Turn-of-the-century America witnessed many forgotten risk-making experiments that probed the limits of insurability by stepping beyond the familiar fields of life, fire, and marine insurance. One attempted to underwrite firms’ lost profits during strikes.

The ensuing debates on strike insurance’s practicability revealed scientistic expectations of never-ending actuarial progress that united an otherwise-divided business community. Yet attempting to realize strike insurance quickly meant grappling with the limits of insurability. Labor strife’s fuzzy causality involving human agency forestalled the homogenous classification that underlay actuaries’ averaging. Thus, strike underwriters sidestepped actuarial ratemaking to offer uniform premiums to those deemed acceptable risks. This solution not only left them susceptible to adverse selection and moral hazard but also highlighted the limits of insurers’ ability to transform uncertainty into commoditized risk, more broadly.

Recognizing these limits has important historiographical implications. Based largely on studies of life insurance—the gold standard of insurability—the rise of financial risk management has claimed a central place in the history of American capitalism. This literature thus threatens to obscure the ongoing significance of unclassifiable, unquantifiable uncertainty. Uncovering forgotten risk-making projects like attempts to establish strike insurance, where Americans grappled with the limits of insurability, is thus a crucial corrective.

Histories of electrification revolve around networks of power developed by “system builders.” These histories, though immensely important, explain the progress of electrification from the perspective of institutions or individuals, rather than through everyday relationships. While the industry pushed the idea that electricity was an obvious must-have for urbanites, vast resources in the 1920s and 1930s went toward cultivating “courteous” relationships among meter readers, electricians, repairmen, billing clerks, and customers. These relationships were pivotal to electrification, especially with complaints about high bills, malfunctioning meters, and “inadequate” wiring, which led to customer curtailment and threatened the prosperity of central power stations. This article expands the notion of who counts as critical actors in the success of electric grids and counters contemporary claims: namely, that grids fail because of bad consumer behavior. By emphasizing the role of everyday relationship-building in the evolution of electric utilities, this study contributes to a history of electricity that examines invisible and mundane networks to expose the relations beneath the grid.

This article breaks new ground in its portrayal of the process through which a private research university obtained foundation funding. Stanford University’s growth spurts after World War I and World War II were significantly enabled by financial support from the foundations of Carnegie, Rockefeller, and Ford. The process leading to Stanford’s receiving major grants primarily involved interactions among a small group of individuals and reflected the confidence of foundation presidents and other top administrators in the capacity of the university’s presidents and other leaders. The significance of such high-level interaction persisted even while major foundations professionalized, shifting responsibilities from trustees to staff. In the rendezvous between Stanford University and philanthropic foundations, these relationships mattered so much that at crucial junctures, funding to the university preceded expertise in the relevant field of study.

This article analyzes the AFL-CIO’s international economic policy activism in the late 1960s and early 1970s within the context of the collapse of Bretton Woods monetary system. It shows that AFL-CIO economists developed a far-reaching critique of multinational corporations that encompassed not only concerns about import competition and capital flight but also charges that multinational firms contributed to the United States’ balance of payments woes. Fighting charges that union wages drove inflation, labor leaders maintained that private capital outflows and intracompany transactions exacerbated U.S. payments deficits. They therefore advocated for capital controls and import restrictions as alternatives to fiscal and monetary restraint. Their efforts to preserve the expansionary policies underpinning postwar liberalism, however, ultimately failed. By calling attention to the AFL-CIO’s failed activism in international monetary politics, the article offers a new vantage point for understanding organized labor’s declining influence in the last third of the twentieth century.

In this essay, I turn to the example of the 1919 Elaine Massacre—the deadliest incident of anti-Black violence in U.S. history—in order to better understand how its economically motivated, state-sanctioned, and brutally indiscriminate violence were nearly erased from history. I find that white journalists, military officials, as well as the Governor of Arkansas himself, drew upon long-standing race-based fears in their characterizations of what took place in Elaine. In so doing, they were able to simultaneously glorify and obfuscate the anti-Black violence, as well as further protect the property and economic interests of the white residents who had putatively been “under threat.” The scale of the violence in Elaine and the near totality of its erasure from the official record make the Elaine Massacre a chilling example of what Lindsay Schakenbach Regele has described as “martial capitalism”: the use of concealed military violence to wrest economic resources away from marginalized communities and toward their white counterparts.

This article documents how business lobbying groups, corporate leaders, and even some members of the Nixon administration drew on futurist discourse and rhetoric to defeat the Burke-Hartke bill, proposed legislation that would have imposed new taxes on multinational corporations. For several years, self-described futurologists had reconceptualized multinational corporations as ideal institutions for securing world peace and, more broadly, meeting society’s needs, thereby taking over some of the government’s functions. These ideas allowed business interests to invoke a utopian vision of the multinational corporation while working toward the more concrete goal of building a global economy defined by free trade and fending off unwanted regulation.

At Corn Products Refining (CPR), stockholders so disagreed with one another that they threatened to undermine the merger itself. Its predecessor, Corn Products (1902–1906), nearly failed, and so might have CPR. For several years, from its organization in 1906 to perhaps 1915, CPR’s owners weighed paying dividends against funding factories. Because paying dividends chanced syphoning off sums needed for plants, this might cause facilities to deteriorate and workers to face threats like factory fires that often set off explosions. CPR President E. T. Bedford managed this test and strove to upgrade facilities, which, by design or not, helped improve safety. His efforts almost came to naught given CPR’s anticompetitive tactics, yet the court’s antitrust decision—although highly critical—inadvertently gave the merger the chance to enhance profits and safety.

Histories of semiconductor and computing technology in the United States have emphasized the supporting role of the U.S. state, especially the military, in answer to libertarian denials of state aid that are influential in Silicon Valley today. Somewhat implicit in that historiography, though, is the leading role of actors and organizations that blur any distinction between public and private. Some industries of this sort—telecommunications, aerospace, auto manufacturing—do figure in the historiography, but the class should be expanded further. One such industry—oil—has been exceptionally but almost invisibly influential in the development of computing and semiconductor manufacturing in the United States. Oil firms invested heavily in semiconductors and computing. There was also an “oil spillover” of personnel and technology from oil firms to computing and semiconductor manufacturing. Oil shows up in the biographies of many prominent individuals and organizations in the history of those technologies, from Fairchild Semiconductor to Edsger Dijkstra. These ties potentially hold important implications for the much-needed transition to a more sustainable energy regime.

This article examines the industrial relations systems constructed by Ford and United Automobile Workers (UAW) leaders for the Ford Motor Company in the 1940s. Ford’s industrial relations systems extended privileges to men and male-dominated groups to the detriment of their female counterparts and women seeking employment and advancement. Systemic male privilege was integral to Ford’s operations throughout conversion to military production for World War II and reconversion back to civilian production.

At International Harvester, a 1902 merger, the defining feature was discord. A J. P. Morgan financier by the name of George W. Perkins and a formal agreement initiated changes to mitigate stress and struggle. Existing research dates improvement to 1906. This paper extends the analysis and documents that, among changes, entrepreneur William Deering and his children parted with some holdings, helping to diminish tensions. Meanwhile, the McCormicks agreed to a stock dividend.  This action helped mellow strife and augment their power. How did discord affect efficiency? The conventional answer centers on management along with expansion abroad, but that analysis is enhanced through study of seven brands and their local factories, pricing, and an antitrust consent decree. When a voting trust ran out its clock in 1912, conflict at International Harvester was receding. The firm’s record suggests various governance formats could yield efficiency and profitability.

In the 1950s, outdoor retailer Eddie Bauer donated down jackets to American mountaineers embarking on climbing expeditions in the Himalayas. In the 1990s, chemical manufacturer W. L. Gore & Associates donated both goods and $2 million to an expedition in Antarctica. The funds dedicated to sponsorship by the end of the twentieth century reflect a shift in how companies saw expeditions as useful to their marketing goals. This article uses two archives previously unexplored by historians that offer an unprecedented chance to compare sponsorship relationships in a single industry across decades. Commercial sponsorship of American expeditions and athletes has undergone three dramatic changes since 1950, and these shifts help explain how sponsorship as a form of marketing became so popular. Sponsorship contracts shifted from vague to specific as a result of decades of unsatisfying results for corporate sponsors. Sponsored athletes became business partners and began taking an active role in promoting the companies that provided them cash or donations in-kind. Finally, companies developed strategies for leveraging their sponsorship deals. The changing landscape of the business of expeditions ultimately reveals how the most long-lasting legacies of these extreme adventures happened far from the trail and much closer to company boardrooms, sponsorship managers’ offices and retail stores where consumers learned to engage with the narratives companies and athletes had crafted together.

Amidst other major changes to the food system, America witnessed an extensive transformation of marketing within the postwar era. Specifically, the concept of convenience quickly became a favorite of corporations across the food chain. However, despite the favorable market conditions and an outwardly receptive customer base, companies quickly found that they needed to negotiate with public perceptions of food, cultural ideals, and social realities. Using primarily corporate sources, this paper explores the development and use of convenience by food marketers. It investigates how processors sought to exploit postwar tensions between labor and gender. The project also examines how companies grappled with customer expectations of product quality. Ultimately, companies that successfully leveraged their ability to offer quick, quality meals further embedded themselves into consumer choices and lifestyles. By cultivating and marketing a specific message, corporations used convenience to make themselves appear indispensable to living and eating well in the postwar era.