In 1895, an elderly, tired, and creatively challenged Samuel Clemens embarked upon a worldwide lecture tour whose primary purpose was to retire the debt which had driven him into bankruptcy. His personal woes were largely ignored by enthusiastic New Zealand audiences, which packed the halls and reveled in Clemens as Mark Twain. Some of Twain's novels preceded him, but his success in New Zealand owed more to his stage presence than to his literary prowess. This essay shows how Clemens performed Mark Twain to bridge cultural gaps halfway around the globe. In doing so, it highlights reading differences in English-speaking lands and between social classes. It also casts light on Twain's underappreciated skill in live performance, shows him as a flexible figure responding to particular audiences, and underscores the ways in which aspects of his stage show anticipate the shift to a celebrity-based culture.

The story of the Great Southwest strike, a textbook example of the upheavals of 1886, has long been told as an epic battle between railway millionaire Jay Gould, national Knights of Labor head Terence Powderly, and Martin Irons, with many historians and contemporaries casting strike leader Irons as the epitome of impatient, romantic, and even deluded labor activism. District Assembly 101's call to walk out on Gould's southwestern system of roads was, arguably, strategically ill-advised. It vastly overestimated the Knights' power in the wake of two victories against Gould in 1885 and certainly ignored the district's lack of funds, lax support among skilled trainmen, and the terms of an historic agreement between the national Knights and Gould. A closer look at Irons's life and leadership, however, reveals a more complicated explanation of the strike and takes into fuller account the experiences and perceptions of striking railroaders. This essay holds that events on the ground, combined with the heady context of the Great Upheaval, influenced Irons and his supporters' decisions to strike, to expand the effort, and to defend it with violence. The ensuing attacks on Irons stemmed partly from his unstable personal history but largely from the broader social anxieties that the conflict had exposed.

During World War I, hundreds of Americans traveled to Italy as volunteers for the American Red Cross (ARC). Through their relief activities for Italian civilians, these individuals served both diplomatic and social-reform agendas. They packaged medical and social aid with a clear message of American alliance, presenting the ARC as a vanguard of the U.S. military that was prepared to assist Italy's war effort in the absence of American troops. Emphasizing American methods, expertise, and alliance, ARC representatives also enacted reforms with the ambition to mold Italy into their vision of a modern western nation. This article argues that international humanitarian aid buttressed U.S. international involvement, both political and cultural, during the Wilsonian era. Further, by examining the connections between social politics and foreign relations in Italy, it demonstrates that the boundaries of the transatlantic progressive community extended beyond the North Atlantic.

In January 1911, Senator Robert M. La Follette of Wisconsin announced the creation of the National Progressive Republican League (NPRL). Historians have dismissed this organization as a vehicle for La Follette's challenge to William Howard Taft for the Republican presidential nomination in 1912. This article asserts that a primary purpose of the NPRL was to offer progressives around the country a set of principles that would provide the progressive movement with greater cohesion while allowing for continued diversity in local reform agendas. The NPRL's president, Oregon senator Jonathan Bourne, was renowned as a spokesman for the series of direct democratic reforms known as the Oregon System, which La Follette and Bourne placed at the center of the NPRL platform. Bourne argued that these reforms, focused on altering the way in which candidates were nominated or elected to office, campaigns were funded, and legislation was produced, would provide progressives with a national “foundation” upon which various state and local reform agendas could be constructed. During the campaign of 1912, the league became a casualty of the political and personal conflict between Theodore Roosevelt and La Follette, but Roosevelt's Progressive Party later endorsed most of its agenda, and all elements of the NPRL platform found some political expression before or after 1912.

The Pullman Strike of 1894 was a cataclysmic event for the nation. During its violent course, the print media provided an interpretive frame that portrayed the strike in large measure as an immigrant-inspired attack on American laws and democratic customs. Often characterizing the strikers as “foreigners” in the thrall of anarchist ideologies and a tyrannous labor chieftain, journalists painted a stark picture indeed. Employing framing theory, Gramsci's notion of hegemony, and recent insights on the ethnic quality of nationalism, this essay argues that newspapers and other major print periodicals significantly contributed to the formation of nationalist attitudes at a time when many Americans were deeply worried over the direction in which the country was headed.

Thomas H. Ince (1882–1924) was a popular motion-picture producer and director in the 1910s. He built his reputation and fortune by making feature films that appealed to middle-class tastes. In addition to his westerns and the epics for which he is best known, Ince made a number of social-problem films. Three of his films—The Italian (1914), Dangerous Hours (1920), and The Dark Mirror (1920)—are particularly interesting for how they illuminate the relationship between the American cinema and Progressive Era reform. A close analysis of these three films suggests ways that popular culture reflected the concerns of mainstream progressives and how these concerns shifted during the course of the decade.

Meyer Lissner was Los Angeles's preeminent municipal political reformer between 1906 and 1913. Yet he was perhaps an enigmatic progressive. His life defied conformity and categorization to specific progressive norms regarding ethnicity, religion, upbringing, and social position. His gift for organization, combined with a keen political intelligence, enabled him to organize a formidable opposition to the Southern Pacific—dominated local political environment. Los Angeles's municipal politics thereafter remained nonpartisan. His political skill won him the praise of his progressive supporters and the scorn of his critics as a “reform boss,” a charge with which they mercilessly pursued him throughout the remainder of his municipal career. Was Lissner a “reformer,” a “boss,” a combination of both, or neither? Do such categories matter, given the reality of Progressive Era urban politics and current trends in writing on the stereotyped struggle between the boss and the reformer?