Insull was born in England in 1859 and went to work first as a stenographer, and then with the London representative of Thomas Edison’s telephone companies. Within a few years, he immigrated to the U.S. to work with Edison personally, eventually joining with railroad financier Henry Villard and others to found Edison General Electric. In 1892, Insull moved to Chicago and became president of the struggling Chicago Edison Co. (formerly Western Edison Light Co.). Insull instituted the time of use rate structure, something he had seen used on a trip to Brighton in England, and the company’s fortunes improved. Later, Chicago Edison merged with another of Insull’s companies, Commonwealth Electric Light & Power Co., to become Commonwealth Edison Co.

The late 1880s brought competing ideas about how to provide electricity to the general public. Samuel Insull as an owner of utility companies, would be a player in this debate, which is today referred to as the War of the Currents. One camp supported Thomas Edison’s direct current (DC), which had been the standard, while the other supported the new alternating current (AC) advocated by Nikola Tesla and George Westinghouse. Eventually electric companies, including Insull’s, would adopt AC.

Being an effective leader in an emerging industry virtually ensured Insull would make a fortune, and he did. At one point, an estimate put his fortune at around $100,000,000, while a later estimate gave a figure of $4,000,000,000. This fortune allowed him to purchase ownership stakes in many Midwestern utilities, infrastructure and railroads and expand his reach. In 1912, he formed Middle West Utilities Company, an electric utility holding company that allowed Insull to control power from Texas to Illinois and as far afield as Maine and Florida.

In 1915 Insull published Central-Station Electric Service; Its Commercial Development and Economic Significance as Set Forth in the Public Addresses (1897-1914) of Samuel Insull. The book is filled with many of his speeches and shows his thinking on the industry he dominated. In one item, “The Obligations of Monopoly Must Be Accepted,” he talks about the trade-off of monopolies: “I think it was some twelve years ago that I first tried to voice the idea that our business is a natural monopoly and that we must accept, with that advantage, the obligation which naturally follows, namely, regulation” (p.119). He went on to say that instead of resisting regulation, business should look to ensure legislation was as beneficial to them as possible.

In the late 19^th and early 20^th century, discussions about trusts and government regulation of business swirled throughout the country. The Sherman Antitrust Act was passed in 1890 and was followed by the Clayton Antitrust Act. Then, in 1929, the stock market crashed and ushered in the Great Depression. Unfortunately for Insull, his holdings were highly leveraged and within a few years, Middle West went into receivership. Insull’s fortune, as well as the savings of hundreds of thousands of people, were wiped out.

Insull’s fortunes had turned. In 1932, he resigned and fled with his wife, first to France and then Greece. He was arrested in Türkiye and extradited back to the U.S. He was charged with embezzlement and fraud, but the charges were abandoned.

Insull was visiting Paris in 1938 when he died, and was buried in London’s Putney Vale Cemetery. An extensive story, published just after he died, recounted his rise and the circumstances of his fall.

The stock market crash, and failures like those of Insull’s companies, led to additional regulation of corporations and changed how publicly traded companies would be monitored in the future. In 1934, Congress created the Securities & Exchange Commission and passed the Public Utility Holding Company Act of 1935. Other securities laws would follow in the years to come.

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Whether you’re a casual birdwatcher or an intensive birder, you can rest assured you’re in good company. Birding and birdwatching have been enjoyed by people of all backgrounds, even by some of our presidents! And a few of these presidents have kept lists.

For many presidents, their only interest in birds was for hunting. For Theodore Roosevelt, however, his interest in birds was much more all-encompassing. Yes, he was a sportsman through and through, and hunting (and taxidermy) is one of his most well-known pastimes. But he is also known for his affinity with the wilderness in the broadest sense, having established 230 million acres of public lands. If it was found in the wild, Teddy was interested in it. So perhaps it makes sense that he took notice of the birds around him all the time.

According to the book, Feeding Wild Birds in America, President Roosevelt “was said to have burst into at least one cabinet meeting announcing his latest bird sighting— ‘A Chestnut-sided Warbler, and this is only February!’” (p. 24). And, at a social event, he was talking with Lucy W. Maynard, an author of the bird guidebook, Birds of Washington and Vicinity, when she asked him about birds he had seen in his time at the White House. Roosevelt promised her a list of all the birds he could remember having seen since he had come to Washington.

That list, along with the story of how it came to be, appeared in the March-April issue of Bird-Lore magazine in 1910, and in later editions of Maynard’s guidebook. The list consisted of 93 species of birds, including the usual city-dwelling suspects, like crows, robins and mourning doves, but also less frequent visitors making stops during migrations, like the bobolinks and blue-winged warblers. It also indicated which birds were seen on the White House grounds, noted what birds were known to nest there, and identified what birds he saw in the city rather than at the White House itself.

This is the bird list referenced by detective Cordelia Cup (portrayed by Uzo Aduba) in the detective mystery streaming series, The Residence, as she obsessively searches for birds at the White House while simultaneously trying to solve a murder. Wild birds weren’t enough for the Roosevelt family. They were known for having all kinds of animals at the White House, with a cast that included lizards, a pig, guinea pigs, a badger, a much-loved pony, and even (briefly) a hyena. A few of these pets were of the feathered variety: a hen named Baron Spreckle, a one-legged rooster, and a hyacinth macaw named Eli Yale.

Roosevelt wasn’t the only president with a bird list, however. More than a century earlier, Thomas Jefferson, ever the professional list-maker, chronicled 125 species of birds in his Notes on the State of Virginia. This was the only book published by Jefferson and was written as a response to accusations by noted French naturalist, the Comte de Buffon, that the flora and fauna of the New World was inferior to that found in Europe. In it, Jefferson sought to chronicle the wide variety and immense size of the plants and animals of North America. For his bird list, Jefferson listed birds he observed by their common names, and supplied scientific names from Carl Linnaeus’ Systema Naturae, and Mark Catesby’s The Natural History of Carolina, Florida, and the Bahama Islands.

But the bird closest to his heart may have been the mockingbird. In 1785, when comparing the mockingbird with the European nightingale, Jefferson wrote to Abigail Adams, “I heard there the Nightingale in all its perfection: and I do not hesitate to pronounce that in America it would be deemed a bird of the third rank only, our mockingbird, and fox-colored thrush being unquestionably superior to it.” Later, upon hearing of the first sighting of a wild mockingbird at Monticello in 1793, he wrote, “Learn all the children to venerate it as a superior being in the form of a bird.”

At the time, mockingbirds were often captured in the wild and sold as cage birds, valued for their songs. Jefferson was known to have kept several mockingbirds, and he made notes in his weather records when they would sing. He named his favorite mockingbird, Dick, but as far as we can tell, this is the only one that received a name.

In their post-presidential lives, Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter also became avid birdwatchers. His work with The Carter Center took Carter to many international locations, and he often added birding excursions to these trips whenever possible. Back home, the couple assisted in the USGS’s North American Breeding Bird Survey, which is a program that monitors North American bird populations. In 1994, he received the Audubon Medal for outstanding achievement in the field of conservation and environmental protection.

Carter wrote and spoke about adding notable birds to his list and is reported to have had a life list of over 1,200 species. However, there is no published source for the whole of this list. In a 2004 article for Bird Watcher’s Digest, Carter detailed birding in the Rio Grande Valley, described the great lengths he and Rosalynn went to see a short-tailed hawk, and finally sighted a least bittern, which had been evading the group for the whole trip. Despite all his international travels, one of his most unexpected and exciting sightings was in the couple’s home state of Georgia. In 2002, the Carters sighted the painted bunting in Americus, well outside of the typical range for this colorful bird.

A bird list can take many forms these days. It might be on an app, in a waterproof field journal, or consist of a printed checklist from a birding organization. Or perhaps it just starts on a scrap of paper in your pocket on your lunch break. All it takes to start birding is just to look around … and start a list.

If you’re looking to get looking at birds, these books can be helpful for getting started! Check them out at your local library:

• Sibley’s Birding Basics, by David Sibley, 2002.
• Birding Basics: Tips, Tools & Techniques for Great Bird-Watching, by Noah Strycker, 2022.
• North American Bird Watching for Beginners: Field Notes on 150 Species to Start Your Birding Adventures, by Sharon Stiteler, 2022.
• Slow Birding: The Art and Science of Enjoying the Birds in Your Own Backyard, by Joan E. Strassmann, 2022.
• The Junior Birder’s Handbook: A Kid’s Guide to Birdwatching, by Michelle Carlos, 2023. (for young readers)

 

The Second World War had ushered in a new age in aviation. Not only were aircraft flying faster, higher and farther than ever before, they were doing it with a revolutionary new power plant – the jet engine. Rockets, once small devices with limited range, soared to the edge of outer space. With new heights and speeds came new dangers and the Army Air Force and the U.S. Air Force would develop new fashions – flight suits and other technologies – to keep their pilots safe and fit to fight.

“The air around you is sort of important.” With that rather blunt statement, the Air Force begins the first section of their 1954 manual, Your Body in Flight. (Perhaps too bluntly? The 1960 edition of the title, which you can check out at HathiTrust, omits that sentence.) In this manual, one of the historical Air Force manuals in the Library’s collections, the Air Force explains what can happen to the bodies of pilots at high altitude and high speed and how those effects can be reduced.

Air, and more specifically, the oxygen within it, is something your body needs. On the ground, all the air above and around you push on you with a certain amount of pressure, pushing oxygen into your lungs and blood cells, where it can be carried throughout the body. However, as a pilot flies higher, there’s less air in the space around them and less above them pushing down, so there is less pressure forcing oxygen into the body. A facemask can provide air with increasing amounts of oxygen so that as a pilot flies higher, enough filters into the bloodstream, but above 40,000 feet, there is not enough pressure to force enough oxygen into the blood, even when breathing 100% oxygen.

While oxygen masks were still provided for safety, many Air Force aircraft of the 1950s that could reach high altitudes featured cabin pressurization – the air within the aircraft was kept at a pressure that made breathing comfortable even without a mask. But there was still a risk that something could go wrong and pressurization might be lost, and so pilots of the highest-flying aircraft would wear what Your Body in Flight called “the newest thing” – a pressure suit. “Quickly nicknamed the space suit,” according to the 1954 manual, it “scale[d] the pressure cabin down to the size and shape of pressurized underwear, with helmet to match” (p. 42).

While the helmet of a pressure suit delivered oxygen under pressure to the lungs, to be forced into the bloodstream, the suit inflated, with tubes compressing the chest, arms and legs to counter the pressure and avoid injury, while keeping blood flowing.

A separate system of inflatable pockets on the abdomen, thighs and calves formed what is called a “g-suit.” Travelling at any speed, according to the manual, was fine – as long as you flew straight and level. Any kind of turn, dive or other maneuver, though, and a pilot would encounter centrifugal, or “g” forces. These forces could make it difficult for the heart to pump blood to the brain. While there were techniques pilots could use to raise their tolerances to g-forces without one, a g-suit would assist pilots by applying pressure to the lower body, forcing blood back up towards the heart and the brain.

For more on the challenges that faced pilots of the 1950s and 1960s, check out the 1954 and 1960 editions of the manual for yourself! Or, if you are interested in the highfliers of the Second World War, you might want to take a look at this 1943 edition, by the Aero Medical Laboratory, which is available through HathiTrust. Interested in the Air Force uniforms of the Vietnam era? Check out Yankee Air Pirates: U.S. Air Force Uniforms and Memorabilia of the Vietnam War, a two volume set in the Library collection, by Olivier Bizet and François Millard. Or Air Force uniforms in general? The Library has Into the Blue: Uniforms of the United States Air Force, 1947- to the Present, by Lance P. Young, or you can search the Library’s catalog for more works by using the subject heading, United States. Air Force—Uniforms.

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Business subject specialists will provide an overview of select print and digital collections and introduce participants to accessible entry points for these resources, making this session useful to both onsite and online researchers.

The Library of Congress has over 1.2 million titles in the areas of business and economics, in addition to primary sources, directories, special collections, digital collections and library databases. Since we can’t show you everything in 30 minutes, we’ll be featuring items related to the automotive industry as examples of what you might uncover! After the session, you’ll have the opportunity to connect with reference librarians during a Q&A.

Request ADA accommodations five business days in advance at (202) 707-6362 or ADA@loc.gov. The event recording will be available afterwards to those who registered.

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In June, the Library posted a short video about the telephone’s debut at the Centennial Exposition that was the brainchild of my colleague, Josh Levy, in the Manuscript Division. Josh wanted to use the anniversary to shine a spotlight on items from the Alexander Graham Bell papers that offer a peek into the telephone’s origin story. My job was to highlight the Library’s vast collection of telephone books and talk a little about how they are used by researchers. We hope people find it informative so please give it watch! And, as an aside, keep your ears peeled for a mention of Mark Twain.

If you are interested in knowing more about the telephone’s debut and the Exposition, the Library has a few things to offer. Josh published a blog post expanding on a piece he wrote for the May/June issue of the LCM, while the Library of Congress Business Section created a Story Map and an entry about the Bell System for our This Month in Business History guide. The Exposition itself has also been the subject of two Inside Adams blog posts; the first, on publications about the Exposition, was written in 2010, while another about the Exposition’s monorail ran this past February. There is also new a collection of Free to Use images related to the Exposition. Lastly, the Library has a number of guides which inventory the telephone directories we have in our collections – one for the U.S. telephone books (some of which have been digitized) and several for European countries created by staff in the European Reading Room.

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For centuries spectators have dressed fashionably for organized spectator sporting events, such as the Kentucky Derby and automobile racing. Earlier this year, we explored what people wore to horse races, like the Kentucky Derby.  Now, as IndyCar Series prepares to hit the streets of Washington, DC this summer, we’re looking at the fashions of early 20th-century auto racing. 

I recently read an article from the September 1, 1917 edition of Nugent’s The Garment Weekly, titled “Fashion Races at the Speedway,” by Natalie Frazee. Nugent’s (published from 1902 to 1929) was a weekly trade publication for clothing retailers and manufacturers that covered current trends. In the article, Frazee explored how twentieth-century women’s fashion represented the racetrack’s culture as fast, bold, free, and innovative. 

In the early twentieth century, as they still do at the Derby today, spectators attended auto races dressed up for the occasion. Frazee described thousands of spectators packed into grandstands, wearing their bright silks, knits, and hats. They clapped, cheered, yelled, and screamed with anticipation as they watched, surrounded by the roar of engines, with dust flying and the smell of burnt rubber in the air, as automobiles raced around the track. 

Attire at the racetrack was formal. Women wore long frocks, layered sweaters with skirts, wool jerseys, and dress shoes, often accessorized with hats, purses, jewelry, gloves, scarves, or wraps. Men wore three-piece tailored suits and dress shoes, complemented by ties, cuff links, and hats. 

Shortly after the automobile was invented, automobile racing began. Early examples of what were then called horseless carriages were tested to determine the fastest. In June 1895, the Paris-Bordeaux race became one of the first major auto competitions. Thirty vehicles powered by petrol, steam, or electricity, and including two- and three-wheelers, competed, going from Paris to Bordeaux and back. The first American race took place a few months later, on November 28, 1895, and was sponsored by the Chicago Times-Herald. 

Although early car races focused on technology, speed, and durability, they were also an exhibit of high fashion. Over time, horse and automobile races evolved into social events that combined a competitive sport with the latest fashion trends. 

If you are interested in early 20th-century race day fashions, the library offers a wide selection of trade publications covering the fashion and automotive industries. Additional resources are available through the Business Section’s automotive and fashion industry guides. 

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The United States Life Saving Service was formally founded in 1878 and operated for four decades before merging, in January 1915, with the United States Revenue Cutter Service to form the United States Coast Guard. While the Coast Guard itself was formed in 1915, it actually traces its origins to the founding of the Revenue-Marine, the predecessor of the Revenue Cutter Service, on August 4, 1790. Later, the United States Lighthouse Service and many of the responsibilities of the Bureau of Marine Inspection and Navigation would be added to the Coast Guard as well.

For much of their histories the uniforms of the Coast Guard and its predecessors would resemble those of the U.S. Navy. Enlisted sailors wore short jackets, neckerchiefs and loose-bottomed pants that could be easily rolled up as needed, while officers of the Revenue-Marine wore blue coats with brass buttons and blue pants. Only insignia and symbols of rank distinguished Revenue-Marine officers from those of the Navy. Occasionally this similarity would rankle and inspire efforts to change. In 1834, for example, Revenue-Marine officers were directed to wear dark gray instead of blue, but that proved unpopular and was soon rescinded.

On the other hand, upon the establishment of the U.S. Life-Saving Service in 1878, uniforms were not authorized all! Instead, in a patchwork fashion, some life-saving station districts designed and purchased their own uniforms while keepers and the surfmen in others wore civilian clothes. With no standard uniforms, surfmen coming to assist stranded sailors ran the risk of being mistaken as “mooncussers,” coastal pirates who lured ships onto shore to scavenge the resulting wreckage, or other miscreants.

It was not until 1889 that a formal Life Saving Service uniform was adopted, with station keepers being required to wear a dark blue woolen or flannel double breasted coat with gilt buttons and a dark blue hat with a black bill, while surfmen wore a single breasted coat, with plain buttons. Vests and pea-jackets, or even storm suits of brown rubber, with long black jackets, hip boots and southwester hats protected them from foul weather. Surfmen also wore numbers between one and eight on their shoulders. These numbers indicated their relative rank, which was based on their experience and ability.

Some of the duties of surfmen might at first sound idyllic. When not actually out on a rescue, they might be assigned to walk the beach at night, watching for ships that might be in danger. But their foul weather uniforms hinted at the reality of this task. The weather along the beach could be bitterly cold, with biting winds, rain, snow and fog. Laden with a lantern, flare gun and the tokens he would exchange with a surfman patrolling from the next station on the coast to prove a patrol was made, the surfmen would trudge through the soft sands, while watching for signs of distress.

Life was not all beach patrols and rescue work. Surfmen cooked, cleaned, and maintained their stations. They spent hours practicing signaling and drilling with the boats and other tools they used in rescues, and they even found time to assist scientists and inventors working on projects near their stations – such as the Wright Brothers with their new flying machine.

After the Life-Saving Service became part of the Coast Guard, surfmen retained their distinct uniforms for some time. They patrolled the beaches of the U.S. coasts and the Great Lakes until the Second World War, when a special Coast Guard Beach Patrol, using horses and dogs, took over the duty, with the added responsibility of watching for enemy agents. As the war progressed, this became less necessary and the days of the surfman in his rubber coat and lantern on the sand at last came to a close.

The list below provides further reading on the U.S. Life Saving Service, the Revenue-Marine, and the Revenue Cutter Service:

• Bennett, Robert F. Sand Pounders: An Interpretation of the History of the U.S. Life-Saving Service, Based on its Annual Reports for the Years 1870 through 1914. Washington, D.C., U.S. Coast Guard Historian’s Office, 1998.
• Canney, Donald L. “Uniforms of the U.S. Coast Guard & Its Predecessors.” Washington, D.C., U.S. Coast Guard Historian’s Office, 1990. Digital copy available as a pdf.
• King, Irving H. The Coast Guard Under Sail: The U.S. Revenue Cutter Service, 1789-1865. Annapolis, Naval Institute Press, 1989.
• King, Irving H. George Washington’s Coast Guard: Origins of the U.S. Revenue Cutter Service, 1789-1801. Annapolis, Naval Institute Press, 1978.
• Noble, Dennis L. That Others Might Live: The U.S. Life-Saving Service, 1878-1915. Annapolis, Naval Institute Press, 1994.
• Rankin, Robert H. Uniforms of the Sea Service: A Pictorial History. Annapolis, Naval Institute Press, 1962. Digital copy available from HathiTrust.
• Shanks, Ralph and Wick York. The U.S. Life-Saving Service: Heroes, Rescues, and Architecture of the Early Coast Guard. Petaluma, CA, Costaño Books, c1996.

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I grew up in Neptune Beach, Florida then moved to Mililani, Hawaiʻi when I was 15. I graduated from Mililani High School then I double majored, earning my B.A. in history and anthropology from the University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa in 2024. I graduate from my Museum Studies master’s program at the University of Florida December 2026 and am currently based in Gainesville, FL. I love going to the beach, reading, and exercising, including a newfound interest in indoor rock climbing.

How did you learn about the intern program and why did you want to work at the Library of Congress?

I learned about the Junior Fellows Program when I was hunting for a summer internship. I was aware that the Smithsonian offered internships since I was in the museum field, but I was curious to see if the Library of Congress had any similar opportunities. I was happy to find out that they had this well-established program. On-site work was not an option for me, so I was also pleased that there were a number of remote opportunities for me to apply to.

Museums and Libraries are both included in the overall “Galleries, Libraries, Archives, and Museums (GLAM)” field, and they share similar challenges. I wanted to work for the Library of Congress to understand how the largest library in the world interacts with patrons and advertises their resources.

How would you describe your internship (e.g. tasks, project, mentor…) ?

My internship project title is “Exploring American Business History in the First Industrial Revolution 1790-1840”. I am in the Researcher Engagement and General Collections Division, specifically working with the Business section in the Science and Business Reading Room. My original project mentor was reference librarian Lynn Weinstein, and after her retirement, reference librarian Ellen Terrell took over. I thoroughly enjoyed working with both of them and the rest of the business section staff. In the beginning of the internship, I was able to have a 1:1 meeting with each of them, and the variety of backgrounds and interests of all staff members was impressive.

My research for the Library centers on labor, innovation, and underrepresented populations. My general task is to contribute resources to the “First Industrial Revolution in the United States 1760-1870” LibGuide. I also frequently write entries to the “This Month in Business History” resource guide, and of course the Science and Business Reading Room blog, Inside Adams. I wrote a total of five entries:

• Eli Whitney and the Birth of American Manufacturing (This Month in Business History)
• 1867 Sierra Strike: Chinese Worker’s Pay Stand (This Month in Business History)
• Hawaiʻi’s First Written Tax Law and the Sandalwood Trade (This Month in Business History)
• The Early History of The Chinese Six Companies (Inside Adams)
• Daniel Halladay and His Windmill: Researching Lesser Told Histories (Inside Adams)

What has amazed you the most about the Library?

What has truly amazed me the most about the library is the sheer vastness of all its collections and departments. There are millions of objects, and always a nook or cranny (even on the website) that you have not explored. I also appreciate how many sources were available online and how many research guides have been published by various sections of the Library. I am a big advocate of collections accessibility, and I am happy that the Library continually works to improve theirs.

What have you learned about the Library that you didn’t know before you started your internship?

Over the course of the Junior Fellows Program, we had Professional Development Seminars (PDS) on Tuesdays and Fridays. The Tuesday session was always to introduce different departments of the library (e.g. American Folklife Center, National Library Service for the Blind and Print Disabled, Federal Research Division). Therefore, I was always learning new things about the library. One fun PDS was a virtual tour of the Great Hall. A weird fact I found intriguing, but have yet to experience myself, is that the mosaic of Minerva has toes that will always point towards you, and follow you if you go up the stairs, like the eyes of haunted portraits. If you find yourself in the Library, I suggest testing it for yourself (be mindful of others)!

When most people think of agricultural and industrial guestworkers in the United States, they likely picture temporary workers who travel on employment visas to fill some of the country’s most physically demanding jobs. These workers help sustain key industries, often spending months away from their families before returning home with valuable experience and much-needed earnings, hoping for another opportunity in the future.

Like many others, my understanding of guestworker programs has also been shaped by today’s public conversations. News headlines and media discourse often focus on debates over worker exploitation, immigration policy, and the programs’ effects on the domestic labor market. Those issues have largely defined how I viewed guestworkers.

What I never imagined, however, was that this history was also deeply personal. It never occurred to me that I had a familial connection to the guestworker experience—or that my own family’s story would become intertwined with a little-known chapter of American labor history.

As a genealogist, I have been tracing my family history for nearly twenty years. Growing up, I understood that I was a first-generation American, born to a Jamaican mother and a Jamaican British father. From an early age, I knew that my family’s history—and my roots—extended far beyond the United States. My mother and her immediate family immigrated to the United States in 1978 and my father and his family in 1969, carrying with them stories, traditions, and experiences shaped elsewhere.

Like many genealogists, some of my most meaningful discoveries have happened late at night during research sessions driven by curiosity. During one of these evenings, while searching for immigration records connected to both the United States and the United Kingdom, I encountered an unexpected discovery on Ancestry: a digitized passenger list for the S.S. David C. Shanks, a ship that sailed, under the authority of the U.S. Department of Labor, from Kingston, Jamaica, to New Orleans, Louisiana, arriving on June 4, 1943.

As I scanned the list of passengers, one name immediately caught my attention—my great-grandfather—David Uriah Nicholas. He appeared alongside his nephew and several extended relatives and neighbors from Portland Parish, Jamaica. The discovery puzzled me. According to family oral history, my great-grandfather migrated to the United Kingdom in the 1950s, after the death of his wife and my great-grandmother, Melvina Lemoine, and died there, in 1966. There had never been any mention of travel to the United States.

Carefully reviewing the record, I compared every detail. The information aligned perfectly: his approximate age of thirty-seven, his birthplace in Portland, Jamaica, his residence in Reach, and even the notation listing his “paramour,” Melvina Lomine – Lemoine is the correct spelling of her surname. The evidence was unmistakable—this was indeed my great-grandfather.

Seeking confirmation, I immediately called my paternal grandmother, my great-grandfather’s daughter-in-law. After a brief pause and moment of silence, she confirmed what the record suggested. David—known in the family as “Mr. D”—had traveled to the United States during World War II to work as a farm laborer. She further explained that several of his sons had also migrated during that same period.

Returning to the passenger list, new patterns began to emerge. Nearly all the passengers were men, many originating from the same Jamaican parish. Some were identified as East Indian Jamaicans, and several familiar surnames appeared. Among them were Benjamin Doyley, my great-grandfather’s nephew, and Reuben Doyley, a relative of my great-grandmother. As my research expanded, I uncovered hundreds of similar passenger lists documenting Jamaican men leaving the island during the war years.

I located another family member—my granduncle Seaford Nicholas, known as “Uncle Poppie”—who arrived in Florida aboard the S.S. Bret Harte in 1945, also under the authority of the U.S. Department of Labor.

Additional searches revealed entries for other relatives, including my great-grandmother’s brother, James Lemoine, affectionately called “Uncle Sunny,” who also came to the United States during this period.

For years, I did not fully understand the historical context behind this migration. That changed when I encountered Cindy Hahamovitch’s book, No Man’s Land: Jamaican Guestworkers in America and the Global History of Deportable Labor, and later had the opportunity to study with her while in graduate school at the College of William and Mary. From this work, I learned that during World War II, the British government negotiated agreements with the United States allowing workers from British colonies, including Jamaica, to enter the country as temporary guestworkers. These laborers filled critical agricultural and industrial shortages created when American men left civilian jobs to serve in the military.

These Jamaican workers were British citizens of mostly African descent, yet many encountered significant racism and discrimination while working in the United States. Understanding this history helped explain why so many families—including my own—rarely discussed these migrations. For many men, the experience was complicated, difficult, and perhaps painful enough to remain largely unspoken.

In 1942, due to the World War II labor shortages, the United States also entered into a diplomatic agreement with Mexico, which allowed Mexican men to migrate temporarily to the United States for work. These workers filled critical labor gaps in agriculture and the railroad industry, supporting wartime production and infrastructure. The men performed long hours of grueling, physically demanding work while living in harsh and often inadequate conditions.

This initiative became the Mexican Farm Labor Program, which was better known as the Bracero Program. Through short-term labor contracts, thousands of Mexican workers contributed significantly to the American economy during and after the war years. Readers interested in exploring this history further may consult the ”1942: Bracero Program” page of the Library’s Latinx Resource Guide: Civil Rights Cases and Events in the United States, which provides additional historical context and resources.

After returning home from contract work in the United States, my great-grandfather, David Nicholas, married my great-grandmother, Melvina Lemoine, on April 10, 1946, at Saint Thomas Anglican Church in Manchioneal, Portland, Jamaica. The ceremony took place in the presence of Thaddeus Howell and Wilheltina Reid, formerly Lemoine—my great-grandaunt “Meme” and Melvina’s older sister.

Tragedy struck the family just one year later. My great-grandmother reportedly died September 20, 1947 –the date listed on her grave– after being struck by a horse outside her home while carrying their unborn child. To date, a death certificate has not been located. At the time, the sudden and tragic nature of her death would have required an examination by the parish coroner, after which the family would have been responsible for formally registering the death.

Melvina was laid to rest in the family plot in Reach, Portland. Suddenly widowed, David was left to care for a daughter from a previous relationship and seven sons. For a man who had already endured his share of hardship, life changed instantly and profoundly.

Across the Atlantic, migration patterns similar to those that occurred during the war were unfolding within the British Empire. In the aftermath of World War II, Britain faced severe labor shortages and issued a call for Commonwealth citizens to assist in rebuilding the nation. Following the passage of the 1948 British Nationality Act, citizens of British colonies were granted the legal right to live and work in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Responding to this opportunity, many Jamaicans migrated to the United Kingdom in search of employment and a better future.

Among them were members of my own family, including David and Seaford Nicholas, and Benjamin Doyley—along with my paternal grandparents, maternal great-grandmother, and countless other relatives—who left Jamaica to begin new lives in Britain. Over time, David remarried and had four additional children, three of whom were born in the United Kingdom, before his passing on January 2, 1966. Collectively, these migrants became historically known as the Windrush Generation, a group whose contributions helped reshape modern British society while creating lasting diasporic connections between the Caribbean and the United Kingdom.

What began as a routine genealogical search ultimately revealed a hidden chapter of my family’s story—one that connected personal memory to American labor history. It reminded me that genealogy is not only about names and dates, but about uncovering the lived experiences that shaped generations, even when those stories have been nearly forgotten.

For those considering doing their own family history research, consider asking a genealogy or business librarian to learn more about resources and services at the Library of Congress.

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Here in the business section, you’ll find many books on the history of energy and energy companies. In any book about windmill history in the United States or wind energy history, you will find the name, Daniel Halladay. Halladay invented the Halladay Windmill, the first self-regulating windmill. Halladay’s design could pivot to adapt to changing wind directions and the blades changed pitch based on wind speed. These features better protected it from damage during storms. While I found a lot of information about his windmill, I wanted to learn more about the inventor himself, Daniel Halladay.

When you are researching the personal history of an individual, sources one might typically think of include newspapers and diaries, both of which are primary sources. They can be found in search engines like library catalogs. Sometimes changes in how a subject is referred to can occur due to marriage, misspellings, changes in spelling and terminology, city planning updates, and for many other reasons. For example, while we write “windmill” as one word today, at the time of the Halladay windmill invention, windmill was often written as two words or hyphenated. In another example, some newspapers spelled Halladay as “Halliday.” A catalog search may also yield many other people with the same name. This is where searching by authority can be insightful. Authority files are used by librarians to establish forms of names. They are typically most helpful to clarify subjects and names of people. An authority search will not lead you to one specific resource, rather all resources about that specific name. For example, this can help sort resource results from “George W. Bush” or “George H. W. Bush”.  City directories, often found at a library or local archive, can be another valuable resource. These can help researchers gain geographic data on a person or company. In general, expect names, of people and companies, addresses and even wordings to change over time. Finally, when no personal accounts can be located, obituaries, which can be sourced through an internet search or using family history databases, can yield insights into the life the person led.

Using some of these sources, I did find some tidbits about Halladay. Daniel Halladay was born on November 24, 1826, in Marlboro, VT. Early in his career he was a mechanic’s apprentice and worked to install machinery at the U.S. government armory at Harper’s Ferry, before settling in Ellington, Connecticut. This information was listed in A Field Guide to American Windmills, but this was the only biographical information I ran across in books.

Searching through the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA) after writing about Eli Whitney brought me to Halladay’s original patent among the records of the Patent and Trademark Office (shown above) for his innovative windmill. It was awarded August 29, 1854, as number 11,629. It was then re-issued July 5, 1870, under number 4,064, to extend the patent for 7 more years.

Investigating more local history, in this case, Connecticut history and Batavia city history, I found that Halladay created the Halladay Windmill Company to manufacture and sell his windmill. One of his business partners and salesman, John Burham, eventually convinced Halladay to move operations to Chicago, and then later, to Batavia, IL, to be closer to the Midwest market. This market was particularly strong, as the Halladay windmill was advertised as a wind powered water pump for farms along the open, windswept American Plains and for steam railroad engines. Their new company was the U.S. Wind Engine and Pump Company. Halladay’s windmill, also known as Halladay’s Standard Windmill, enjoyed widespread popularity and the U.S. Wind Engine and Pump Company found success in the Midwest.

After the initial establishment of his companies, around 1854, Daniel Halladay becomes more difficult to trace. A search through the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office results in a few more of Halladay’s patents. One, patented May 8, 1877 (shown below) marks an improvement upon his original windmill. His continued innovation, appearing in the historical record in these patents and in company catalogs, makes Halladay’s achievements easier to identify than those of one who did not create tactile products. It also demonstrates the evolution of his ideas.

The next mention of Halladay I found puts him in Santa Ana, CA, although it is unrelated to windmills. I found, through a history site about Santa Ana, that he moved there with his brother, Monroe Halladay, and became the president of the first commercial bank there. I verified this through local newspapers and indeed, he was elected as the president of the Commercial Bank of Santa Ana on April 22,1882 and was a substantial partner, owning $10,000 in shares in the corporation. Newspapers still ran advertisements for the Halladay Standard Windmill at this time, so it is likely that Halladay simply sought different ventures. The last primary record I found of Halladay was his obituary. This listed him as dying March 1, 1916, at the age of 89. The Santa Ana obituary listed him only as a banker and financier, but named him one of their wealthiest and foremost citizens, having moved there in 1880. It also named Mrs. H. T. Rutherford as his granddaughter and survivor.  A Massachusetts death announcement also mentioned he was a foreman at American Machine Works in Springfield, MA at one point. His estate was worth $147,000, which is around $4.6 million today.

Although Daniel Halladay was a successful businessman, and his invention was influential enough for him to gain recognition in most history books about windmills, there can be many reasons why the inventor himself did not receive wider recognition. Historical facts become such because they were deemed worth remembering or being written down in the first place. This means when searching for personal records, there may be a concession to be made about whether the subject gained enough notoriety for such to be recorded in history. Therefore, sometimes you will only find a record of their contributions rather than personal accords. The book What is History, by Edward Carr, touches more on the idea of historical epistemology. Overall, I found a great deal of Daniel Halladay’s achievements through books and newspapers, and while I have yet to find any repositories that have personal correspondence or journals that would give additional insights into his life, it is evident that he was a prominent man both in the windmill industry and in his community.

Read More about Windmills:

• Wind-Catchers: American Windmills of Yesterday and Tomorrow, by Volta Torrey
• Field Guide to American Windmills, by T. Lindsay Baker
• American Windmills: Harnessers of Energy, by Shaaron Cosner
• “History of Wind Power.” U.S. Energy Information Administration (EIA)
• “Windmills on the American Plains,” U.S. National Park Service
• “History of U.S. Wind Energy,” U.S. Department of Energy

Helpful Library of Congress Resource Guides and Collections:

• United States: City and Telephone Directories
• Historical Company Research
• Chronicling America
• The Sanborn Maps

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