Illinois Books

Most readers would find it incomprehensible that this literary masterpiece is only ranked #4,137,804 on the Amazon sales rating. Once the movie hits the silver screen (see previous review), this book will definitely rest among the top four million bestsellers. It deserves to be in the midst of the greatest-To Kill a Mockingbird, In Cold Blood, Helter Skelter, Murder on the Orient Express. Miller weaves a tome that is captivating, heartwarming, spellbinding and outrageously funny, as he tries to continually overcome the fate bestowed on him by "The Man " of Fulton County, Illinois. The description of each time he manages to escape yet another date with the executioner is wackier and funnier than the last! This is a must read for anyone compelled to commit a heinous crime in small town Illinois-and aspires to get away with it. His hand drawn illustrations are breathtaking. This five star masterpiece cries for a staring movie role for Tom Cruise as Lloyd in the 1950's, repeatedly eating last suppers, and trying to escape a final sit-down in Stateville's "Old Sparky".

a shocking true story of a innocent man fight against corruption in illinois..a coming movie

a true shocking story by a innocent man fight against corruption in illinois..a coming movie ... a MUST to read and see the coming movie...

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This is a very readable book. With Irons's use of primary sources, Southern workers come to life at a time when they were at their most heroic. It describes the strike of cotton textile workers in four southern states in September 1934, which was part of a general strike of textile workers stretching from New England to Georgia. I've heard this strike called the largest in American history. It describes how hundreds of thousands of poor whites across the south launched a mass movement for economic justice. The author states that this strike has been a very painful episode over the years in the communities in which it affected. The workers were intimidated into submission in the years after the strike. The Wagner Act, according to Irons, did not help them much. Their story seems all too typically American.

Throughout the 1920's, what we today call "downsizing" hit the textile industry full force. The decade saw the emergence of theories on efficiency and "scientific management." Mill owners began pushing aside their pre-capitalist paternalism and started firing workers and increased the workloads of the remaining workers at levels extremely hazardous to physical and mental well-being. In textile mills, the increased workload was called the "stretch-out." These measures increased once the great depression hit and there were many strikes at individual plants which responded by firing strikers, evicting them from their homes in company towns, sending masked men to kidnap union organizers and drive them out of town, etc.etc. Now with Roosevelt in power, there was a major law passed in June 1933, the National Industrial Recovery Act, (NIRA), section 7a of which stated that workers had the right to organize unions and not suffer employee intimidation for doing so. Southern workers were very optimistic, Irons shows quoting their letters to Roosevelt.

For two years, from June 1933 to May 1935 after the NIRA passed, an attempt was made to organize the country's economy through a bureaucracy called the National Recovery Administration (NRA). The NRA was supposed to work with businesses in each industry and draw up a code for each regulating prices, wages, output levels and so on. The aim was to stabilize these industries and eliminate the cutthroat competition which had contributed to causing the Great Depression. Implementation of the textile code was handed over to a committee dominated by textile mill owners. A special NRA committee to analyze the feasibility of reducing or expanding the stretch-out was formed but it was chaired by an industry-friendly industrial engineer. The other members of this committee were an anti-union mill owner and the leader of the printing-pressman's union, George L. Berry. Irons describes how Berry left the running of the board to the other two though occasionally he wrote letters to the leaders of the United Textile Workers (UTW) demanding they do more to reign in the militancy of southern textile mill workers. When the NRA textile mill code went into effect in the summer of 1933 it called for reduced production which gave many mills the impetus to lay off workers and intensify the workload on the remaining members. Minimum wages set by the code were often the maximum wages paid. Firings of union members increased, as did evictions from company housing and physical and sexual abuse by overseers. Many workers started joining locals of the UTW. Complaints were sent to Washington by workers such as relating to the refusal of overseers to open windows in horrendously humid mill work rooms and sexual abuse of female employees. These complaints were almost always rerouted to the special NRA subcommittee on the stretch-out which rarely did anything more than send an investigator who would listen to employer denials and then leave.
The way Irons describes it, the UTW was a big problem for southern textile mill workers. The UTW leadership, as was the leadership of most unions, was anxious to increase its own power by gaining places of influence in the NRA bureaucracy. They wanted to prove their lack of militancy and their devotion to efficiency in business...They were dragged reluctantly into the strike.

Irons shows how southern workers managed to spread the strike wave dramatically with little help from the cash strapped UTW. The strike saw terrible violence. 15 strikers were killed, including the seven by gunfire at Honea Path South Carolina. Irons reconstruct the Honea Path massacre in a way that shows its barbarity, in contrast to previous efforts to minimize it.

The strike ended after a few weeks in September 1934. Mill owners were able to create a climate of fear and insecurity amongst workers. In Georgia, Irons notes, the Democratic governor Eugene Talmadge did not send out the national guard for a while. But after he won the Democratic primary that mid-September and he was thus electorally safe, he declared martial law and imprisoned many striking workers. Some mill owners apparently met with him and gave him a generous campaign contribution just before the election. However the biggest factor ending the strike was FDR using his prestige amongst the poor workers to get them to go back to work. In return for calling off the strike, workers were promised they would not be fired once they returned and a new NRA board was created to hear complaints from textile workers about employer treatment.

Despite Roosevelt's assurances, union members were fired en masse once they returned to work and the climate of fear was maintained in southern textiles. This new NRA textile labor board, Irons shows, made its pro-industry bias clear by its method in conducting its own investigation of the stretch-out. It had received complaints about the use of the stretch-out from 249 of 1200 mills in the south. It decided to investigate 36 of those mills and found 11 of them to have valid worker complaints about the stretch out. Thus with this method it decided that only 6.5 percent of the mills were engaged in excessive workloads.

Janet Irons provides a comprehensive look at a shockingly neglected piece of US labor history: the 1934 general strike of southern textile workers. Irons convincingly shows that the impetus for the strike came from the workers, and that the leadership of the United Textile Workers of America was out of touch and committed to an outdated style of leadership from the top. One of the most fascinating areas Irons explores is the effects of mass communication, new hard-surfaced roads, and inexpensive autos in enabling Southern workers to innovate a new organizing technique: the flying squadron. Teams of strikers in cars and trucks went from mill to mill throughout the Piedmont to spread the walk-out. A minor drawback to the book is its failure to put the textile strike in a broader context. The fall of 1934 saw a general strike in San Francisco and labor unrest in Seattle, Minneapolis and other cities. Arguably, FDR's New Dealers had a lot more than the textile situation on their minds in this period. There is not doubt that Irons's book is an important contribution to an emerging, more nuanced view of southern workers and their alleged passivity.

Hutcheon's definition of parody is much broader than most, and I believe it is both fitting and useful. Parodic works, to Hutcheon, are not those which imitate at the expense of the parodied text (that's satire). Rather, they confront the past, and explore the difference between the parodied text and the present. As she writes, the pleasure comes from the degree of engagement of the viewer/listener in "intertextual bouncing" between the familiar and the new.

The book's premise is that parody is a genre fundamental to 20th century art forms. The works cited come from a wide range of disciplines, and are both modern and postmodern. The language is rather straight-forward and clear, a welcome diverson from many contemporary theorists. In fact, I found the book perhaps too repetitive, too focused on making a single point. Still, Hutcheon provides a thoughtful viewpoint from which to enjoy - and to make - art.

kalinin@terra.com.br
Linda Hutcheon's A Theory of Parody is one of the most important theoretical books of the decade not only on parody but also on postmodernism. The dispute over the worth of postmodern art revolves around one of its most striking features, i.e. the outburst of intertextuality in the form of parody and pastiche. This proliferation of parody has been described as an exhaustion of creativity, appropriation of the property of others, borrowing, pirating, and cannibalisation; all of which descriptions are quite derogative. Parodists have, therefore, been considered minor artists, who take out their spite on acclaimed authors by ridiculing them. Linda Hutcheon's views on parody are far more positive and allows us to analyse contemporary writers and give them their due worth. She claims that postmodern parody has changed in its essentials when it became an imitation with critical distance. It is a highly sophisticated genre and has come to be almost an autonomous literary form. It is, in fact, a form of literary criticism. According to her, parody is "repetition with critical distance;" it is "stylistic confrontation," a modern re-coding which establishes "difference at the heart of similarity." In short, in order for one to criticise any modern work of art, I believe that her theory becomes an essential tool, since it enables us to establish the relations between the work of art and all the included references, allusions and quotations, and moreover, to discover the evaluative judgement the author expresses on both the parodied texts and on his/her own text. Hutcheon's theory on parody helps us understand better what happens to the quotation from a canonical text when it is transported into a postmodern text which uses fragmentation and irony to subvert the original meaning. Conversely, Parodies offer a dialogue and a re-evaluation of the past in the light of the present, and a critical view of present from the perspective of the past.

This is the first of the series I've read, and I'm rather pleased. There's wit and priestly advice and murder too. The collection of characters is the kind you'd expect in a story about a small parish priest, and there is a character you won't expect like Marcus the pamphleteer. I don't deal in spoilers, but Marcus is a one of the more interesting characters in the story, a story which begins with a series of odd thefts, missing pork chops and homemade jam, that lead to serious crime. The information about the people and the crime are divvied out at a comfortable pace, allowing time for Dowling and the cohort to reveal their thoughts about the crime and the world around them.

in the dreary, cold pre-Easter lull, Murkin develops a case of persnicketiness. Someone has stolen from the church's offering box. great story! of mysterious disappearances.

This book is a story which could be true for thousands of Germans expelled from their homeland, Silesia. The account of the Russian invasion and Polish take-over moved me very much and gave me a more clear picture of what my parents went through. As the author goes back to her homeland to visit I felt a new compassion for the Polish population, who inherited this land, due to the author's insight and integrity. This both is well worth reading even if your personal history is not intertwined with Silesia.

"To Lose A War" by Regina Maria Shelton. Subtitled: "Memories Of a German Girl". Southern Illinois University Press, 1982.

This is a very personal memoir of a young German girl, growing up during the Second World War. Born in 1927, Regina Maria was just reaching womanhood when the Soviet tanks were entering eastern Germany: Silesia, Pomerania, Prussia, etc. She begins the book with a brief story concerning visiting modern Communistic German in the 1980s, and, with one anecdote, she makes the point that the Communistic German border guards were as repressive, if not more so, than the old Nazi party members. Then, in the next chapter, she jumps to a nostalgic but wonderfully vivid description of Christmas Past, before the War: "Christmas began on the day that Mama melted the butter and honey in an enormous tin pan..." (p. 19). I have to tell my own children that Christmas Eve was once a fast day, with no eating until Midnight Mass, and I sense a kinship of the Past gone by with this writer, even though my Christmases were in NYC and hers in Germany.

Her last chapter deals with what the Poles have done to her hometown, her childhood town.
"My sentimental quest for my hometown is over. I have been walking in the streets of Klodzko, Poland. Glatz has ceased to exist save in my memories." (P. 218). She has written an interesting and complete personal history of living in a few decades in a town in Silesia, decades which saw the rise and fall of many.

What a moving and inspiring poet! Ms. Khanna's literary power is her ability to majestically carry you right with her on her literal and revelatory journey. She successfully captures the reader in her struggle for understanding of her Indian and American backgrounds. I felt priveleged to have privy to her thoughts, and hope for a time again to enjoy her savory prose.
What do we have to look forward to, Van?!
Thanks.
Barbara R. Akin
Falls Church, VA.

What a incredible poet! You could feel the heat, smell the street and see the sights of India through Ms. Khanna's potent descriptions.

Trudi's Garden is for anyone who's ever wondered about the lives of remarkable people. Trudi's story, beginning in World War II Germany and continuing into today's beautiful garden, will entertain every reader with the captivating story and beautiful photos. Though it looks good there,this is not a book to leave sitting on the coffee table; it's a book for reading and enjoying.

Trudi Temple's attitude about life and boundless ingenuity set her apart from those of us who sometimes think we "can't". She always thinks she "can"...and does everything in her life with never a thought that she might fail.
Her garden is a reflection of the beauty in life and her life story shows that anything is possible when you think it is.
I have given her book as gifts to several people not only because of her interesting story but also because the pictures are outstanding.
Treat yourself...and treat a friend to this wonderful book!

This is an important book. It is common sense that how trusting - or not - we feel shapes how we act, learn and teach. This volume reports on a study of 12 Chicago schools over a three-year period. The findings powerfully underscore this truth in ways that have not ever been studied in such a methodologically rigorous manner: Trust in schools promotes student achievement and effective school improvement efforts. I highly recommend this book to school and parent leaders who want to support K-12 social, emotional, ethical and academic school improvement efforts.

Jonathan Cohen, Ph.D.
President, Center for Social and Emotional Education

Adjunct Professor in Psychology and Education
Teachers College, Columbia University

Adjunct Professor in Education
School for Professional Studies, City University of New York

I'm ordering this book on the strength of comments made by Dr. Sally Kilgore, President and CEO of Modern Red SchoolHouse:

Q. What have you read lately that has influenced you?

The book in education that I have been mulling over is called Trust in Schools. It is authored by Barbara Schneider and Tony Bryk at the University of Chicago, who have been engaged in helping Chicago schools for over a decade. Their research led them to ask, "What conditions were most predictive of substantial change in student achievement?" And, as it turned out, trust relationships that exist between educators and the parents of the children served, among teachers, and then between the principal and his or her staff. What they found was that the ability to improve practices that require trust among all the relevant actors-parents, administrators, and teachers.

Many schools have very troubling relations between parents and educators. Educators still, and probably understandably, say, "We're great teachers, but the students just aren't motivated." We have to confront the question: How can one be a great teacher when they fail to have impact on those with whom they are working? That is the kind of challenge that I think Trust in Schools, to some extent, addresses.

Dr. Williams takes what may at first seem like a narrow subject---Irish-American song lyrics---and uses it to tell not only the story of the Irish in America, but of American popular culture as well. This book is full of revelations. Readers unfamiliar with the subject matter will be surprised to learn that not too long ago in our history, Irish-American music and popular culture were practically synonymous. Others with a more sophisticated knowledge of Irish American history will be delighted at all sorts of surprises---e.g., "The Cobbler" and "The Real Old Mountain Dew," two songs popularized by the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Maken early in their career, were actually written by Ned Harrigan, a 3rd-generation Irish-American New Yorker. Through his fascinating account of the lives and careers of Harrigan and other stars of Irish-American culture, Williams re-creates a largely forgotten era in American life. His analysis of the history and meaning of the achievements of these artists helps define this remarkable period of creativity and transition in American cultural expression.

This book won a 1997 Deems Taylor Award from ASCAP.

Any student of human rights and the US history of legal battles in this field would enjoy this memoir. Mr. Rabinowitz along with his late partner Leonard Boudin blazed new trails in the legal annals in labor, international, and civil rights law. This is a brief account of the life of Mr. Rabinowitz, his cases, his views and friends and enemies he met along the way. A wonderful read.

Fifteen years ago, I found myself in one of many long talks with Frank Donner. Nation readers will remember Donner's great books on U.S. political repression, The Age of Surveillance and Protectors of Privilege. On this occasion, however, our conversation turned to Frank's work as an attorney thirty years before, when he had defended dozens of people in McCarthy-era subversion cases. Donner had the animated face of a Jewish Benjamin Franklin. His voice always sounded a half-tone sharp of the prevailing conversational pitch, and he was imbued with a combative, cheerfully anti-authoritarian spirit. But as the nitty-gritty of his work in the fifties emerged from the recesses of memory, Frank's voice lowered to a hoarse mutter, the flesh of his face grew heavy and he lapsed into gloomy rumination: about clients overcome by paranoia; about the burden of learning that a Communist Party committee in Ohio had beaten a member falsely accused of informing; about the F.B.I.'s harassment of Frank's own family and neighbors. These were hardly conventional courtroom war stories.

Most of the attorneys who shouldered the unprecedented professional burden imposed by the anti-Communist purge are now dead, Donner among them. Few now remember that they were a diverse lot--labor lawyers and Communist Party members, white-shoe corporate practitioners, distinguished academics--or that for most of them the loyalty cases turned out to be a messy, life-defining business. Even institutional memory is at risk of being lost: Early this year, the National Emergency Civil Liberties Committee, established to aid these lawyers when the A.C.L.U. succumbed to the era's hysteria, passed out of independent existence, merging with the larger Center for Constitutional Rights in New York City.

Two books published over the past two years--a family biography centered on liberal California celebrity lawyer Bartley Crum by his daughter Patricia Bosworth, and the memoir of left-wing paladin Victor Rabinowitz--begin the important excavation of these lawyers' stories. Reviewers have focused on each book's larger story: Bosworth's is a sometimes excruciating chronicle of an imploding upper-class family, Rabinowitz's is a saga of a half-century of activist lawyering. But loyalty cases are the linchpins upon which both men's lives and careers turned.

Many people remember Joseph Welch's "have you no decency" denunciation of Joe McCarthy. But Rabinowitz tells a story that's probably more representative of loyalty-case lawyering. The occasion was one of McCarthy's hearings at the Army Signal Corps in Fort Monmouth, New Jersey, around 1953. A distraught woman approached Rabinowitz outside the hearing room. A single mother and, it seems, a party member, Sylvia worked as a clerk for the local board of education but had been formerly employed at the Signal Corps. If compelled to testify, she would lose her public school desk job. Rabinowitz took Sylvia's case on the spot.

I waited in the hall to catch McCarthy as

he came up in the elevator, and a few

minutes before ten o'clock he stepped out

of an elevator car, saw me ... threw his

arms around me shouting, "Hello Vic!

What can I do for you?" There were

about fifty people in the hall, and I did

not relish the greeting.

Keeping a lid on his repulsion, Rabinowitz asked McCarthy to excuse Sylvia from testifying. "I pointed out that it seemed unnecessarily cruel to this young woman to deprive her of employment." Sure, said McCarthy--just check with his chief counsel, Roy Cohn. Cohn, true to form, said no. The genial McCarthy proceeded to shred Sylvia in the hearing; she lost her job the next day.

By disposition and training, lawyers are essentially believers in the system. The attorneys at the top of their game in the fifties, even Marxists like Rabinowitz, had earlier found special ratification for that inclination in the New Deal. So cases like Sylvia's represented a rude awakening. And the unique pressures of ended loyalty cases--the fractious fights between C.P.ers and liberals, the constant F.B.I. surveillance, the likelihood that attorneys themselves would be subpoenaed by the same investigating committees as their clients--could leave even high-powered lawyers feeling unmoored. Some, like Rabinowitz, were so outraged by the sustained cynicism of the inquisitors that they became outriders of sixties radicalism. On the other hand, at least a few were left crushed in livelihood and spirit--among them Bartley Crum, one of the most prominent members of the Hollywood Ten's "dream team" in 1947, who would spend the next decade yanked back and forth between the poles of principled resistance and humiliating capitulation.

Both Rabinowitz and Crum arrived at their encounters with the inquisition through the National Lawyers Guild, founded in 193 7 as a progressive, pro-labor alternative to the American Bar Association. Except for the guild, though, their careers could not have been more different. Rabinowitz is, at 87, one of the few survivors of that era still practicing law. Moved by a short story by Albert Maltz (later one of the Hollywood Ten), Rabinowitz had steered himself into labor law, joining the Communist Party in 1942. In a few years, he and Leonard Boudin founded what remains the nation's leading progressive law firm, today known as Rabinowitz, Boudin, Standard, Krinsky & Lieberman.

Unrepentant Leftist is an unapologetic recollection of movements and clients. Rabinowitz is blunt in his motivation for joining the party (he was "more interested in works than faith"), equally unambiguous about his differences with party policy in the postwar years and his reasons for leaving in 1960. He recounts his firm's long representation of Cuba, the ups and downs of the guild, his efforts on behalf of the civil rights movement in the South (among his clients, his daughter Joni, tried in Georgia on a trumped-up perjury charge). With great dignity he describes the arduous job of aiding in the representation of his partner Boudin's daughter Kathy, who, after eleven years as a Weather Underground fugitive, was arrested in 1981 for murder in a Brink's robbery in Nyack, New York. Through all of this Rabinowitz comes across as a stand-up guy, as Abbie Hoffman defined it: the Tony Curtis character who, when the Roman centurion comes for Kirk Douglas, rises to declare, "I am Spartacus."

Rabinowitz was witness to the first chapter of the purge. In 1947, Congress passed the Taft-Hartley Labor Act to regulate union organizing. Taft-Hartley's section 9(h) required officers of unions certified by the National Labor Relations Board to make sworn declarations that they were not members of the Communist Party. A Rabinowitz client, the American Communications Association, was closely aligned with the C.P. and, when its officers could not sign the requisite oath, was duly decertified. Various federal judges upheld the decertification. Rabinowitz tried to convince the union and party leadership to swallow their loss: He feared an adverse Supreme Court ruling would set a broader and more dangerous precedent. The party hierarchy insisted on an appeal, but Rabinowitz turned out to be right. In American Communications Association v. Douds, the Court ruled that protecting "the free flow of commerce" from crippling strikes favored by C.P. strategists trumped First Amendment rights. It was the first national test of a blanket ban on Communists in trade unions, and it unleashed a flood of anti-subversive legislation aimed at other sectors.

At first, the anti-Communist panic was actually good for the firm's business. But soon the professional cost was clear. Many individual clients could not afford to pay, and heavily Communist unions like the United Electrical Workers were going broke defending themselves. The firm's largest and most reliable client, the Health Care and Hospital Workers Union-District 65, abruptly decided it needed lawyers without Rabinowitz-Boudin's red taint. Rabinowitz himself was called to testify before Senator James Eastland's Internal Security Subcommittee, and had to block Eastland's investigators physically from seizing his client files.

With exceptional candor, Rabinowitz illuminates, in new and often unflattering ways, the role played by the Communist Party hierarchy--the flight underground of C.P. leaders indicted under the Smith Act, for instance, which he correctly viewed as the sheerest folly. Equally enlightening are his accounts of debates with other party lawyers on how to handle investigators' subpoenas--arguments between "First Amendment Communists" wanting to defy the committees' right to ask any questions at all, and Fifth Amendment Communists wanting to protect themselves with the established right to non-incrimination. In the short run the so-called First Amendment Communists lost out, especially after citations of the Hollywood Ten for contempt; most witnesses claimed the Fifth. But in the long run, repeated invocations of the Fifth Amendment under the glare of klieg lights helped convince the public that dissenters really were conspiratorial criminals. It would take more than a decade before Rabinowitz, Donner and other lawyers could chip away substantially at the inquisition's reach, one contempt citation, one passport denial at a time.

Communist Party strategists come in for a lot of knocks in Bart Crum's biography, too, though from a different perspective. Where Rabinowitz complains that the party sometimes insisted on hiring establishment lawyers like Crum at the expense of political practitioners' greater expertise, Crum, working on the Hollywood Ten case for producer Adrian Scott and director Edward Dmytryk, was in precisely the opposite position: locked out of key meetings and decisions.

Crum desperately wanted to be a standup guy, but through a combination of personal failings and the ravages of blackmail, he ended up with a chronic case of liberal staggers. Prior to 1947 he'd combined a lucrative career as retainer to the likes of William Randolph Hearst with forays into reform politics. Self-aggrandizing, fiscally profligate and publicity-addicted, he attached himself temporarily to lost causes: the doomed 1940 presidential campaign of reform Republican Wendell Willkie; the pioneering but equally doomed newspaper PM, which he tried, disastrously, to salvage from bankruptcy. Another lost cause was his family. Patricia Bosworth's book filters her father's public career through an intimate life of considerable privilege but greater pain. I'll skip over Bosworth's recounting of the details, except to say that her father's appealing public persona, his idealism and restless energy, are as apparent as his horrifying self-indulgence.

By 1947, Crum's attachment to Popular Front causes--ranging from Jewish resettlement in Palestine to the Progressive Citizens Association--had attracted the scrutiny of J. Edgar Hoover. Then came the Hollywood Ten. From the beginning, Crum found himself at odds with orthodox party lawyers on the team. "My father felt uncomfortable with the Party's secrecy," Bosworth writes. "He would joke and flatter to make a point, tactics the Communists didn't appreciate at all... In the midst of one discussion my father suggested everybody simply tell the truth." His clients Scott and Dmytryk agreed, but were outvoted when party lawyer Ben Margolis and screenwriter Dalton Trumbo argued that to answer questions at all would acknowledge HUAC's right to ask. Worse, Crum learned that party lawyers had held a separate, secret caucus about tactics. Despite Crum's professional prominence, he was ill equipped for the blacklist's political complexity. "You have no cunning in your face, Bartley Crum," Bertolt Brecht said to him one day, shortly before the martyrdom-averse Brecht told a boldfaced lie to HUAC about his political affiliations and then packed his bags for East Germany.

Still, Crum took on other loyalty cases--California teachers and unionists mostly, meeting them late at night in bars to avoid attracting attention. Rather than directly challenge the inquisition, his strategy was to "protect the client from making rash statements ... to sound 'hostile' to Communism." It's not clear whether this "establishment" strategy paid off for his clients. It certainly did not protect Crum from the F.B.I.: "Most certainly a Communist or a hidden Communist," his file says. "Always refers to himself as a Catholic or Republican; obviously a double alibi." Nor did it shield his family from being ostracized in their affluent, conservative social set.

Crum couldn't quite make up his mind where his commitments lay. Sometime in 1948, he stopped handling loyalty cases because "his more conservative clients disapproved." Yet that same year he moved to New York as new publisher of the failing PM, which he renamed the New York Star. Endlessly red-baited and hopelessly undercapitalized, the paper was out of business in a year, and a few weeks later Crum attempted suicide. By the end of 1950, Crum had resigned from the National Lawyers Guild to look "less subversive." At the same time his client Dmytryk broke with the Hollywood Ten to testify about his own activities. Most of the Ten blamed Bart.

These conflicting pressures reached critical mass in the spring of 1953: In a restaurant with his family, he was suddenly called to the phone. Hoover was on the line, warning Crum his passport would be revoked unless he went to Washington to answer some questions. Crum provided a dirt-eating written statement: "I am a practicing Catholic. My religious and political views are not and have never been compatible with Communism or Socialism." That's what he told his family, gradually adopting a defensive bitterness toward the C.P. What Crum didn't say is that he also agreed to provide the F.B.I. with information about the Lawyers Guild and two of his colleagues.

In the short run, Crum's strategy worked: His passport was renewed. But the process seemed to collapse his internal system of meaning; he had no Rabinowitz-like compass to restore stability to his life. He'd already come to rely on alcohol and barbiturates. His son Bart Jr. committed suicide. Over the next few years "his career fell into a shambles," notes Bosworth. Crum only re-emerged in the public eye in a bizarre episode in 1958, representing one of the founders of the notorious promoter of the entertainment blacklist, Aware, Inc., in a complicated lawsuit against Jimmy Hoffa and the Teamsters. This brought him into contact with the young Robert F. Kennedy's Senate rackets investigation. Hoping that Kennedy might somehow straighten him out with the F.B.I., Crum began to leak information he'd been told privately by Teamsters lawyers; he finally agreed to testify publicly. In a Capitol Hill hearing room he even charged that Washington power broker Edward Bennett Williams, on the Hoffa team, offered to buy his silence. The charge was probably true, but Crum was so addled by drugs and alcohol that he got key facts wrong and was forced to retract his own statement. And there, essentially, Crum's life ends: Within a year he committed suicide after a dinner party.

The interesting thing about these two very different stories is that Crum brought to the inquisition so many seeming advantages over Rabinowitz: money, political connections, press contacts. Yet it was Crum who ended up shattered. It's easy enough to pin their different trajectories on character and temperament. But there's more to it than that. There were liberals with lives more orderly than Crum's who managed to be just as politically unsteady, including the era's A.C.L.U. director, Morris Ernst, who secretly passed information to Hoover. Maybe the difference is that a party attorney like Rabinowitz had little to lose, while a wealthy establishment lawyer could lose everything. Moreover, Crum and Ernst both believed their professional effectiveness depended on remaining respectable, on preserving access to the powerful--a thoroughly ineffectual self-deception and a lesson for today's access-preserving Washington liberals. (The self-deceptions were not all on one side. The standup silence of Rabinowitz and other party loyalists, while admirable in so many ways, was also part of a disastrous culture of secrecy that made anti-Communist attacks as easy as shooting fish in a barrel.)

Between them, these two biographies evoke the minute particulars of a defining moment in the history of U.S. civil liberties. It's easy to forget that most of the earliest important First Amendment precedents, in the shadow of World War 1, were more recent to McCarthy-era lawyers than the Hollywood Ten are to us today; the expansive First Amendment rulings of the Warren Court were still years away. And then there was the unprecedented challenge to lawyering itself. Going back to Samuel Adams and the Boston Massacre, the American legal system has generally maintained a clear distinction between advocate and client, but the loyalty cases punished lawyers and clients alike. While not every lawyer met the loyalty-case test with equal honor, virtually all did so at personal cost.

The loyalty cases, which once loomed large enough to make national political careers for Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan, now surface in the national consciousness only occasionally, like a bad dream fleetingly recollected over lunch. But theories of the First Amendment that today seem common sense were first articulated by loyalty-ease lawyers; for instance, Yale Law School Professor Thomas Emerson, who with I.F. Stone founded the National Emergency Civil Liberties Committee, conceived his magisterial The System of Freedom of Expression as an affirmative response to the witch hunts. If jurors today know enough about the First Amendment to acquit Oprah Winfrey of libeling the Texas beef industry, if opinion polls show a public suspicious of a messianic inquisitor like Kenneth Starr, it's largely because a contemporary language for free speech was created by the exhausted and embattled civil liberties bar of the fifties.