Few men are prominent chess players as well as esteemed chess writers. James Mason, in his lifetime, had the reputation of being both. This book chronicles Mason's early career in the United States, providing many details on his writings and annotations for The Spirit of the Times and The American Chess Journal, his participation in the Cafe Europa and Cafe International tournaments, his win in 1876's Fourth American Chess Congress, and his matches against chess greats like George H. Mackenzie, Eugene Delmar, Dion M. Martinez, Edward Alberoni, and Henry E. Bird. Mason's efforts to establish an American Chess Association and to arrange an international centennial congress in 1876 are also explored. In addition to the general index, the work also includes indexes of games, annotators, and openings.
Sarah Thomas's study moves beyond the image of the brooding, destructive man at odds with employers and his own star status to explore the complexity of Mason's career and star persona. Her analysis is structured around three strands central to understanding stardom: the star persona, industry and power, and screen performance. Thomas addresses the incredible range of Mason's star career – 1930s 'quota quickies'; 1940s Gainsborough melodramas; the desperate IRA man in Carol Reed's 'Odd Man Out' (1947); from the 1950s onwards, Hollywood classics including starring in Hitchcock's 'North by Northwest' (1959) and playing Humbert Humbert in Kubrick's 'Lolita' (1962). She also considers in depth his undervalued post-1962 career, off-screen celebrity status, non-film work, comic and vocal performances, and the star's own self-commentary. In doing so, she offers a new perspective on such subjects as power and powerlessness; public image and national identity, contextualizing Mason's career in wider histories of British, American and European transnational filmmaking.
Leader of the first tourist expedition into Yosemite in 1855, James Mason Hutchings became a tireless promoter of the valley-and of himself. Seeking to create an alternative to California's Gold Rush social chaos, Hutchings whetted the public enthusiasm for this unspoiled land by mass producing a lithograph of Yosemite Falls, while his Hutchings' California Magazine beat the drum for tourism. But because of his later legal imbroglios over the park, Hutchings was effectively written out of its history, and today he is largely viewed as an opportunist who made a career out of exploiting Yosemite. Now Jen Huntley removes the tarnish from Hutchings's image. She portrays him instead as a "connector" who brought artists to Yosemite and Yosemite to Americans, and uses his career as a lens through which to view the contests and debates surrounding the creation of Yosemite, and, by extension, America's emerging ethic of land conservation. Blending environmental and cultural history, she tracks Hutchings's professional trajectory amidst significant changes in nineteenth-century America, from technological advances in printing to the growth of tourism, from the birth of modern environmental movements to battles over public lands. Huntley uses Hutchings's legal battles with the government over ownership of land in the Yosemite Valley to analyze larger battles over public land management and national identity. She also explores the role of urban San Francisco in designating Yosemite a public park, shows how the Civil War transformed Yosemite from a regional icon to a national symbol of post-war redemption, and takes a closer look at Hutchings's relationship with John Muir. Making Yosemite sheds light on the role of power, class dynamics, and the late-century ideal of individualism in the shaping of modern America's sacred landscapes. Hutchings emerges here as a visionary communicator who cleverly tapped into midcentury Americans' attitudes toward spectacular scenery to create a sense of place-based identity in the American Far West. Huntley's revisionist approach rediscovers Hutchings as a key player in the histories of American media, tourism, and environmentalism, and suggests new terrain for scholars to consider in writing the histories of our national parks, conservation, and land policy.
Finally, in chronicling Mason's disappointment in the face of the Confederacy's defeat, Young evokes the enormous sense of loss that accompanied the passing of the Old South's way of life.
George Mason was a short, bookish man who was a friend and neighbor of athletic, broad-shouldered George Washington. Unlike Washington, Mason has been virtually forgotton by history. But this new biography of forgotten patriot George Mason makes a convincing case that Mason belongs in the pantheon of honored Founding Fathers. Trained in the law, Mason was also a farmer, philosopher, botanist, and musician. He was one of the architects of the Declaration of Independence, an author of the Bill of Rights, and one of the strongest proponents of religious liberty in American history. In fact, both Thomas Jefferson and James Madison may have been given undue credit for George Mason's own contributions to American democracy.
Equally interesting, the diary reveals what it meant to be an African American in a white navy within a segregated American society, the shipboard tensions and the shipboard cooperation and sense of unity.
George Mason (1725-92) is often omitted from the small circle of founding fathers celebrated today, but in his service to America he was, in the words of Thomas Jefferson, "of the first order of greatness." Jeff Broadwater provides a comprehensive account of Mason's life at the center of the momentous events of eighteenth-century America. Mason played a key role in the Stamp Act Crisis, the American Revolution, and the drafting of Virginia's first state constitution. He is perhaps best known as author of the Virginia Declaration of Rights, a document often hailed as the model for the Bill of Rights. As a Virginia delegate to the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia, Mason influenced the emerging Constitution on point after point. Yet when he was rebuffed in his efforts to add a bill of rights and concluded the document did too little to protect the interests of the South, he refused to sign the final draft. Broadwater argues that Mason's recalcitrance was not the act of an isolated dissenter; rather, it emerged from the ideology of the American Revolution. Mason's concerns about the abuse of political power, Broadwater shows, went to the essence of the American experience.
