The First Hundred Years of the American Historical Association

Does the American Historical Associa­tion have a past?

Of course it does, but are our mem­bers aware of it? In 1984 the conclusion of its first century was marked by a ceremonial dinner and a brief but use­ful overview, by Arthur S. Link in his presidential address, of its history and its present “problems, challenges, and opportunities.” Otherwise only slight attention appears to have been paid to the anniversary and one would have  to search diligently for any description, analysis, or interpretation of the story of what surely is one of the most distin­guished historical associations in the world.

Not to be too critical, the respected Royal Historical Society in London and the Real Academia de la Historia in Madrid have not attempted to provide for their nations what the AHA has accomplished for history and historians in the United States.

Members of the AHA are not alone in their inattention to the past of their association. O. Lawrence Burdette, Jr., begins his scholarly volume Beneath the Footnote (Madison, 1969) with these words: “History presumes to under­stand all things, but is uncomfortable in understanding itself.” Charles Homer Haskins was even more explicit in his 1922 AHA presidential address: “Many historians find it easy to be historically minded respecting everything save his­tory.”

Since that declaration scholars have demonstrated an increasing concern and competence with many different kinds of history, including such sophisti­cated subjects as the history of anger and the history of odors, but Americans have not yet done much with the history of the Association. Yet anyone attempt­ing to provide a realistic and solid ac­count of the first hundred years of the AHA would find many aspects of its past well worth attention.

Consider that extravaganza, the an­nual meeting. What a remarkable mélange it is: sessions of serious scholarly discussions of topics from the ancient world to the future of Africa, the pres­ence of book publishers with their latest monographs and textbooks, depart­mental receptions (they used to be called “smokers”), and, finally, continu­ous professional politicking by the hun­dreds of members young and old roam­ing hotel corridors.

My first exposure, as a naive universi­ty senior at the December 1923 meeting in Columbus, Ohio, was enough to con­vince me of the glamor and professional excitement of these encounters. Her­bert E. Bolton and Charles Chapman were there in the flesh from Berkeley, and even an undergraduate could meet and discuss history with these well­ known professors of Latin American history, whose books I had read. Frank A. Golder was in Columbus, too, and I still remember his remarkable report on the state of the archives and of histori­ans in Moscow, where he had been at work during the previous months.

These annual meetings also had a very practical value, as they do today. In December 1925, by a fluke, I was per­mitted to read a formal paper—the first and also the last time until 1974 that I was privileged to do so. Even more important to me in 1925 was that Wal­demar Westergaard interviewed me in Ann Arbor for a possible  appointment at the newly established University of California at Los Angeles. I did not, however, receive the appointment.

Another curious activity of the AHA is the system of presidential addresses, though little has been written except Herman Ausubel’s dissertation Historians and their Craft: A Study of the Presiden­tial Addresses of the American Historical Association, 1884–1945 (New York, 1950). One of Ausubel’s important con­tributions was that he pointed out what kinds of topics presidents stayed away from. For example not one address be­ tween 1884 and 1945 focussed on teach­ing, a tradition that endures until today. I first became aware of the controversial and variegated nature of these personal testimonies in 1923 when Edward P. Cheyney delivered his address on “Laws in History.” I was seated near some graduate students who groaned and wrung their hands as President Cheyney rolled out his “laws.” A hilari­ous and possibly instructive essay could probably be composed on the basis of these sacred parts of the annual ritual. Even David Pinkney in his recent radical proposals for changes in the American Historical Review would still save a place for these addresses in the Review.

An adequate history of the AHA would necessarily devote careful atten­tion to the AHR. Fortunately John Franklin Jameson served as editor for most of the time from its establishment in 1895 until 1928. The crucial pioneer years of the review are well covered in that rich collection of Jameson’s letters entitled An Historian’s World, and have been professionally analyzed by Keijo Korkonen of the Finnish University of Jyvaskyla in his detailed study The Amer­ican Historical Review as a Reflection of American Historical Writing in 1890–1925 (Philadelphia, 1956).

This picture will probably be greatly enlarged when Jacqueline A. Goggin and Morey D. Rothberg complete their research on “John Franklin Jameson and the Development of Humanistic Scholarship in America.” The private summer conclaves Jameson organized on a fairly regular basis also helped him to establish sound views on historical editing and historical scholarship.

Both Jameson and Waldo Gifford Le­land, his principal lieutenant for many years in all the affairs of the AHA, including the AHR, recognized the need to expound regularly the objectives of the Association. Jameson published in 1909 the first historical statement on the AHA, covering the pioneer period 1884-1909 (AHR 15, 1909–1910, 1–20). Leland drew up a document in 1920 entitled “Activities of the Ameri­can Historical Association, 1884–1920, Memorandum for the Committee on Policy” (AHA Annual Report for 1920, 1925). These two brief publications pro­vide a solid preliminary basis for an understanding of its first thirty-six years. Leland’s account is particularly valuable for the period 1909–1920 when he served as the unpaid secretary of the Association; Richard W. Leopold characterized it in a letter to me as “a superb summary of the activities of the AHA” up to 1920.

How can the profound silence on the subsequent history be explained? Are American historians as a tribe more taciturn than others? Arthur Link emphasized in his presidential address that the first AHA constitution, adopted on September 10, 1884, “was surely one of the shortest ever drafted” and governed the Association for 90 years.

Furthermore, the first issue of the AHR in 1895 carried no statement of policy or purpose. Compare this reti­cence with the elaborate explanations set forth when European reviews were established-the Historische Zeitschrift (1859), the Revue Historique (1876), and the English Historical Review (1886). Yet the AHR has always been considered, as Link assured us, “the flagship” of the AHA. As early as I907 Gabriel Monod, editor of the Revue Historique, pro­nounced it the best historical review then published. It has changed slowly over the years and left Washington in 1975 for Indiana University. Eventually there may be other changes.

Besides the annual sessions, presiden­tial addresses, and the AHR, many other significant topics remain to be treated in a possible history of the Association­ teaching, prizes, publications, the orga­nization of and access to US historical documents, the sessions of the many specialized associations that meet at the same time and place as the AHA, the rights and responsibilities of historians in our society, and the emotional ques­tion of protests against violations of the civic and professional rights of histori­ans abroad. Furthermore, ever since Jameson and Leland disagreed somewhat on the question of what kind of connection American historians should have with those abroad, the internation­al relations of the Association have concerned some of our members. Since 1945 these problems have increased in complexity and importance. Much more could be written on all these subjects, but I trust that enough has been said to explain my conviction that there should be a history of the AHA in its first century.

Even if there is general agreement on that basic point, how is the objective to be accomplished? I rather doubt that there should be an official project com­ missioned or supervised by the Council. But could not our three vice-presidents organize and sponsor a discussion on the subject at an annual meeting ses­sion? Let one hundred flowers bloom! (Well, a dozen or so anyway.) Such a session might flush out a number of ideas and proposals on what kind of history should be written, together with practical recommendations on how such a work might be achieved.

An indispensable contribution to this effort would be made if the AHA Council interested itself in the location and organization of the relevant material in the Library of Congress and elsewhere, upon which any professional account of the AHA will necessarily depend. The major collections are probably in Wash­ington, but no one who has read Ray Allen Billington’s humorous and in­sightful article on the “Tempest in Clio’s Teapot: The American Historical Asso­ciation Rebellion of 1915” (AHR 77, 1973, 348–369) will fail to recognize that other significant collections are scattered around the country.

There might be some surprises, too, if the AHA were to lead a campaign to collect information on sources. As noted above, both Jameson and Leland pre­ pared and published brief memoirs, but apparently no administrative officer of the Association or editor of the AHR has done so since 1920. Oral reports may be lurking somewhere. A vigorous attempt to locate and organize all materials would probably be the most useful ac­tion the AHA could take now.

Let us not be too discouraged by the apparently deep-seated reluctance of American historians to concern them­ selves with the history of the Association. The National Archives in Wash­ington demonstrates what can be created by determined scholars, despite apathy, neglect, and even the ugly hand of partisan politics. The  establishment of that institution in 1926 came about as the result of decades of campaigning by Jameson and Leland.

Looking back upon this long struggle, we must discipline ourselves to under­ stand  and  accept  Thomas Jefferson’s pithy wisdom enshrined on one of the walls of the reading room in the Jeffer­son  Building of the Library of Congress: “It takes a long time for men even to realize what is for their own good.”

The  achievement  of an adequate his­tory of the AHA should be a shorter operation than that of the National Ar­chives: there will be no need to wait upon Congress. All that is needed is for historians to convince themselves and one another that the subject is worth considering.