In the link below you’ll find a short video clip of me explaining what my Humanities Washington talk (“From Mexican to Mexican-American: A Family Immigrant Story”) offers to the listener. My talks, featured throughout 2019, have already started and, so far, it’s been delightful. See a separate posting for dates and places.
The following talks are sponsored by the Humanities Washington Office:
March 2, 2019 11:00 a.m. Museum of Northwest Art, La Conner WA
March 23, 2019 1:00 p.m. Lynden Library, Lynden WA
March 23, 2019 3:30 p.m. Ferndale Library, Ferndale WA
March 27, 2019 6:00 p.m. Jefferson County Library, Port Hadlock WA
April 2, 2019 5:00 p.m. George Public Library, George WA
April 3, 2019 6:00 p.m. Quincy Public Library, Quincy WA
April 4, 2019 6:00 p.m. Twisp Public Library, Twisp WA
April 5, 2019 6:00 p.m. Cashmere Public Library, Cashmere WA
April 15, 2019 10:30 a.m. University House Wallingford, Seattle WA
April 24, 2019 12 noon Yakima Valley Museum, Yakima WA
SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY ON MEXICAN IMMIGRATION TO THE U.S.
For the talk, “From Mexican to Mexican-American:
A Family Immigration Story”
By Carlos B.Gil, Ph.D.
Humanities Washington Speaker 2019
Acuña, Rodolfo.Occupied America (1988). Contentious text.
Becoming American: Personal Essays by First Generation Immigrant Women (2000).
Brown, Theresa Cardinal and Jeff Mason, “Immigration Trends and the Immigration Debate,” Bi Partisan Policy Center, August 2017. https://bipartisanpolicy.org/library/immigration-trends-and-the-immigration-debate/
De la Garza, Rodolfo O. Et al. Latino Voices: Mexican, Puerto Rican, and Cuban Perspectives on American Politics (1992).
Foley, Neil. Mexicans in the Making of America (2014).
Galarza, Ernesto. Barrio Boy: The Story of a Boy’s Acculturation (1971).
Gamboa, Erasmo. Bracero Railroad Workers: The Forgotten World War II Story of Mexican Workers in the U.S. West (2016).
Gamboa, Erasmo. Mexican Labor and World War II: Braceros in the Pacific Northwest, 1942-1947 (1990).
Gamio, Manuel. Mexican Immigration to the United States (1939).
García, Mario T. Mexican Americans: Leadership, Ideology and Identity, 1930–1960 (1989).
Gil, Carlos B. We Became Mexican American: How Our Immigrant Family Survived to Pursue the American Dream (2012, 2014).
Griswold del Castillo and Arnoldo de León. North to Aztlán: A History of Mexican Americans in the United States (1997).
Hart, Elva Treviño Barefoot Heart, Stories of a Migrant Child (1999). Autobiography, south Texas.
Limón, José. José Limón: An Unfinished Memoir (1998?). Late Chicano/Mexican American choreographer.
McWilliams, Carey. North from Mexico: The Spanish Speaking People of the United States (1948 ed.) Old classic.
Ramón, Cristobal and Tim O’Shea. “Immigrants and Public Benefits: What Does the Research Say?” Bi Partisan Policy Center, November 2018. https://bipartisanpolicy.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/12/Immigrants-and-Public-Benefits-What-Does-the-Research-Say.pdf
Ruiz, Vicki L. From Out of the Shadows: Mexican Women in Twentieth-Century America (1998).
Sanchez, George J. Becoming Mexican American:Ethnicity, Culture, and Identity in Chicano Los Angeles (1993).
Suárez-Orozco, Marcelo M. And Mariela M. Páez. Latinos: Remaking America (2002).
Young, Biloine W. A Dream for Gilberto: An Immigrant’s Family’s Struggle to Become American (1999). Colombian Americans.
[Ver español abajo]
“Roma” is another in the wave of Hollywood movies made, these days, by Mexican directors, this one by Alfonso Cuarón who won a Golden Globe Best Director Award for “Roma” and another for Best Foreign Film. The other directors include Alejandro González Iñárritu (“The Revenant,” 2015) and Guillermo del Toro (“Pan’s Labyrinth,” 2006).
“Roma” is a look back at the director’s family. They lived in the Colonia Roma of Mexico City in the 1960’s (colonia refers to a housing district), and this is where I met my wife, Barbara, at about the time Cuarón was running around as a teenager. Barb and I shared some unforgettable moments there, including the horrible earthquake of 1985. Nowadays we stay there whenever we visit that megalopolis.
I consider “Roma” a significant film because it is a multifaceted re-creation of middle-class life in the colonia, in 1970-1971. My study of Mexico allowed me to see it as a valuable filmic document right away.
The social dimensions of the film are many but Cuarón puts the spot light directly on Cleo, the domestic worker who cared for him as a supplementary mother, played by Yalitza Aparicio. In the film, as in real life, Cleo is a Mixtec Indian from Oaxaca, as are thousands of maids in that city, also known as empleadas or more derisively as gatas. They are the ones who make dinner, scrub the floors, wash the family car—and tuck in the kids at night, all for a next-to-nothing salary. And, not all may be treated as well as Cleo is in this movie.
The socio-cultural aspects in this picture are true to life, even to this day. The man of the house, a youngish medical doctor who works in one of the city’s hospitals, abandons his wife and children, including young Cuarón, for another woman. This must hit home for many viewers because it is a regretful reminder of Mexican machismo, very much alive.
The apartment in which the family lives is also a perfect re-creation of the many such living units in residential buildings, called vecindades, still standing today in Mexican cities. My sister, Soledad, commented to me after watching the movie, that she had seen home interiors like the ones shown in “Roma” many times, in old Mexican movies. Indeed. Their reproduction by Cuarón, right down to the kitchens with windows that look in to a back washroom, must be admired by anthropologists and archaeologists.
The politics raging in 1971 also appear in “Roma,” though tangentially—but that too, I think, is part of the Cuarón’s factual memorization of his early years. The movie allows us to see the events that he witnessed as a boy, but not the larger story behind them: the political demonstrations that turned bloody, right before his own eyes while visiting a department store in the company of his grandmother.
The director re-created the infamous suppression of students, known as the halconazo on the feast of Corpus Christi (Jueves de Corpus), which fell on Thursday, June 10, 1971. Many students were killed that day and many more were killed on a related carnage, October 2, 1968, the notorious Tlaltelolco massacre. What we see in the movie is an aftermath of October 2nd.
The event is known as the halconazo (halcón = hawk) because the men, who beat up the students with sticks, and some with armed weapons, as we witness in the movie, were referred to as halcones. Like a hawk, they could swoop down and catch or harm their prey, the demonstrating students, and then disappear, and the government could not be blamed directly. Cleo’s boyfriend is one of the halcones, having been trained specially to suppress and get away with it, as “Roma” shows us. Halcones are also referred to as paramilitary agents. Cuaróns insistence on making the film in black and white simply adds to its authenticity.
In summary, Cuarón’s movie, about his childhood in the Colonia Roma, provided me with abundant details of life behind the doors and walls Barbara and I walked past so many times.
If you read Spanish you might enjoy a short story about middle class life in the Colonia Roma, also in the 1960’s and 1970’s, by Jose Emilio Pacheco, Las batallas en el desierto (Ediciones Era, 1981).
“Roma”, reseña de una película dirigida por Alfonso Cuarón.
“Roma” es otra en la cresta de películas de Hollywood hechas por directores mexicanos en estos días, esta por Alfonso Cuarón, quien ganó el premio Globo de Oro por Mejor Director de la película “Roma” y otro por la Mejor Película Extranjera. Los otros directores incluyen a Alejandro González Iñárritu (“The Revenant, “2015) y Guillermo del Toro (” Pan’s Labyrinth “, 2006).
“Roma” es una mirada atrás a la familia del director. Vivían en la Colonia Roma de la Ciudad de México en la década de 1960 (Aquí es donde conocí a mi esposa, Barbara, cuando Cuarón se paseaba como adolescente por las calles de la colonia. Barb y yo compartimos momentos inolvidables, incluyendo el horrible terremoto de 1985. Hoy en día nos quedamos allí cuando visitamos esa megalópolis).
Considero “Roma” una película importante porque es una recreación multifacética de la vida clase-mediera en la colonia, en los años 1970-1971. Mi estudio de México me permitió reconocer su valor cinematográfico inmediatamente.
Las dimensiones sociales son muchas, pero Cuarón puso el foco directamente sobre Cleo, la trabajadora doméstica que lo cuidó como madre suplementaria, papel interpretado por Yalitza Aparicio. En la película, como en la vida real, Cleo es una mixteca de Oaxaca, al igual que miles de sirvientas en esa ciudad, también conocidas como “empleadas” o más groseramente, como “gatas.” Ellas son las que preparan la cena, limpian los pisos, lavan el auto familiar y arropan a los niños por la noche, todo por un salario exiguo. Y es posible que no todas sean tratadas tan bien como Cleo en esta película.
Pienso que los aspectos socioculturales en este cuadro son fieles a la vida, hoy mismo. El hombre de la casa, un médico joven que trabaja en uno de los hospitales de la ciudad, abandona a su esposa e hijos, incluido el joven Cuarón, por otra mujer. Esto debe afectar a muchos cinéfilos porque es un recordatorio penoso del machismo mexicano, muy vivo.
El apartamento en el que vive la familia también es una recreación perfecta de las muchas viviendas, llamadas vecindades, que aún hoy se encuentran en ciudades mexicanas. Mi hermana, Soledad, me comentó después de ver la película, que había visto interiores de casas, como las que se ven en “Roma,” muchas veces en películas viejas mexicanas. Sin duda. Su reproducción por Cuarón, hasta las cocinas con ventanas que dan a un baño trasero, debe ser admirada por antropólogos y arqueólogos.
La política que se libra en 1971 también aparece en “Roma”, aunque tangencialmente, pero eso también, creo, es parte de la memorización objetiva de Cuarón cuando era niño. La película nos permite ver los eventos que presenció de chico, pero no la historia detrás de ellos: las manifestaciones políticas que se volvieron sangrientas, ante sus propios ojos, en el momento que visitaba una tienda de departamentos en compañía de su abuela.
El director recrea la infame supresión de los estudiantes, conocida como el Halconazo de Jueves de Corpus, que cayó el 10 de junio de 1971. Muchos estudiantes fueron asesinados ese día y muchos más liquidados en una carnicería del 2 de octubre de 1968, la notoria masacre de Tlaltelolco. Lo que vemos en la película es una consecuencia del 2 de octubre.
El evento se conoce como el halconazo porque se les llamó halcones a los hombres que golpearon a los estudiantes con palos, y algunos con armas de fuego, como vemos en la película. Como un halcón, podían descender en picado y dañar a sus presas, a los estudiantes, y luego desaparecer, y no se podía culpar al gobierno directamente. El novio de Cleo es uno de los halcones, y vemos que ha sido entrenado especialmente para reprimir y salirse con la suya, como nos muestra “Roma”. Los halcones también se conocen como agentes paramilitares. La insistencia de Cuarón en hacer la película en blanco y negro simplemente aumenta su autenticidad.
En resumen, la película de Cuarón, sobre su infancia en la Colonia Roma, me prestó abundantes detalles de la vida detrás de las puertas y las paredes que Barbara y yo pasamos muchas veces.
Si te gusta leer, puedes disfrutar de un cuento escrito sobre la vida clase-mediera en la Colonia Roma, también en los años 60 y 70, de José Emilio Pacheco, Las batallas en el desierto (Ediciones Era, 1981, y ediciones subsecuentes).
Belew, Kathleen. Bring the War Home: The White Power Movement and Paramilitary America (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2018). The White Power Movement, a decidedly racist amalgam of men, remains alive and well, according to this scholarly work, but its threat to the nation and to the average American is not entirely clear.
The author, a university professor, helps us understand some basic landmarks in the evolution of the WPM. First are the connections between the Klu Klux Klan and the WPM in the years around World War II and their hellish campaign against Blacks. Secondly, the reader learns of the traitorous identification and fascination of WPM rebels with Nazism and its associated anti-Semitism. Thirdly, and the most important lesson offered by the author, is the role that the Vietnam War played in the formation of disloyal veterans whose leaders declared “war” on the U.S. government, a traitorous act, hence the subtitle of the book, “bring the war home.” WPM leaders disavowed their government fearing it was taking the American people in the wrong direction.
These men organized paramilitary teams and thereby posed credible challenges for American law enforcement personnel. Along these lines, the author connects several events, including Ruby Ridge, Idaho, and the Branch Davidians of Waco, Texas, to the deadly Oklahoma City bombing in 1995. The author affirms a WPM connection, but she also maintains that the FBI and the ATF, primarily, kept the white rebels off balance and against the wall.
I have two main observations about this work. One is that while Professor Belew alleges the continuity of a serious racist threat, my reading didn’t find sufficient support for it. The conspiratorial connections are laid down, alright, but the organizational capability of the WPM raises questions, namely that the insurrectionist leaders, as presented in the book, strike me as unsophisticated, back-country rustics squaring off with the U.S. government somewhat blindly. Secondly, while I find the author’s information abundant and well researched, I also find it circuitous and repetitive, a surprise given her prestigious publisher. Nevertheless, Bring the War Home offers a worthwhile gathering of valuable information, including names, and events, for students of racism in America and issues of national, domestic security.
Abad Faciolince, Hector. El olvido que seremos (Bogotá: Planeta, 2006). [English below]
El autor escribe un elogio apasionante a su padre en El olvido que seremos y una denuncia enérgica de sus asesinos, al mismo tiempo. También es una memoria de su infancia y su íntima relación con su padre, tierna evocación que además nos ofrece una mirada conmovedora a la “violencia” colombiana, tan larga y tan dolorosa.
Abad pinta a su padre como un educador totalmente entregado a tender una mano a sus prójimos y abrir las puertas a jóvenes estudiosos pero desprovistos. Nos habla de su devoción total por levantar los estándares de vida de la gente pobre. Y también nos cuenta como esta mentalidad se vuelve subversiva en un conservadurismo empedernido y salvajemente criminal, incluyendo al clero católico. Es asesinado. Irónicamente, el autor nos hace ver, además, que sus familiares pertenecen a esta corriente tradicional retrógrada como obispos, monseñores y monjes, y por ende el lector descubre a nivel personal el laberinto enredoso atrás de estas circunstancias.
A pesar de incluir varias páginas verborreadas que parecen ser productos de la emoción causada al recordar ciertos eventos, El olvido me ayudó a entender la tal llamada “violencia” colombiana. Por eso vale este libro. Creo que a los colombianos les faltó una revolución para deshacerse de un conservadurismo de corte colonial.
The author writes an enthralling eulogy to his father in El olvido que seremos (The Forgotten That We’ll Become) and an energetic condemnation of his murderers, at the same time. It is also a memory of his childhood and his intimate relationship with his father, a tender recall that also provides the reader a distressing look at Colombia’s long and painful “violence.”
Abad describes his father as a totally dedicated educator who reaches out to his community by opening doors to young but destitute scholars. He tells us of his father’s total devotion to raising the living standards of poor people, and how this world view became subversive to hardened and criminal conservatives, including the Catholic clergy. He’s assassinated. Ironically, the author’s family members belong to these retrograde institutions as bishops, monsignors and monks, so the reader can catch a glimpse of how intricate and complicated these situations can be up close.
Despite pages in which a verbal diarrhea seizes the author, no doubt triggered by the emotion that comes from remembering certain events, El olvido helped me understand Colombia’s infamous “violence.” That’s why this book is worth reading. I believe that Colombia missed having a revolution that might have shaken away its colonial conservatism.
Rulfo, Juan. Pedro Páramo. (México: Editorial RM, 1955). [Ver español abajo]
This work by Juan Rulfo is considered one of the best literary expressions in Mexico.
But having been born and educated in the U.S., I’m less excited about Pedro Páramo, though I do recognize Rulfo’s literary ability. Nevertheless, as with William Faulkner and other “great” writers in other countries and times, I am sure their work deserved all of the encomiums they received in their day, but not necessarily today. Times passes and so do other things, necessarily. I think other writers have arisen as good or better, in Mexico’s case and in the United States’ too. This observation however leads us into questions about now national canons are formed, a topic that does not fit here.
In any case, Rulfo anoints his story about Pedro Páramo’s son searching for his father, with a sense of magic, of ghostly souls that roam the world in order to communicate with their still living relatives. As a result, Comala, where Pedro Páramo lives, is described as a town visited by spirits and occasional renegades stirred by the revolution of 1910. This is one of the elements this prominent novel offers, perhaps as an early Mexican version of magical realism. Another is the austere and effective handling of Spanish where every word counts (there are writers who shed words like a hemorrhage) even as Rulfo skillfully mimics the local vernacular. These aspects launched Juan Rulfo into the upper spheres of literary fame in Mexico in the mid-1950s, more so than his short story collection, El llano en llamas. For these reasons Pedro Páramo deserves to be read, no doubt about it.
Esta obra de Juan Rulfo se considera como una de las mejores expresiones literarias de México.
Pero siendo yo nacido y educado en Estados Unidos, mi aprecio de Pedro Páramo es algo menos apasionado. Sí reconozco la habilidad literaria de Juan Rulfo, sin duda. No obstante, como en el caso de William Faulkner y otros “grandes” escritores de otros países y de otros tiempos, estoy seguro de que el trabajo de estos literatos mereció todo el elogio que les dieron en sus días, en la época que escribieron, pero no necesariamente ahora. El tiempo pasa y muchas cosas cambian también, necesariamente. Yo creo que han surgido otros escritores igual de buenos y quizás mejores, en el caso de México y en Estados Unidos. Pero eso nos lleva a cuestiones de cómo se formulan los cánones nacionales, un detalle que no cabe aquí.
En todo caso, Rulfo unge su cuento, la búsqueda del hijo de Pedro Páramo por su padre, con una sensación de magia, de almas etéreas que vagan el mundo con el fin de comunicarse con sus aun vivientes familiares. A consecuencia, Comala, donde vive Pedro Páramo, resulta un pueblo de espíritus, alejado de la revolución de 1910. Este es uno de los elementos especiales que esta novela insigne ofrece. Otro es el manejo austero y eficaz del español, en que no hay palabras que sobren, ni que falten (hay escritores que derraman palabras como una hemorragia) al mismo tiempo que Rulfo remeda el hablar lugareño. Estos aspectos lanzaron a Juan Rulfo a las altas esferas literarias a mediados de la década de 1950, gracias más a esta obra que su colección de cuentos, El llano en llamas. Consecuentemente, Pedro Páramo merece ser leído.
García Márquez, Gabriel. Memories of My Melancholy Whores (New York: Penguin, 2014), translation.
The author of this short novel, only 128 delicious pages long in English (I read the Spanish version, see Spanish review below) is one of the finest Latin American writers in recent times. He wrote One Hundred Years of Solitude, in 1967, which catapulted him to international fame, allowing him, at the same time, to introduce his writing style, later known as “magical realism.” Memories is one of his last works; he died in 2014.
Memories feels more like a biographic fragment than a work of fiction. Even so, we don’t have steamy hot, tropical, bawdy house scenes that might stir our more salacious thoughts. What we do have is the tale of a “dirty ol’” bachelor who lives alone in a back country tropical riverside town that feels Colombian (Garcia-Marquez was Colombian); the old man falls in love with a young prostitute.
Not having fallen in love before, the life of this decrepit eighty-year-old man turns upside down giving the author the opportunity to spin an amusing and intimate tale of a relationship constrained on all sides. One of the most enjoyable scenes describes this senile old fellow sleeping next to his adorable girl as if they were brother and sister, he being unable to do much more.
Memories also gave me the renewed opportunity to appreciate the author’s ability with the Spanish language. With sublime skill he conjures phrases and expressions that wrap this wistful human story in a luxurious linguistic mantel. This book is pleasant and poignant at the same time.
Memoria de mis putas tristes. (Nueva York: Vintage Español: 2004). Esta novelita de 109 páginas deliciosas me suena más como un trozo biográfico que una obra de ficción. Es más, no tenemos aquí un holgorio ardiente de visitas a prostíbulos tropicales que nos exciten nuestros pensamientos lascivos. Lo que si tenemos es una crónica de un “viejo verde” solterón que vive solo en un pueblo provinciano ribereño, se podría decir, de ensueño, al estilo garciamarqueño, y que se enamora de una joven prostituta.
No habiéndose enamorado antes, la vida de este achacoso ochentón salta para caer boca abajo, lo que permite al autor ofrecernos un relato intimo y gracioso de lo que llega a ser una relación amorosa marcada con grandes limitaciones. Una de las escenas más divertidas nos permite imaginar a este hombre chocho gozando solo con poder acostarse al lado de la muchacha que adora toda la noche como si fueran hermanos, porque no pudo hacer más.
La obra también permite apreciar la habilidad de don Gabi para esgrimir el español con una sublime pericia que le confiere a sus frases y expresiones un lujo lingüístico que arropa su fábula humana. Fue una de sus últimas obras. Es divertido este librito y acogedor a la vez.
Vance, J.D. Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis (New York: Harper, 2018), with a new Afterword. With good reason, Hillbilly Elegy received widespread attention when it was first published. Put on the market by Harper in 2016, it coincided with the rise of Donald Trump as a presidential candidate and his getting elected soon thereafter. His popularity was attributed to his being able to speak on behalf of poor white Americans, especially those from the south who had supposedly been neglected by Democratic administrations. To my knowledge, Mr. Trump did not use the term, “hillbilly” to refer to his loyal supporters but Vance identifies hillbilly people as Trump supporters. Understanding them came to mean also understanding Trump’s inveterate supporters.
In any case, this book offers a penetrating insight into the people who live in Appalachia, mostly under-privileged whites who allegedly claim Scot-Irish descendence, a cultural note discussed far too briefly. The author writes his book in a compelling and disarming manner, boldly revealing personal family information, sometimes in a startling way. This combination helped give Hillbilly Elegy considerable attention.
The author tells us that he grew up, surrounded by his extended family, in one of the many hollows (“hollers”) scoured into the Allegheny Mountains near Jackson, Kentucky, and so his book puts a spot light on his mountain people, a harsh light. Many of them manifest varying levels of paranoia, to tell the truth. His grandfather’s obsession with guns and a willingness to draw one from behind his back at the slightest threat, his grandmother’s use of foul language and his mother’s abuse of drugs and her chronic inability to keep a husband or boyfriend are examples of this neurotic-paranoiac behavior. In addition, many of the author’s relatives and friends are described as “welfare queens,” some who “drive a Cadillac,” allergic to holding a job, and hostile to the world outside, interest in politics being unquestionably peripheral.
I concluded that a large part of the behavior described in Hillbilly is reminiscent of many poor families, working class and non-working, including Mexican American families and other minority families of color in the United States. Hillbilly thus confirmed in my mind that skin color and cultural antecedence are only casual differences among underprivileged people and they all feel put upon by the people who do not live on the edge. Except for a handful of words, here and there, the author does not make these cross-cultural observations.
Another parallel with minority families is that Mamaw, the author’s grandmother, was able to recognize a gem in the rough, despite her educational and social limitations: the gem is the author, himself. She nurtures him, because his parents couldn’t, even when she skewers him with unexpectedly obscene language, and helps him become somebody (a Yale lawyer and author!). This happens in minority communities too where someone discovers a child possessing enough internal fire to escape the ghetto, in this case, to flee the “hollers” of Kentucky. This book is an elegy to the author’s grandmother, most of all.
Mamaw takes young Vance to live in Middletown, Ohio. On page 252 the author writes that he felt like a “cultural emigrant” in Ohio. He came to regard white middle-class people in Middletown as aliens and so the latter half of Hillbilly Elegy offers an account of his painful assimilation into White Middle-Class America.
Blacks, who fled the South in the 1940’s, landing in places like Detroit, felt something similar, just more extreme. Immigrants, Mexican or otherwise, know fully well what it feels to be a “cultural emigrant,” as I show in my own book, Becoming Mexican American: How Our Immigrant Family Survived to Pursue the American Dream.
Hillbilly Elegy helps us understand less privileged white Americans to be sure. But, as I note, it is a study of poor people anywhere. And, for this reason it also contains cross-cultural implications of the kind I identify here that many emigrants from Appalachia might not relish.
Flexner, James Thomas. Washington: The Indispensable Man (Boston: Back Bay Books, 1974) The author wrote four volumes of the life of our first president in the late 1960’s and condensed them into these 423 pages, but the text is “almost all together new,” he advises in the “Preface.” Now deceased, the author received the highest awards for his work and so I imagine that his knowledge and appreciation for George Washington remains unequaled to this day.
I gained a special appreciation for the father of our country thanks to the author’s emphasis on the personal aspects of George Washington’s life. For example, I was touched to learn that almost everyone he met, from the time he was a young man to his last years, trusted him almost immediately for his honesty and good will, and fully expected him to execute a plan, whatever it might have been. His famous crossing of the Delaware, as commander of the bedraggled American forces, to surprise the British at Trenton, is probably the best-known example of how his men loyally followed him even when he had been losing numerous battles. He was not a trained warrior, but he was not afraid to take the lead and do his best for his upstart nation. He stressed heavily on this account.
Washington owned slaves who worked on his plantation, Mount Vernon. Contradictorily, however, the author portrays him as a man so concerned about the welfare of others that he refused to sell his slaves to avoid separating family members, something that made him stand out in the Commonwealth of Virginia. Consequently, Mount Vernon gradually loaded up with a surplus of slaves that simply added to Washington’s mounting indebtedness. This situation came to an end after his death only when his wife liberated them all, at a high cost, to be sure. Flexner’s knowledge of George Washington is outstanding, of course, in part because of his secure familiarity with Washington’s writings, letters, mostly. I found the author’s writing elliptically old-fashioned throughout, but it was worth turning every page. His bibliography must be the best up to 1974, the date of publication.