The connection between golf, businesspeople, and notions of class is common-place in the mass media, but a topic not yet explored in the social sciences. This paper seeks to historically and sociologically trace back the association between business and golf by looking at the history of this sport in three nations: Scotland, England, and the United States. I explore the creation of rules of etiquette, the introduction of the handicap, and the socioeconomic composition of golf clubs throughout the nineteenth and early-twentieth century. In theoretical terms, the article advances Pierre Bourdieu’s notion of symbolic capital and Michel Foucault’s idea of technologies of the self.

THE ITALIAN WORKING-CLASS LEFT AND RESISTANCE TO WAR, 1911-1915 James A. Young Developments within the Italian working-class Left prior to Italy’s intervention in the Great War anticipate both the divisiveness and the radicalization characteristic of the better known wartime and postwar periods. Nowhere is this more evident than in the posture assumed toward war. For, while anti-war activities consumed only a portion of the energies of working-class leftists during this period, they reflect the concerns and directions taken by organized workers. From opposition to the Tripolitan (Libyan) War of 1911 against the Turks through the neutralist campaigns of 1914-15, working-class groups made war and militarism a chief focus of their critique of the established order and assumed a leading role among anti-war forces. The accomplishments and the failures of the workers’ anti-war efforts reflect, then, the strengths and weaknesses and the divisions within the movement in 1911 as in 1915 and, for that matter, in 1919-22. In 1911 reformists controlled both the Italian Socialist Party (PSI) and the Socialist-founded-and-affiliated General Confederation of Labor (CGL). Yet, important differences remained between them, despite their Accord of Firenza of 1908, which assigned political matters to the PSI and economic concerns to the CGL. In 1908 and again in 1911, rightist reformists in the CGL threatened to break with the PSI, even as recently organized revolutionary dissidents tugged from the other side at both the party and the labor federation. And, if these revolutionaries could derive some encouragement from the CGL’s call in March 1911 for a national demonstration against increased military spending and inflation, and in favor of universal manhood suffrage, they endured another reformist victory at the third national congress of the CGL in May. However, the return of Giovanni Giolitti as Italy’s premier and the course that he set toward war with the Ottoman Turks over Libya created a new crisis for the working-class Left. As war with the Turks approached, the CGL’s Directive Council voted to stage a vigorous demonstration against Premier Giolitti’s venture. As a result, leaders of the CGL, the PSI, and the latter’s Socialist Parliamentary Group (GPS) called on September 27 for a general strike against the war.2 The move underscored the grave importance of the moment, for the reformists had roundly condemned the general strike, along with the Syndicalists with whom the tactic was chiefly identified. Subsequently, the young revolutionary Benito Mussolini, Pietro Nenni, and others created some railway disruptions on a regional scale and were jailed, but the general strike failed. The Giolitti government then conducted war with little further opposition, except in Turin where anti-war agitation continued into mid-1913.3 The general strike of 1911 failed because of a combination of political and economic factors. The CGL leaders had intended the strike to be only a symbolic protest against the war, and the PSI leaders agreed, for neither group was afflicted with the enchantment with violence perpetrated on the Left by anarchists and Syndicalists. Moreover the PSI’s support of the strike had been diluted by the latest version of Giolittian trasformismo: War for the Right, near-universal manhood suffrage for the Left. Some of the right-wing reformists of the PSI even approved of financial credits for the war.4 Faced by such ambivalence among their leaders at a time of high unemployment, workers refused to expose themselves to reprisals. They went to work.5 The very failure of the anti-war strike radicalized large segments of working class organizations. The PSI’s Modena Congress of October 1911 produced gains for the Left, gathered around the newspaper La Soffitta, and at Reggio Emilia in 1912 they constituted a majority. The party, meanwhile, suffered censure by the executive organ of the Second International, the International Socialist Bureau (ISB). Since PSI secretary Pompeo Ciotti earlier had assured the ISB of vigorous opposition to any Giolittian war, the Bureau expressed grave disappointment in the party. Italian Socialist leaders replied that they had fulfilled their duty by protesting the war, but they had been discredited in the eyes of many, both at home and abroad.6 Partly because of this embarrassment, the Congress of Reggio Emilia acted on Mussolini’s motion and expelled Leonida Bissolati, Ivone Bonomi, Angelo Cabrini, and Guido Podrecca, whose right-wing reformism and tacit support of the war had compromised them and who then formed the Reformed Socialist Party.7 Movement did not occur so rapidly within the CGL, where the initial effect of the failed general strike reinforced the leaders’ reformism. Consequently, they refused to support the Syndicalists’ anti-colonial demonstration of March 1912 in Parma. Moreover, a current of the CGL led by general secretary Rinaldo Rigola remained uncomfortable with CGL-PSI ties and favored the formation of a Labor Party that would take on solely workers’ economic issues, which in their eyes did not include suffrage. Yet, the “armed peace” among the Great Powers and the Balkan wars of 1912-13 apparently made an impression: A meeting of the National Council of the CGL in April 1912 muted the usual reformist animosity toward the Syndicalists; and, for May Day 1913 the CGL issued a manifesto urging workers to dedicate the holiday to the struggle against rearmament and threatened revolutionary action if the government should initiate a move toward war.8 While CGL leaders’ renewed opposition to the general strike tactic detracted from the credibility of such bellicose rhetoric, those leaders did display awareness that the Confederation’s focus must be broadened. In 1913 they still represented only 327,000 people, under five percent of Italian workers. At the Fourth Congress in May 1914, Felice Quaglino forcefully advocated widening the CGL’s economic program to include more agricultural concerns, and Enrico Dugoni followed with an anti-imperialist resolution. A short time later the Turinese section of the PSI similarly widened its horizons as it offered the nomination for a parliamentary seat to Gaetano Salvemini, chief exponent of Southern peasants’ interests.9 Meanwhile, 1913 had seen a rising tide of rank-and-file militancy, as evidenced by the strike actions of more workers (385,000) than ever before and the increase of the Young Socialists’ membership by over 12.5 percent over 1911 numbers. 10 Yet, just as such activity seemed to indicate a growing working-class cohesion, the Syndicalists departed along a separate path. Syndicalists broke with the CGL in 1912, ending years of uncomfortable affiliation. The Italian Syndicalist Union (USI) of about 100,000 members set up offices in Parma. Their strength derived from Parma and Bologna, from the braccianti (agricultural laborers) of Emilia, among Genoese seamen, and from railway workers. Additional pockets of Syndicalist strength survived in areas of the South, such as Naples. If at this time the formation of the USI seemed to signal a further move to the left, all was not as it appeared. Although Alceste DeAmbris, a vigorous opponent of war in 1911, became USI general secretary and won a parliamentary seat in 1913, the influence of southern intellectuals such as Arturo Labriola continued. In 1911 Labriola had supported war against the Ottoman Turks with the argument that “A people that does not know how to make war will never make a revolution.”11 Still, in the months before the Great War the Left remained identified with anti-war sentiment, and the Left seemed to be on the offensive. The cooperation of the revolutionary Socialist Benito Mussolini with Milanese Sydicalists and anarchists appeared to reflect merely a growing solidarity among revolutionaries.12 II Antonio Salandra replaced Giolitti as premier in April 1914. Salandra stood firmly on the Right. He had risen as a protégé of Baron Sidney Sonnino, who had led paternalistic conservatives in opposition to Giolitti’s moderate reformism. Accordingly, Salandra had served in the regime of would-be dictator Luigi Pelloux in the 1890s. By 1912 Salandra began to drift from paternalism toward a more activist agenda that resembled that of the Italian Nationalist Association and that later generations could recognize as proto-Fascist or neo-conservative. From this perspective Salandra had seen the war against the Turks as a chance to weld the country together in the crucible of combat. And, like the Nationalists, Salandra had taken offense at Giolitti’s refusal to seize that opportunity. Given favorable circumstances, then, Salandra would be tempted to effect a revival of the Right and the healing of Italy’s social unrest through war.13 Three factors gave Salandra the chance to initiate his “National Policy.” The first was a backlash against the militant Left among petite bourgeois elements that had previously favored the Left. Secondly, the July Crisis and the ensuing war blocked Giolitti’s return to power and provided the time to bolster the Right through a military venture. Finally, the anti-war forces in general and the working-class Left in particular suffered divisions that prevented concerted action against Italy’s intervention in the war. Italian leftist militancy in 1914 peaked with the great general strike in June known as Red Week. The strike erupted following the killing on June 7 of demonstrators protesting in Ancona against militarism and nationalism. The workers’ swift response arose from the belief that the Ancona incident epitomized the brutal methods commonly employed by employers, the army, and police against working people who challenged the status quo. CGL leaders had earlier warned the government against further testing the workers tolerance of officials’ violence. Combined with deepened structural unemployment in rural areas and deflated wages in cities, the Ancona incident sparked the call for a general strike.14 Working-class leftists of all stripes – Socialists, anarchists, Syndicalists, and Republicans – acted to overthrow the hated system. Red Week failed to achieve the goals of its most militant supporters, but not before the bourgeoisie had suffered a thorough scare. Corridoni led Syndicalists in the streets of Milan, while rebels commanded by Pietro Nenni, a left-wing Republican, and the anarchist Errico Malatesta held Ancona for a week. Two died and eight were wounded in Turin, and barricades blocked the streets in Rome. Governmental authority collapsed in Emilia. Yet, as in 1911, CGL reformists limited their action to the level of protest. These leaders called off their strike after two days, without having consulted the PSI or anyone else. Salandra then seized the advantage presented by the ensuing disarray and threw 10,000 army troops into the breach in Emilia, where order was restored in ten days. Ancona fell, and Nenni and Corridoni were arrested while Malatesta fled into exile. The movement then cooled quickly. To a large section of the urban middle classes and the land-owners of the South, Salandra thus emerged now as the savior of law and order, while the restraint exercised by labor reformists passed largely unheeded, except among the divided Left.15 Salandra’s resolve contrasted starkly with the divisions that had reopened on the Left. Reformist parliamentary deputies Filippo Turati and Claudio Treves lashed out at the “outbursts of disorganized mobs” and the “divine right of the piazza” practiced by the revolutionaries. Similarly, in the pages of his l’Unita the ultra-reformist Salvemini attacked Malatesta for his role in the uprisings, which he suggested may have been backed by the Austro-Hungarian General Staff.16 On the other hand, Giacinto Serrati of Venezia’s Chamber of Labor rebuked the CGL chiefs for their lack of an organic policy. In the same vein, N. Mazzoni of the National Federation of the Workers of the Land (Federaterra) cited CGL leaders for failure to communicate to others their intention to short-circuit the strike.17 Some evidence of middle-class reaction to Red Week appeared shortly in local elections. In Naples, Ancona, Verona, and Bologna, leftist blocs won municipal contests, and the Socialists won outright in Milan, where Emilio Caldera was elected mayor and Mussolini won a council seat. Yet, results elsewhere indicated a reaction. In Turin, where only months earlier Socialists had won three of five parliamentary seats, the PSI took only sixteen of eighty council seats. Moreover, upon the death of PSI deputy Pilade Gay, Turinese bourgeois and clerical forces united to defeat Socialist Mario Bonetto by sixty-seven votes.18 A similar moderate-clerical bloc won the municipal elections in Genoa; and, a nationalist-conservative-clerical coalition defeated the ruling leftist bloc in Rome. In such a political setting did Italy face the crisis of July-August 1914.19 III As the July Crisis deepened the Salandra government required little persuasion that Italy should remain neutral. Aiding the Central Powers was out of the question. Nonetheless, the PSI warned the Cabinet that any such effort would be met by a general strike; and, the Socialists were backed by the anarchists and Syndicalists on the one hand and Reformed Socialists (the new Bissolati /Bonomi party) and Republicans on the other.20 On July 25, the PSI via editor Mussolini’s Avanti! demanded absolute neutrality, and both the PSI and CGL leaderships called on the 27th for a meeting of parliament so that a “declaration of absolute neutrality” might be passed. Moreover, the PSI directorate decided to request that the ISB convene an international socialist conference as soon as possible. And, on the 29th that same directorate reminded Italian workers of the structural unemployment caused by the Libyan war, just as Milan witnessed the first anti-war demonstration.21 At this time the USI published a Manifesto to Workers that, anticipating Vladimir Lenin, urged that the “odious war among nations” be transformed into civil wars. Reformed Socialists supported neutrality, if only to provide time for moving Italian sentiment toward pro-Entente (later Allied) intervention.22 Finally, on August 4, as Avanti! voiced the PSI’s call to resist the war “with all means,” thirty thousand Turinese gathered at the Chamber of Labor in support of neutrality.23 For a moment, the working-class Left seemed united in a powerful current against military intervention. Unity on the Left lasted only briefly. The unprovoked German attacked on Belgium transformed many into interventionists. Even extreme Republicans such as Nenni and the Turinese Enrico Cravero opted for war at this juncture. Oddino Morgari, a Turinese parliamentary deputy and future Zimmerwaldian, also turned briefly to the war party. And, Mussolini’s Avanti! on August 5 justified the defense of the nation against invasion, even while reviling “militarist barbarism.”24 During the ensuing weeks Syndicalists moved toward pro-Entente intervention, as did the Reformed Socialists and Salvemini, who had opposed war in 1911. Others, including the youthful Antonio Gramsci and Palmiro Togliatti appeared to waver.25 Yet, the PSI and the CGL held firm, and they won support from the radical Catholic peasants of the North. By 1906 Guido Miglioli had emerged from radical Catholic ranks to lead the White Leagues of Italian peasants. While the White Leagues differed from the Socialists in program as well as religion, their attitude toward the war resembled that of the other groups of the anti-war Left.26 Both in 1911 and 1914-15 the papacy’s official neutralism sanctioned that of the White Leagues. Yet, Miglioli and his comrades stood worlds apart from the practitioners of Vatican diplomacy, as they would – even more distinctly – during the postwar struggle against Fascism, when they allied with the PSI and the Chamber of Labor in Cremona.27 In 1914 Miglioli demonstrated from his seat in parliament, as well as through the actions of the White Leagues, his solidarity with other working-class neutralists. As the first Battle of the Marne raged through northern France, the Reformed Socialists proclaimed their “fraternal solidarity” with the French. And, on September 22 the USI leaders in Parma called for pro-Entente intervention. Yet, a joint conference of the Chambers of Labor, the Federation of Trades, and the CGL reaffirmed their unity with the PSI. The Socialist Party buttressed its own position with the publication of the “Bible of Neutralism.”28 Working-class solidarity remained largely intact. Despite Mussolini’s celebrated defection to intervention in October, the remainder of the working-class Left – the Socialists, factions of anarchists and Syndicalists, and the White Leagues – opposed the war until and after Italy’s intervention in May 1915. Yet, they failed to create, or to be integrated into, an effective front against the decision for war. They lacked sufficient strength and perhaps resolve to block a war policy themselves; and, they received little help from the most influential center of neutralist power, the Giolittians. While the Giolittians certainly cannot be described as leftists, and even less as working class, their position in the anti-war movement was crucial and must be considered briefly here. Giolitti and his many followers opposed war, but their allegiance to a policy of national aggrandizement prevented them from using their overwhelming predominance in parliament and their great strength in the press against a war-prone policy. When in late October, for example, when Salandra dissolved his cabinet with the obvious intention of instituting a more interventionist regime, the Giolittians voted for the new cabinet. For, although they opposed war, the Giolittians believed that a government that appeared to be preparing for war would best be able to extract from Austria-Hungary the very territorial concessions that would render intervention unnecessary. For the same reason, Giolittians later voted for large military appropriations; and, shortly before Italy’s intervention, the Giolittian La Stampa of Turin still called for well-armed neutrality.29 No Center-Left coalition emerged, then, capable of blocking the war policy of the Right. The bulk of the active resistance to the war then fell to the PSI and the CGL. In even these circles, however, no national policy or strategy emerged. This stemmed largely from differences among Socialists themselves about the nature of neutrality and the means to sustain it. In December the CGL betrayed a pro-Entente bias with its denunciation of Italy’s contraband trade with the Central Powers. Concerning tactics, Secretary Rigola and others urged that a referendum should be held on whether to employ a general strike if war should threaten, not unlike the later post-war vote on whether to start a revolution. Mariani attacked Rigola’s proposal later in a National Council meeting. The CGL, Mariani held, should simply issue a firm declaration of a general strike upon the proclamation of military mobilization. To await mobilization or its imminent occurrence, he concluded with foresight, would leave the field to the most active political element and might fail to win rank-and-file compliance.30 Meanwhile, divisions opened within the PSI as well. Ever since August the PSI’s “absolute neutrality” had been qualified by a pro-Entente bias. So when a German socialist addressed the Italian party’s leadership to explain his party’s support of the German government, the Directorate replied that Italian Socialists “feel sorry for and pay honor to the ruined Belgians and follow with trepidation the sortie into France.” Moreover, while almost every PSI section endorsed neutrality, some interventionists emerged from Socialist ranks.31 Conditional neutrality found a powerful spokesman in Mussolini as he moved toward interventionism – like the Parma Syndicalists – only after the first Battle of the Marne had shown that the Germans could not win a quick victory. War on behalf of the Central Powers, he argued, was one thing: Revolution threatened a government that pursued such a course. But, Mussolini warned, if Socialists proclaimed a general strike against a united Italy about to intervene on the side of the Entente, two equally tragic eventualities loomed: 1) The general strike would fail and repression would follow; or, 2) If the strike brought down the old government, the difficult conditions of peace exacted by the enemy would cause the counter-revolution and military dictatorship.32 Very few Socialists followed Mussolini into interventionism. Yet, many agreed with his distinction between war on behalf of the Central Powers and war to aid the Entente and with his contention that absolute neutrality bound the PSI to an unduly rigid posture in the face of rapidly moving events. On October 22, a meeting of Milanese Socialists, including Mayor Caldera, applauded Mussolini’s work for the PSI and supported his criticism of absolute neutrality. The party sections of Aquila, Urbino, Melzo, and San Sofia di Fiume, as well as the Federation of the Workers of the Sea, also supported his position. Others, such as the Pontremoli section, expressed sympathy with Mussolini’s views but fell short of explicitly endorsing them. Despite such sentiments, the Milanese sections of the party expelled Mussolini, with only twenty votes in his favor. The communal council then accepted unanimously his resignation. Soon, Mussolini would launch a new paper, Il Popolo d’Italia, with secret financial support of pro-war industrialists, the French and, later, Britain’s MI5, to exhort Italians to action and to further the cause. Like others, Antonio Gramsci – future leader of the Italian Communist Party – agreed in “Active and Operative Neutrality” that Socialists needed to move beyond the “doctrinaire formalism” of the current PSI leaders’ stance, but he stopped short of following Mussolini. The latter also proved unable to attract the young Angelo Tasca with the offer of employment with the paper and did little better elsewhere among Socialist activists. Mussolini, far from becoming “a leading interventionist” as claimed by Spencer Di Scala, remained rather isolated. Few were enchanted by the prospect of massive violence.33 The PSI, meanwhile, continued its assault on interventionism. The party issued a new manifesto confirming absolute neutrality on October 20 and this enjoyed the immediate backing of labor organizations, including the USI, the CGL, and Railway Union delegates. Further, the PSI Directorate issued on the 25th a statement urging the propagation of anti-war theses and held that Socialists must not be passive spectators but must engage in the political class struggle. In the first of these pronouncements, the PSI contrasted Socialist neutralism with the “uncertain and ambiguous” neutrality of the government. They also noted that the socialist parties of all the belligerent countries had been compromised. PSI leaders expressed especial disappointment in Germany’s SPD, once European socialists’ “proud example” whose thoughts and action could now hardly be distinguished from those of the German bourgeoisie. Most importantly, however, the manifesto acknowledged the weakness of working-class neutralists: “There is not today in us the power to impede or overcome the war that breaks out.” In thus conceding one of Mussolini’s points concerning its lack of strength, the PSI nonetheless made no concession in principle to the interventionists.34 On January 18, 1915, the PSI Directorate and the GPS reaffirmed their neutralism. They attributed the war’s origins to capitalists’ conflicting interests and spurned nationalist and imperialist ideals as rationales for “mercantilist, egoistic greed.” Italy, they noted, had not been attacked or threatened, and the country’s vital interests remained unmolested. Moreover, the Socialist leaders argued presciently, it was not certain that Italian intervention would end the current massacre and establish the principle of national self-determination, as some interventionists declared. If the Italian government should order military mobilization with the intention of waging a war of aggression, they cautioned, the PSI “must take an exact assessment of the effective force of the proletariat at the moment.” Whatever the case, they added, the bourgeoisie that undertook war “cannot be exonerated from the tremendous political and historical responsibility to which . . . [it] exposes them.” Finally, the declaration called for continued Socialist neutralist propaganda and for a series of workers’ anti-war meetings on February 21.35 In the same vein, on February 1 the “Triplice of Labor” – the CGL, the National League of Co-operatives, and the Federation of Mutual Aid Societies – published a tract that attacked the government’s inattention to economic problems, lamented working class deficiencies in culture, will, and – especially – organization and echoed the call for demonstrations on February 21.36 Yet, this display of unity was offset soon, in part, by the Syndicalists. As noted above, Syndicalist leaders in Parma had begun calling for intervention in September 1914. On February 8, 1915, a national Syndicalist conference voted to support those leaders. By 10,663 to 2,391 the conference voted for intervention.37 A week later, however, Reggio Emilia sent a very different message to Rome. The uprising in Reggio Emilia erupted because of both economic and anti-war impulses, belying attempts to downplay the continuation of social conflict during this period.38 Also in February, the appearance in Turin of Socialist interventionist Cesare Battisti met with counter-meetings hosted by the PSI; and, clashes spilled over into the streets on March 20, April 11, and April 22, and included protests against the rising cost of living.39 In March and April Serrati led demonstrators against intervention in Milan, where an anti-war demonstrator, I. Marcora, was killed by police.40 Still, the PSI and CGL, like the Giolittians and the Catholics, lacked a coherent strategy for confronting the drift toward war. The most resolute act of the time arose with the proclamation of a general strike over the killing of Marcora. But the strike failed to be emulated elsewhere, and no other concerted efforts followed.41 As these currents flowed, the interventionist tide rose. In fact, as early as September 1914 Salandra and Sonnino had agreed that if Italy failed to acquire gains from the war, “public opinion would revolt vigorously against the government . . . and perhaps against the monarchy.”42 Sonnino, who became foreign minister in November, may well have recalled, as he had recorded at the time, that the Turks had hoped in vain in 1911 that the Socialists could obstruct the Italian road to war.43 Clearly, he felt greater concern over the interventionist slogan “War or Revolution!” than over threats voiced by neutralist workers. Sonnino confirmed this in his attempt in January 1915 to take measures against Arturo Labriola because of that interventionist’s intemperate attacks upon the Austrian and German monarchs.44 Finally, Salandra’s restrictions upon public meetings, imposed in late winter, aimed initially at curbing overzealous interventionists as well as neutralists.45 Fears of interventionist activism, supplemented by workers’ weakness and division – rather than the assurance of “the essential patriotism of socialist leadership”46 – seems to have bolstered the inclination of Salandra and Sonnino to go to war. Socialists interpreted Salandra’s repressive measures as an indication that the regime had decided for war. Both CGL and PSI condemned the restrictions, and the PSI encouraged its members to defy the measure.47 Accordingly, as noted above, anti-war demonstrations increased during March and April. However, May proved to be decisive. The final crisis over Italy’s intervention, the “Radiant Days of May” in the memories of the interventionists, underscored the strength of the Italian Right and the fragmented, irresolute condition of the Left and of neutralists in general. On the one hand, some leftists denounced the lack of anti-war preparation and advocated a general strike. On the other hand, PSI-CGL leadership discussions on April 27 revealed uncertainty within CGL ranks, reflected in the demand that a distinction should be made between wars of aggression and those of defense and in the opposition of some CGL leaders to a general strike in the event of war.48 On the same day, Salandra’s cabinet voted to prohibit the traditional May Day meetings and demonstrations of the Left. However, the PSI urged participation, and some forty-six gatherings occurred around the country, virtually without incident. Meanwhile, the PSI, with CGL support, took steps toward rebuilding the Socialist International, an effort that was to lead by September to the Zimmerwald Conference of anti-war Socialists, including the Russian Bolsheviks.49 But the critical confrontations were yet to come. As it became clear during the second week of May that the Salandra regime was in serious trouble, pro-government and interventionist demonstrations erupted anew. Rallies and demonstrations occurred in the hitherto quiescent South, as well as elsewhere. On May 12 one hundred thousand turned out in Rome to greet the impassioned interventionist poet Gabriel D’Annunzio. Thousands rose in Bari on the same day and five thousand in Catania on the fourteenth, the day after the Salandra government resigned. With much more emphasis on supporting the embattled government than upon guerra, support surged forth from Sicily, Abruzzi, Camania, and Puglia – largely from among traditional ruling and leading classes that had seen in Salandra’s handling of Red Week evidence of an alternative to the democratic liberal social policy of the Giolittians.50 Within that context, they also supported intervention in the war. Moreover, unlike the North, where interventionists met frequently with counter-demonstrators, the South – where the Church was strong and the Left was weak – produced no visible opposition to the supporters of Salandra. The North reacted differently. On May 12, as three hundred parliamentary deputies left their calling cards – tokens of their support for neutrality – at Giolitti’s residence in Rome, fifteen thousand Turinese factory workers struck in opposition to the impending war.51 In Milan a general strike erupted on the fifteenth, following the death of a young Socialist in a clash with interventionists. Florence, Genoa, and Bologna also experienced bloodshed and mass arrests.52 But it remained for “Red Turin Against the War,” as a postwar book title described the city, to stand in boldest contrast to Rome, where interventionists marched unimpeded by public authorities and neutralists were physically intimidated.53 Like interventionist Rome, neutralist Turin was an atypical city. Most of its petite bourgeoisie left the city when the Italian capital was moved in 1864-65. Turin’s subsequent development coincided with that of the heavy engineering industry, which, as Gramsci notes, resulted in the evolution of a concrete working class and thus gave the city a character perhaps unique in all of Europe.54 Moreover, much of the remaining bourgeoisie was Giolittian and neutralist, if cautiously so. Consequently, while neutralists suffered attacks in Rome and failed to even show themselves in the South, cries for rebellion rang openly through the Turinese Chamber of Labor.55 Already on April 19 the Chamber’s council agreed, with only two dissenting votes, on a general strike in the event of military mobilization; and, on the 29th they requested that the CGL conduct a referendum on that same issue. Most other chambers and labor federations were to respond negatively. Nevertheless on May 5 the Turinese section of the PSI announced that they would “oppose with all means, not excluding the general strike, any attempt at war.” As the crisis of the Salandra government lengthened, working class leftists cast about for a viable strategy. On the 12th Turinese workers clashed with cavalry units. On the 13th a PSI-labor conference was called for the 16th in Bologna; and, on the 14th Avanti! published the Socialist Parliamentary Group’s response to interventionist charges and taunts. Interventionist marchers on the 15th met immediately with a strong counter-demonstration. And, as Socialist and labor officials conferred on the 16th, young Socialists and anarchists at the Turinese Chamber of Labor proclaimed that “from Turin must start the spark of revolt.” Little action emerged, however, from the PSI-labor conference. Although intransigents pressed for meaningful action, reformists held back. Moreover, a subsequently little-appreciated but powerful factor at work among many of the conferees was the feeling that, as Avanti! asserted, “The fall is complete” – war was no longer likely because Salandra, it seemed, had lost his gamble and would not return to power. They could not know -- any more that did Giolitti, who claimed to have been tricked by Salandra – that the supposed fall was to be reversed and that military preparations had continued as if no governmental hiatus had occurred.56 The position taken by the Left, then, reflected no single analysis of events or of tactics required to deal with them. Workers were encouraged to continue the struggle against war by such means as they saw fit. Hence, intransigents could call strikes while reformist locals could feel free of any obligation to do so. The GPS would vote against war credits. Yet, doubts lingered about the efficacy of workers’ methods and about the “complete” nature of Salandra’s fall from power. The conferees, then, acknowledged that the PSI, the GPS, and the workers’ organizations could not act as “arbiters of the capitalist world” and therefore claimed freedom of responsibility for any military adventure that may follow, having done their duty “before Italy and the International.”57 In Turin this duty was not yet seen as having been discharged. On the day after the Bologna conference, a Monday, Turinese workers stayed home. A demonstration engaging 80,000 to 100,000 people formed and moved toward Siccardi Avenue, which was blocked at various points by lancer-backed cavalry troops. The demonstrators heard speeches by Mario Guarnieri and others. Soon, barricades arose in the streets and a young carpenter, Carlo Dezzani, was killed and forty other demonstrators were wounded. The conflict continued, despite a downpour, and government forces stormed the Chamber of Labor, claiming to have been fired upon from the premises. Eventually the popular forces were driven back to the periphery of the city. On the 18th the conflict resumed and another worker, Maria Martin, was wounded when troops fired upon a crowd. Salandra called upon the Turinese parliamentary deputies to help establish order. Morgari and Giulio Casalini, and others – schooled in Friedrich Engels’s observation that “If the troops fight, resistance is madness”58 – returned to Turin to urge workers to stop fighting. On the 19th, which was to be a day of nation-wide demonstrations against the war, order was restored in Turin and some workers returned to their jobs. The events in Turin exerted no significant impact at the time upon the government or upon the rest of the nation. Despite its strength, the working class established no links with other anti-war forces that may have enhanced their own efforts and might have served as an example to their counterparts elsewhere. Instead, the Turinese PSI rejected specifically any cooperation with bourgeois and Catholic neutralists.59 Nor was the limited success of the Turinese emulated elsewhere. The general strike in Milan failed miserably, and anti-war workers in other locales suffered similar defeats. Everywhere but in Turin the interventionist minority showed superior strength in the streets and plazas, as Mariani had feared.60 At a time when virtually all clericals, Giolittians, and bourgeois pacifists submitted passively to intervention in the war, perhaps little more could have been expected from a workers’ movement that, although connected through the PSI and the CGL, still only rarely undertook collective bargaining beyond provincial boundaries, enrolled as yet only a small percentage of active workers, and consisted of a tiny fraction of the European movement.61 Exacerbated by internal divisions within the PSI and the CGL, the as-yet-undeveloped strength of the Italian working-class Left prevented the formulation of a clear strategy and corresponding tactics. Salandra and Sonnino, then, were to gain the opportunity to implement a “national policy” and to make Italy the dominant power in the Balkans and the Adriatic Sea by means of what all but a few expected to be a “short, successful war.”62 Guido Miglioli would join PSI and a handful of other deputies in mustering seventy-four votes against the emergency powers bill on May 20, but only Turati would rise to speak against the measure. Italian Socialists and CGL members, stymied in their efforts to prevent intervention, were now to focus upon repairing the large gashes in the body of socialist internationalism, efforts that would lead to the Zimmerwald Conference a few months later.63 For the moment, however, Italian participation in the unprecedented violence of the Great War would proceed in an orderly fashion. Luciana Marchetti, ed., La Confederazione Generale del Lavoro, nei atti, nei documenti, nei congressi, 1906-1926 (Milan: Avanti!, 1962), xxvii, xxx, xxxvi, 128, 135-40. Right-wing reformist CGL chief Rinaldo Rigola viewed universal suffrage as “nothing but a farce”: Franco Gaeta, La crisi di fine secolo e l’eta giolittiana (Turin: Unione Tipografica-Editrice Torinese, 1982), 276. The “right-wing” label applies within the PSI context only and refers to gradualists such as Leonida Bissolati and Ivone Bonomi who sought to develop a party along the lines of the British Labour Party. 2 Marchetti, 146-47. 3 On Mussolini’s role, see Ivone Kirkpatrick, Mussolini: A Study in Power (New York: Hawthorne, 1964), 47-49. Also, Giovanni Spadolini, “Fra Nenni e LaMalfa,” Nuova antologia, 126 (April-June 1991), 32-45, and Mark Thompson, The White War: Life and Death on the Italian Front, 1915-1919 (New York: Basic Books, 2008), 47. On Turin: Giampiero Carocci, Storia d’Italia dall’Unita ad oggi (Milan: Feltrinelli, 1975), 206. Syndicalists had emerged as a faction of the larger array of antiauthoritarian anarchists, a faction that saw labor organizations (syndicates) as the best form for people’s finding and practicing self-expression. See Nathan Jun, “Anarchist Philosophy and Working Class Struggle: A Brief History and Commentary,” Working USA: The Journal of Labor and Society, 12, no. 3 (September 2009), 505-19. 4 Leonardo Saviano, “Il Partito Socialista Italiano e la Guerra di Libia (1911-1912),” Aevum, 48 (May 1974), 288-307. Also, Wolfgang Abendroth, A Short History of the European Working Class, tr. N. Jacobs and B. French (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1972), 65. On the rightist reformist Leonida Bissolati’s position on the war, see Alexander De Grand, The Hunchback’s Tailor: Giovanni Giolitti and Liberal Italy from the Challenge of Mass Politics to the Rise of Fascism (Westport, CT: Praeger, 2001), 172, 176. On the “cult of violence” of syndicalist George Sorel and others, see Jack J. Roth, The Cult of Violence: Sorel and the Sorelians (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1980). On enchantment, as the author uses the term here, see Sarah Cole, “Enchantment, Disenchantment, War, Literature,” PMLA, Vol. 124, 5 (October 2009), 1632-47. 5 Marchetti, xxxvii. The reformist PSI leader and deputy Filippo Turati complained that the party simply had no foreign policy: Filippo Turati, La vie maestre del socialismo , ed. Rondolfo Mondolfo and Gaetano Arfe (2nd ed.; Naples: Moreno Editore, n.d.), 210. 6 James E. Miller, From Elite to Mass Politics: Italian Socialism in the Giolittian Era, 1900-1914 (Kent, OH: Kent State University Press, 1990), 135. Georges Haupt, Socialism and the Great War: The Collapse of the Second International (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972), 63-66. 7 Turati, 257-65. Also, Gaeta, 351, 450, and Alberto Malatesta, I socialisti italiani durante la guerra (Milan: Mondadori, 1926), 18. 8 Marchetti, 152-58, 173. 9 Giuseppe Fiori, Antonio Gramsci: Life of a Revolutionary, tr. Tom Nairn (New York: Schocken Books, 1970), 95. Marchetti, 188-89. Miller, 7. On the CGL’s numbers: Rinaldo Rigola, L’evoluzione della Confederazione Generale del Lavoro (Florence: Critica Sociale, 1921), 23. The 1913 numbers were down from a pre-war high of 383,770 in 1911. 10 Antonio Fossati, Lavoro e produzione in Italia dalla meta del secolo XVIII alla seconda Guerra mondiale (Turin: Giappichelli, 1951), 494. Also, Maurice Neufeld, Italy: School for Awakening Countries (Ithaca, NY: Cayuga Press, 1961), 547, where the author places the number of strikers at 465,000. Antonio Gramsci, Scritti Giovanili, 1914-1918 (Turin: Einaudi, 1958), 88. 11 Quoted in Christopher Seton-Watson, Italy from Liberalism to Fascism (London: Methuen, 1967), 371, and Peter Schottler, “Syndikalismus in der europaischen Arbeiterbewegung,” in Arbeiter und Arbeiterbewegungin Vergleich,” ed. Klaus Tenfelde (Munich: Oldenburg Verlag, 1986), 419-75. 12 Renzo DeFelice, Mussolini il rivoluzionario, 1883-1920 (Turin: Einaudi, 1965), 209ff. 13 On Salandra’s “National Policy,” see Raffaele Colapietra’s review essay on Salandra inedita in Rassegna storica del Risorgimento, LXI 3 (July-September 1974), 477-80. Also, Antonio Gramsci, Passato e presente(2nd ed.; Turin: Einaudi, 1952), 41-2, and Richard Bosworth, Italy and the Approach of the First World War (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1983), 106-07. 14 Marchetti, xxxix-xli, 165-6, 174. 15 For the proclamation of the general strike, see Ibid, 194. Also, Paolo Spriano, Torino operaia nella grande guerra (1914-1918) (Turin: Einaudi, 1960), 63-5. On bourgeois alarm, see Antonio Gramsci, Quaderni del carcere, III (4 vol.; Turin: Einaudi, 1975), 1613, as well as his Passato e presente (2nd ed.; Turin: G. Einaudi, 1952), 39, on Red Week’s having brought together urban and rural leading classes. 16 William Salomone, Italian Democracy in the Making (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1945), 61; Antonio Gramsci, Selections from the Prison Notebooks, ed. Q. Hoare (New York: International Publishers, 1971), 70n. 17 Marchetti, 194-97. 18 Spriano, 70. 19 Ambassador T. N. Page to Secretary of State William Jennings Bryan, June 17, 1914, in U.S., Department of State , Records of the Department of State Relating to the Internal Affairs of Italy, 1910-29, Microcopy 527, roll 4, Archives of the United States. 20 Haupt, 201, quotes Oddino Morgari’s report to the International Socialist Bureau during the July Crisis. Also, Malatesta, 23, and Angelica Balabanoff, My Life as a Rebel (New York: Greenwood Press, 1938), 118-20. 21 Malatesta, 23. Also, the PSI-CGL release of the 27th and the “Manifesto of Neutrality” of the 29th in Haupt, 209-11, and the CGL Executive Committee meeting of the 29th in Marchetti, 199. 22 Ivone Bonomi, La politica italiana da Porta Pia a Vittorio Veneto (Turin: Einaudi, 1946), 355. 23 Spriano, 80. Malatesta, 26. 24 Spriano, 62 and 80. Malatesta, 27. 25 On Salvemini, see Gaeta, 397. Also, John A. Thayer, Italy and the Great War: Politics and Culture, 1870-1915 (Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 1964), 241-43. 26 Amos Zanibelli, “Le leghe bianci cattoliche,” in Fascismo e antifascismo, I (2vols.; Milan: Feltrinelli, 1962), 83-4. 27 Ibid, 87. 28 Colapietra, Bissolati, 214 -15, discusses the path to “fraternal solidarity.” For the “Bible of Neutralism,”see “Manifesto Against the War” in Malatesta, 211-14; and, for the proclamation of the labor conference, see Marchetti, 201-02. 29 Seton-Watson, 428. Salandra’s speech in the Chamber of Deputies on December 3 could as easily have emanated from Giolitti: Italy, Atti parlementari, Camera dei deputati, Sessione 1913-15, Discussioni, VI (Rome: Archivo Storico, 1952), 5531. 30 Marchetti, 205, 211. 31 Malatesta, 31. 32 Ibid, 32-3. 33 Malatesta, 37-40. Martin Clark, Antonio Gramsci and the Failed Revolution (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1977), 49-50, holds that Gramsci and Togliatti – future Communist leaders – also supported intervention at this point. Hamish Henderson, however, compares Gramsci’s position to that of Karl Liebknecht, Rosa Luxemburg, and John MacLean at this juncture, in Antonio Gramsci, Gramsci’s Prison Letters, tr. and ed. Hamish Henderson (London: Zwan Publications, 1988), 6. Also, ; John M. Cammet, Antonio Gramsci and the Origins of Italian Communism (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1967), 37-8, argues persuasively that Gramsci did not go over to interventionism but looked beyond the “Buddhist renunciation” of simple neutralism, which is the theme of Antonio Gramsci, “Active and Operative Neutrality,” in Il Grido del Popolo, October 31, 1914, in Antonio Gramsci, Selections from the Political Writings, I, ed. Quinton Hoare and tr. John Matthews (2 vols.; New York: International Publishers, 1977), 6-9. On Tasca, see Alexander J. DeGrand, In Stalin’s Shadow: Angelo Tasca and the Crisis of the Left in Italy and France, 1910-1945 (Dekalb, IL: University of Northern Illinois Press, 1986) 17-19. On French contributions to Mussolini, see Francois Charles-Roux, Souvenirs diplomatique (Paris: Fayard, 1958). For Mussolini’s support by Britain’s MI5, see Christopher Andrew, Defend the Realm: The Authorized History of MI5 (New York: Alfred Knopf, 2009), 104-05. Also, Spencer M. Di Scala, Italy from Revolution to Republic (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1995), 212. 34 Malatesta, 214-16. 35 Ibid, 216-18. 36 Ibid, 219-21. 37 Ibid, 49. An intermediate position attracted 904 votes. 38 Luigi Mondini, “Neutralita ed Intervento,” Rassegna storica del Risorgimento, LX, 1 (Jan.-March 1973), 93, holds that social conflict was entirely subsumed by the interventionist-neutralist conflict. On the rising, see Marchetti, 208. 39 Spriano, 98, 100. 40 Brunello Vigezzi, “La ‘Radiose giornate’ nel maggio 1915 nei rapporto dei prefetti,” Nuova revista storica, XLIII (Sept.-Dec. 1959), 330. Also, Marchetti, 209-10. 41 Marchetti, 209-10. 42 Sidney Sonnino, Diario, 1914-1916, II, Opera omnia di Sidney Sonnino, ed. B. Brown and P. Pastorelli (5 vols.; Bari: Laterza, 1972), 16-19. Also, Ferdinando Martini, Diario, 1914-1918 (Milan: Mondadori, 1966), 98-101. Martini was Minister of Colonies. 43 Sonnino, Diario, 1870-1914, I, 550, entry of November 26, 1911. 44 Salandra to Sonnino, January 23, 1915, in Sidney Sonnino, The Sonnino Papers, reel 48 (54 reels; Ann Arbor: University Microfilms, 1968-69). Salandra was replying to Sonnino’s inquiry. 45 Vigezzi, 331-33, 343. 46 As maintained in Thayer, 322. 47 Malatesta, 222-23, Marchetti, 209. 48 Malatesta, 51, 54. 49 One hundred thousand demonstrated in Turin on May Day: Spriano, 101-02. Also, Malatesta, 52-55, and Marchetti, 214. 50 Vigezzi, 54-56. Also, Claudio Segre, Italo Balbo: A Fascist Life (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987), 17-21. 51 Spriano, 102. 52 Vigezzi, 87ff. Also, Spriano, 99. 53 Spriano, 103. Giovanni Giolitti, Memoirs of My Life, tr. E. Storer (London: Chapman and Dodd, 1923), 400. Italia, Parlemento, Camera dei Deputati, Comitati segreti sulla condotta della guerra (Roma: Archivo storico, 1967), 47. Also, Alberto Monticone, Nitti e la grande guerra (1914-1918) (Milan: Giuffre, 1961), 16. 54 Antonio Gramsci, “The Programme of Ordine Nuovo” in The Modern Prince and Other Writings (New York: International Publishers, 1957), 26. 55 Spriano, 101-12, provides the basis for most of the following account of events in Turin. Also, Cammett, 14-38. 56 Malatesta, 60. Spriano, 105. Rusconi, 139-40. 57 Malatesta, 228-29. Marchetti, 214. 58 Quoted in Martin Berger, “Engels’ Theory of the Vanishing Army: A Key to the Development of Marxist Revolutionary Tactics,” Historian, XXXVII, 3 (May 1975), 426, from a letter to Paul Lafargue. 59 Spriano, 67-69, 122, 138 n. 4. Also, Earlene Craver, “The Rediscovery of Amadeo Bordiga,” Survey, 91/92, no. 2/3 (Spring/Summer 1974), 160. 60 Vigezzi, 87-92. In Austrian-ruled Trieste, both Italian and Slavic workers rejected nationalistic appeals. See Ennio Maserati, Il movimento operaio a Trieste dalla origini alla prima guerra mondiale (Milan: Giuffre, 1973), 206. 61 Maurice Neufeld, “The Inevitability of Political Unionism in Underdeveloped Countries: Italy the Example,” Industrial and Labor Relations Review, 13, 3 (April 1960), 366. Comparative socialist parties’ numbers may be found in Robert Wohl, French Communism in the Making, 1914-1924 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1966), 19-20. 62 The expectation that Italian intervention would be decisive in the war was shared by Sir Edward Grey and Theophile Delcasse, the foreign ministers of Britain and France, respectively, as well as Salandra and Sonnino. Therefore, in an otherwise aggressively negotiated agreement, the Pact of London, the Italians requested only fifty million British pounds in financial assistance, a supplement required for less then a year’s military operations. For Grey’s views, see Grey to Ambassador Bertie (Paris), March 4, 1915, in United Kingdom, Public Record Office, Foreign Office file 371, folio 2507. Also, Ambassador Imperiali (London) to Sonnino, March 17, 1915, Sonnino Papers, reel 7, for the concurrence of Lord Kitchener, British Minister for War. For the Italian demands, including the loan, see Imperiali’s letter to Grey, March 4, 1915, F. O. 371/2507. 63 Thompson, 35.

A gang of historians has gunned down the "romantic West." They have dismissed the notion of the West as a frontier of opportunity for all comers. The American West has been redefined as an arena of struggle involving complex relations of class, gender, ethnicity, and race. Western work camps and company towns existed as extensions of a global economy centered on the eastern United States. From the mid-19th century through the first decades of the 20th century, capital and people flowed into the West from Europe, Asia, and Mexico. In this internal periphery of U.S. capitalism, workers experienced the same type of exploitation and engaged in the same struggles as their brethren in other parts of the United States. Perhaps nowhere is this more evident than in the coalfields of Colorado. The work camps and company towns that archaeologists excavate were loci of struggle, and historians cannot claim to understand them without considering these conflicts.

Payroll taxes and payroll deductions became ubiquitous in the United States by the mid-1940s, crucial to the financing of the emerging “mixed” welfare state as well as World War II. While scholars have firmly established the importance of elements of the warfare/welfare state such as Social Security, employer-based pensions and health insurance, and the mass income tax, voluntary sector institutions have garnered less attention. The history of payroll deduction demonstrates how this “infrastructural power” also advantaged institutions outside of the state, notably, charitable fundraising organizations commonly known as Community Chests (the forerunners of the United Way). Chests began to look toward the payroll deduction in the 1920s as an efficient and effective way of extracting donations from workers of modest means—though these were often fiercely resisted by an empowered labor movement in the 1930s. But it took the state's vast expansion of deductions during World War II, and the patriotic impulse of donating to war-related charities, to convince industrial unions and employers to support this method of donation. Like the income tax, this change in charitable giving remained in place after the war and became a vital element of financing this part of the public–private social safety net—a crucial boost to the voluntary sector from the state.

Mines, Mills and Malls is a case study of political and social development in twentieth century America from the perspective of the metropolitan region, a vantage midway between the local community and the national polity. The narrative traces the evolution of the ‘Steel Valley’ – Pittsburgh and its hinterlands in southeastern Ohio, southwestern Pennsylvania and West Virginia – as residents and communities faced the turmoil caused by the decline of the area’s heavy industrial base. By explicitly focusing on the metropolis as a whole, my research provides a new model transcending the urban decay/suburban ascendance divide in favor of a more heterogeneous landscape that includes failing suburbs, gentrified city centers, and de/industrialized rural communities. The story of the Steel Valley pushes urban historians to accept rural communities and their residents as full-fledged actors on the metropolitan stage instead of merely green spaces waiting for suburban development. I also move beyond the declension model characterizing recent labor and urban historiography by focusing on the shift from heavy industry to services. This approach challenges the easy distinctions drawn between Rust Belt and Sunbelt economies by pointing to the important disparities within regions among populations with varying levels of access to employment opportunities. The metropolitan framework I adopt to tell the story of the Steel Valley synthesizes urban, economic and environmental histories, while never straying far from the real life choices of the region’s residents. Divided loosely by theme and geography, my narrative looks beyond the artificial borders of municipal limits and state lines in order to see the real and symbolic bonds knitting diverse communities into a unified region. At the same time, I acknowledge the very real impact of political and administrative boundaries that limited governmental and private sector responses to the dual Appalachian and urban crises affecting the area. During the 1950s and again during the 1980s, Pittsburgh’s business and political elite reinvented the city, first as a center of corporate administration and later as a ‘postindustrial’ hub of the high-tech and service sectors. However, this transition remained largely confined to select neighborhoods and certain wealthy suburbs, while the remainder of the region continued to face chronic unemployment and out-migration. The Steel Valley today thus features a complex social and cultural system combining aspects of both industrial and post-industrial worldviews.