirations of all of these efforts. None of them was as ambitious, as openly determined to transform people and create utopia, as the progressive movement. We have been forced to think modestly ever since that age of bold reform. For all of us, right, center, and left, the age of "fierce discontent" is long over.