This book chronicles a University of Alabama historian’s efforts to engage public history over the course of a decade, highlighting personal and educational experiences inside and outside of the classroom. Each chapter reveals how Sharony Green, her students, and collaborators used various public places and spaces in Alabama, including the University of Alabama and Tuscaloosa, where she teaches, as “labs” to learn more about our shared past. Inspired by her familiar beginnings in a historic community in Miami, Florida, the author, a descendant of people from the American South and the Bahamas, unveils her encounters with the built environment, old documents and objects, motion pictures, music, and all kinds of historical actors. The book shares a variety of projects including exhibits and displays, images, videos, songs, and poetry, that serve as manifestations of her encounters with the places around her and her students. Together, these stories uncover an unexpected journey into public history, offering new ways to think about the field and humanities more generally. Teaching Public History Creatively in Alabama is an enlightening resource to both intentional and unintentional practitioners of public history, including scholars, students, and general readers interested in connecting with the past.

"This book chronicles a University of Alabama historian's efforts to engage public history over the course of a decade, highlighting personal and educational experiences inside and outside of the classroom. Teaching Public History Creatively in Alabama is an enlightening resource to both intentional and unintentional practitioners of public history, including scholars, students, and general readers interested in connecting with the past"--

"This book chronicles a University of Alabama historian's efforts to engage public history over the course of a decade, highlighting personal and educational experiences inside and outside of the classroom. Teaching Public History Creatively in Alabama is an enlightening resource to both intentional and unintentional practitioners of public history, including scholars, students, and general readers interested in connecting with the past"--

Through a collection of essays that reflect the complexity of the island’s historical past as it operates today, Public History in Ireland delivers a scholarly yet accessible introduction to contemporary topics and debates in Irish public history. Despite the reputation that Ireland, both north and south, has gained as a place of contestation, this is the first book-length study to tackle its diverse and often ‘difficult’ public histories. Public History in Ireland offers examples drawn not only from museums, heritage and collections, prime mediators of public historical interpretation, but also from the work of artists and academics. It considers the silences in Ireland’s history-telling, including those of the recent conflict in Northern Ireland and of the traumatic public discoveries and re-evaluations of the island’s institutions of social control. The book’s key message is that history is active, making itself felt in ongoing debates about heritage, identity, nationhood, post-conflict society and reparative justice. It shows that Irish public history is freighted and often fraught with jeopardy, but as such it is rich with insight that has relevance far beyond this island’s shores. This book is useful for students, scholars and practitioners working in the fields of public history and the history of Ireland.

Public in Public History presents international research on the role of the public in public history: the ways people perceive, respond to and influence history-related institutions, events, services and products that deal with the past. The book addresses theoretical reflections on the public, or multiple publics, and their role in public history, and empirical analyses of the publics’ active responses to and impact on existing forms of public history. Special attention is also paid to digital public history, which facilitates the double role of the public—as both recipient and creator of public history. With a multinational author team, the book is based on various national, but also international, experiences and academic traditions; each chapter goes beyond national cases to look transnationally. The narratives built around their cases deal with issues such as arranging a museum exhibition, managing a history-related website, analyzing readers’ comments or involving non-professional public as oral history researchers. With sections focusing on research, commemorations, museums and the digital world, this is the perfect collection for anyone interested in what the public means in public history.

This book focuses on various manifestations of history in public spaces: in the physical ones of various historical times and geographical places, as well as in the virtual world. It discusses how the spaces have been shaped and re-shaped, by whom and for what (not always laudable) purposes, and raises pragmatical and ethical questions for both research and practical activities in the field. By combining both micro and global perspectives, the universal role that history plays in spaces created by and for, as well as the factors determining its usages, is revealed. The authors are rooted in specific national contexts: Canadian or American, Ukrainian or Polish, British or Irish, German or Luxembourgish, Korean or Brazilian, and the case studies are varied including large cities and small towns, city centers, and godforsaken cemeteries, but the narratives built on these cases go beyond when they deal with issues such as decoding history and its meanings in public spaces, doing history in public spaces, and observing changes in manifestations of history in public spaces. This volume is an essential resource for anyone interested in the relationship between history and public space in a global perspective.

This volume presents various aspects of public history practices in Poland, alongside their historical development and theoretical reflections on public history. Despite a long tradition and variety of forms of public history, the very term "public history", or literally speaking "history in the public sphere", has been in use in Poland only since the 2010s. This edited collection contains chapters that focus on numerous practices and media forms in public history including historical memory, heritage tourism, historical re-enactments, memes and graphic novels, films, archives, archaeology and oral history. As such, the volume brings together the Polish experiences to wider international audiences and shares Polish controversies related to public history within the academic discourse, beyond media news and politically engaged commentaries. Furthermore, it sheds crucial light on the developments of collective memory, historical and political debates, the history of Poland and East-Central Europe, and the politics of post-World War Two and post-communist societies. Authored by a team of academic historians and practitioners from the field, Public History in Poland is the perfect resource for students from a variety of disciplines including Public History, Heritage, Museum Studies, Anthropology, and Archaeology.

Between 1890 and 1915, a predominately African American state convict crew built Clemson University on John C. Calhoun’s Fort Hill Plantation in upstate South Carolina. Calhoun’s plantation house still sits in the middle of campus. From the establishment of the plantation in 1825 through the integration of Clemson in 1963, African Americans have played a pivotal role in sustaining the land and the university. Yet their stories and contributions are largely omitted from Clemson’s public history. This book traces “Call My Name: African Americans in Early Clemson University History,” a Clemson English professor’s public history project that helped convince the university to reexamine and reconceptualize the institution’s complete and complex story from the origins of its land as Cherokee territory to its transformation into an increasingly diverse higher-education institution in the twenty-first century. Threading together scenes of communal history and conversation, student protests, white supremacist terrorism, and personal and institutional reckoning with Clemson’s past, this story helps us better understand the inextricable link between the history and legacies of slavery and the development of higher education institutions in America.

It is generally recognized that antebellum interracial relationships were "notorious" at the neighborhood level. But we have yet to fully uncover the complexities of such relationships, especially from freedwomen's and children's points of view. While it is known that Cincinnati had the largest per capita population of mixed race people outside the South during the antebellum period, historians have yet to explore how geography played a central role in this outcome. The Mississippi and Ohio Rivers made it possible for Southern white men to ferry women and children of color for whom they had some measure of concern to free soil with relative ease. Some of the women in question appear to have been "fancy girls," enslaved women sold for use as prostitutes or "mistresses." Green focuses on women who appear to have been the latter, recognizing the problems with the term "mistress," given its shifting meaning even during the antebellum period. Remember Me to Miss Louisa, among other things, moves the life of the fancy girl from New Orleans, where it is typically situated, to the Midwest. The manumission of these women and their children--and other enslaved women never sold under this brand--occurred as America's frontiers pushed westward, and urban life followed in their wake. Indeed, Green's research examines the tensions between the urban Midwest and the rising Cotton Kingdom. It does so by relying on surviving letters, among them those from an ex-slave mistress who sent her "love" to her former master. This relationship forms the crux of the first of three case studies. The other two concern a New Orleans young woman who was the mistress of an aging white man, and ten Alabama children who received from a white planter a $200,000 inheritance (worth roughly $5.1 million in today's currency). In each case, those freed people faced the challenges characteristic of black life in a largely hostile America. While the frequency with which Southern white men freed enslaved women and their children is now generally known, less is known about these men's financial and emotional investments in them. Before the Civil War, a white Southern man's pending marriage, aging body, or looming death often compelled him to free an African American woman and their children. And as difficult as it may be for the modern mind to comprehend, some kind of connection sometimes existed between these individuals. This study argues that such men--though they hardly stand excused for their ongoing claims to privilege--were hidden actors in freedwomen's and children's attempts to survive the rigors and challenges of life as African Americans in the years surrounding the Civil War. Green examines many facets of this phenomenon in the hope of revealing new insights about the era of slavery. Historians, students, and general readers of US history, African American studies, black urban history, and antebellum history will find much of interest in this fascinating study.

Opening the Doors is a wide-ranging account of the University of Alabama’s 1956 and 1963 desegregation attempts, as well as the little-known story of Tuscaloosa, Alabama’s, own civil rights movement. Whereas E. Culpepper Clark’s The Schoolhouse Door remains the standard history of the University of Alabama’s desegregation, in Opening the Doors B. J. Hollars focuses on Tuscaloosa’s purposeful divide between “town” and “gown,” providing a new contextual framework for this landmark period in civil rights history. The image of George Wallace’s stand in the schoolhouse door has long burned in American consciousness; however, just as interesting are the circumstances that led him there in the first place, a process that proved successful due to the concerted efforts of dedicated student leaders, a progressive university president, a steadfast administration, and secret negotiations between the U.S. Justice Department, the White House, and Alabama’s stubborn governor. In the months directly following Governor Wallace’s infamous stand, Tuscaloosa became home to a leader of a very different kind: twenty-eight-year-old African American reverend T. Y. Rogers, an up-and-comer in the civil rights movement, as well as the protégé of Martin Luther King Jr. After taking a post at Tuscaloosa’s First African Baptist Church, Rogers began laying the groundwork for the city’s own civil rights movement. In the summer of 1964, the struggle for equality in Tuscaloosa resulted in the integration of the city’s public facilities, a march on the county courthouse, a bloody battle between police and protesters, confrontations with the Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan, a bus boycott, and the near-accidental-lynching of movie star Jack Palance. Relying heavily on new firsthand accounts and personal interviews, newspapers, previously classified documents, and archival research, Hollars’s in-depth reporting reveals the courage and conviction of a town, its university, and the people who call it home.