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\"This is the first book to reveal the nineteenth-century struggle for racial integration on U.S. college campuses. As the Civil War ended, the need to heal the scars of slavery, expand the middle class, and reunite the nation engendered a dramatic interest in higher education by policy makers, voluntary associations, and African Americans more broadly. Formed in 1846 by Protestant abolitionists, the American Missionary Association united a network of colleges open to all, designed especially to educate African American and white students together, both male and female. Case studies at three colleges--Berea College, Oberlin College, and Howard University--reveal the strategies administrators used and the challenges they faced as higher education quickly developed as a competitive social field\"-- Provided by publisher.

Reparation and Reconciliationis the first book to reveal the nineteenth-century struggle for racial integration on U.S. college campuses. As the Civil War ended, the need to heal the scars of slavery, expand the middle class, and reunite the nation engendered a dramatic interest in higher education by policy makers, voluntary associations, and African Americans more broadly. Formed in 1846 by Protestant abolitionists, the American Missionary Association united a network of colleges open to all, designed especially to educate African American and white students together, both male and female. The AMA and its affiliates envisioned integrated campuses as a training ground to produce a new leadership class for a racially integrated democracy. Case studies at three colleges--Berea College, Oberlin College, and Howard University--reveal the strategies administrators used and the challenges they faced as higher education quickly developed as a competitive social field.Through a detailed analysis of archival and press data, Christi M. Smith demonstrates that pressures between organizations--including charities and foundations--and the emergent field of competitive higher education led to the differentiation and exclusion of African Americans, Appalachian whites, and white women from coeducational higher education and illuminates the actors and the strategies that led to the persistent salience of race over other social boundaries.

With the passage of the Morrill Act in 1862, many states in the Midwest and the West chartered land-grant colleges following the Civil War. Because of both progressive ideologies and economic necessity, these institutions admitted women from their inception and were among the first public institutions to practice coeducation. Although female students did not feel completely accepted by their male peers and professors in the land-grant environment, many of them nonetheless successfully negotiated greater gender inclusion for themselves and their peers. InBright Epoch, Andrea G. Radke-Moss tells the story of female students' early mixed-gender encounters at four institutions: Iowa Agricultural College, the University of Nebraska, Oregon Agricultural College, and Utah State Agricultural College. Although land-grant institutions have been most commonly associated with domestic science courses for women,Bright Epochilluminates the diversity of other courses of study available to female students, including the sciences, literature, journalism, business commerce, and law. In a culture where the forces of gender separation constantly battled gender inclusion, women found new opportunities for success and achievement through activities such as literary societies, athletics, military regiments, and women's rights and suffrage activism. Through these venues, women students challenged nineteenth-century gender limitations and created broader definitions of female inclusion and participation in the land-grant environment and in the larger American society.

Also particularly relevant is [Elizabeth Stuart Phelps]'s steadfast devotion to what she called \"the homeopathic system of therapeutics\" (Chapters 252), one of the principal sectarian or \"irregular\" schools of medicine that began flourishing in the mid-nineteenth century. Originating earlier in the century in the practice of the German physician Samuel Hahnemann (after whom Phelps, in perhaps an immoderate gesture of allegiance, seems to have named one of her dogs), homeopathy arose out of a discontent with the perceived excesses of orthodox or allopathic medicine. It was seen as offering a milder and simpler alternative to more aggressive therapies of the sort that Phelps had in mind when referring, in 1874, to \"[t]he great and growing influence of the hom?opathic method of treatment\" and to \"that vast public which has outgrown the faith in crude drugs and heroic doses\" (\"Experiment\" 2). Phelps thus joined the many middle- and upper-class women who predominantly composed homeopathy's clientele in the United States at the time. One of the features that would have drawn women like her to homeopathic medicine was its receptiveness to aspiring practitioners of their sex. In contrast, considerably unfriendlier attitudes toward women permeated the orthodox profession, as Phelps notes in 1871 when reporting that, at a recent convention, \"the American (Allopathic) Medical Society...voted by a vote of 80 to 25 to refuse admission to delegates from `female' colleges\" and also \"forbade its members to consult with `female' physicians\" (\"Gist\" 1). At a time when women intent on studying medicine \"had few options other than irregular medical training,\" the fact that \"there were more sectarians among women doctors than men\" by the last third of the nineteenth century would have made homeopathic practice even more appealing to Phelps (Rogers 288, 292). In a vivid sign of its hospitality to women, the American Institute of Homeopathy \"counted twenty-seven women members with full voting rights and privileges\" by 1876 (Kirschmann 436), the year in which the American Medical Association finally seated its first woman delegate. On the issue of whether medical women \"[a]re...capable of hitting a high scientific target of attainment,\" Phelps instructs her readers to \"[c]onsider Dr. [Mary Putnam Jacobi], Dr. Lucy Sewall, Dr. [Susan] Dimmock [sic],\" the latter two of whom were among Boston's first prominent \"regular\" women physicians (\"Shall We Have\" 29). She then elaborates on the equally compelling example of \"our own Dr. Mary J. Safford, who has just entered the hom?opathic profession in this city,\" continuing a \"brilliant\" career that began in Chicago before her move to Boston: \"Perhaps the successful management of a case of ovariotomy may have been considered a masculine prerogative; but it can never be again, since this little woman...brought her `feminine nerve' and `feminine intellect' to bear upon the operation\" (29). For Phelps, moreover, these were not the only essentialist assumptions about the sexes to be dispelled by the medical woman's professionalism. Anticipating by several years an unexpected result of more than one survey of women physicians in the United States, Phelps found that seventeen out of twenty-nine women in one medical school class were married. \"This, I think, is true,\" she further suggested, \"of most medical schools where women collect. We frequently hear the question: `How can married women pursue an independent business?' Bring such a case to the point, and the answer is ready: `It does not matter how they can; it is enough that they do!'\" (\"Experiment\" 2).(2) It was also clear to her that such a pursuit could be financially viable for women regardless of their marital status; indeed, Phelps displays a hard-nosed, unabashedly pragmatic appreciation of what she calls the \"pecuniary value\" of the medical woman's skill, confirmed in 1871 by \"the existence of that respected lady physician of the homeopathic school whose practice reached the agreeable figure of $17,000 last year\" (\"What They Are Doing\" 1).