Corn Syrup: Brian Leech does local history, regional history, labor history, technological history, environmental history, and food history

In early 1965, three executives boarded a plane in Japan, bound for the United States. “Unbeknownst to the U.S. Customs, they were carrying corporate secrets. Each man had carefully placed two vials of an isomerase enzyme into their pockets before the flight.” With it, they would change the world. For after two arduous years of nearly aerobic chemical engineering, their corporation produced what it called Isomerose 30. We know it, or its technically improved successors, as corn syrup.That’s how my guest Brian Leech begins his intricate, multi-valenced history of what went on in Clinton, Iowa, from the 1960s through the 1980s. It’s food history, it’s labor history, it’s technological history, it’s environmental history, it’s regional history—“and not any single one of them, which is to say,” to quote the great Edmund Morgan, “that it is good history.”

Most Americans remember the Louisiana Purchase as a remarkably good bargain: fifteen million dollars for an enormous tract of land that doubled the size of the United States. But that familiar cliché hides a large story. It covers over a lot of things, and suggests a few more that just aren’t so.In his new book The Louisiana Purchase: The Grand Bargain and the Making of America, historian Alexander Mikaberidze places the Purchase within a global struggle involving France, Spain, Britain, Haiti, and the Caribbean. The transaction that reshaped the United States was not inevitable. It emerged from failed colonial projects, imperial rivalry, slave revolution, diplomatic improvisation, crafty financing, Thomas Jefferson’s geopolitical cunning, and his willingness to set aside some of his deepest political convictions. 

Running for about 177 miles along the Welsh-English border is the remains of an earthwork, a fortification over a hundred miles longer than Hadrian’s Wall. Built sometime in the eighth century, it is known as Offa’s Dyke, one of the few surviving reminder of one of the most formidable kings in English history.“As a man,” writes my guest Roy Naismith, “Offa is effectively lost.” Winston Churchill framed the issue thus: “In studying Offa we are like geologists who instead of finding a fossil find only the hollow shape in which a creature of unusual strength and size undoubtedly resided.” Or as the historian Kenneth Sisam observed, Offa “seems to have had all the attributes of a great ruler except a contemporary historian.”But if he is effectively lost, then how can Naismith have written a new book titled Offa: King of the Mercians? Because he has, to paraphrase modern terminology, historyed it. This is a conversation about a great English king; but it’s really a master class in the careful and demanding work of historical inference.

"There was a time when the Declaration of Independence was news. Most books written about the Declaration have pursued questions about its precedence and authorship as well as its legacy. In 1776, when the Declaration was news, it was part of an ever-changing and circulating amalgam of accurate and inaccurate information, gossip, military intelligence, speculation, and opinion. At approximately one thousand three hundred and twenty words from ‘When in the Course of Human Events’ through ‘Our Sacred Honor,’ the Declaration took fewer than ten minutes to read and filled only one or two columns of a typical newspaper. This was a text that could be communicated swiftly, but it was also a text for which the context in which it was communicated mattered. The questions of who experienced the news of independence and when and how they did so reveal a critical, overlooked history of the American Revolution.”Those are the words of my guest Emily Sneff in her new book When the Declaration of Independence Was News. It is a book that reframes the Declaration and enables us to see it in a new way: at a moment when the success of the Revolution was far from inevitable, and when the mere existence of the Declaration forced people to choose sides—or to reconsider everything they had previously believed about authority, loyalty, and politics.Emily Sneff is an independent historian specializing in the history and memory of the American Revolution. Her research has focused particularly on the Declaration of Independence and its transmission, reception, and preservation. When the Declaration of Independence Was News is her first book.

The Declaration of Independence has had two simultaneous lives. One is the life of its ideas, the life that scholars pay the most attention to: a life of fits and starts, surprisingly forgotten in the first years after the Revolution, then returning with a vengeance amid sectional conflict in the 1830s, during the Progressive Era, and again during the Civil Rights Movement.Its second life is as a material document. It is an engrossed parchment rushed away from advancing British troops twice in its life, carried by carriage and train across the United States, tucked away in archives and cellars, displayed in patent offices and libraries, and eventually enshrined in a helium-filled case under carefully controlled conditions.As Michael Auslin argues in National Treasure: How the Declaration of Independence Made America, these two lives cannot be separated. Americans did not merely preserve the Declaration because of what it said. They preserved it because the physical document itself became a national relic—an object that connected generations of Americans to the Revolution and to one another.Michael Auslin is the Payson J. Treat Distinguished Research Fellow at Stanford University’s Hoover Institution. He is the author of numerous books on American and international history and writes The Pawtomack Packet, a Substack devoted to the history of Washington, D.C.

American independence was not simply the writing of the Declaration of Independence, nor even the vote that approved it. It was the culmination of decades of argument, persuasion, and political innovation. The American founding emerged through a succession of speeches, petitions, resolutions, constitutions, and other documents in which Americans struggled to define liberty, self-government, and the proper limits of power. And the conversation did not end there; it continued, and continues.David Stewart explores that conversation in his new book, The Democracy We Must Keep: Seven Founders, Nine Documents, and the Ideas That Shaped Them. Through a close examination of nine pivotal texts—from Patrick Henry’s call for liberty to Washington’s Farewell Address—Stewart traces the development of the ideas that made the United States possible. In doing so, he reminds us that the American experiment has always depended not only on institutions, but on the ideas, principles, and debates that gave them life.David O. Stewart is a recovering attorney and the author of numerous works of history and fiction. His books include Madison’s Gift: Five Partnerships That Built America and George Washington: The Political Rise of America’s Founding Father. He previously appeared on Historically Thinking in Episode 199 to discuss George Washington and the practice of politics in the early republic.

On July 4, 1777, in Boston, the Reverend William Gordon gave one of the first July 4th orations in American history—certainly the first to become a pamphlet. For over a century these orations were a feature of the national festival, “an essential annual occasion for debating the present and future of American politics.” In the first century of American independence over one hundred thousand such speeches were delivered, about 2,500 of which survive in pamphlets. They were essential, until suddenly they were not.How these orations surveyed the past and looked forward to the future is the focus of my guest Nathan Perl-Rosenthal’s new book The Long Revolution: Creating a United States after 1776. These speeches are a mine from which he extracts visions, anxieties, and imaginings, ranging from William Gordon’s speech all the way to the fizzled attempts of President Gerald Ford to continue the tradition in 1976.Nathan Perl-Rosenthal is Professor of History, French and Italian, and Law at the University of Southern California. He is also the author of The Age of Revolutions–And the Generations Who Made It. His research focuses on political culture, revolution, and the creation of modern states and identities.

The often extremely quotable Hannah Arendt once wrote that “the French Revolution, which ended in disaster, has made world history, while the American Revolution, so triumphantly successful, has remained an event of little more than local importance.”My guest Richard Bell emphatically disagrees. In The American Revolution and the Fate of the World (Penguin, 2025), Bell argues that the Revolution was global from the very beginning. It drew participants from multiple continents, reshaped patterns of migration and trade, altered imperial policy from Canada to India, and inspired movements for liberty around the world. What Americans often remember as a national story was, in reality, a global convulsion.Richard Bell is Professor of History at the University of Maryland, College Park. He is the author of Stolen: Five Free Boys Kidnapped into Slavery and Their Astonishing Odyssey Home, was the focus of a conversation on this podcast that was published on December 30th, 2019.

“This is a book about a cruel and ruthless war—a war without mercy—in which those caught up in it believed they had nothing to lose by fighting without regard for the rules of so-called ‘civilized warfare.’ It was the War for American Independence. At its grimmest level, this was a confrontation in which military restraint was more the exception than the rule, a struggle in which combatants believed their very existence was in question.”Those are the words of my guest Mark Lender and his co-author, the late James Kirby Martin, from their book War Without Mercy: Liberty or Death in the American Revolution. While a growing number of historians have shown that the Revolutionary War was often far more brutal than Americans like to remember, few have attempted to explain why it became so brutal. Lender and Martin argue that the answer lies in understanding the Revolution as an existential war: a conflict in which participants believed defeat threatened not merely political loss, but the destruction of their families, communities, and way of life.Mark Lender is Professor Emeritus of History at Kean University and most recently served as advisor to the 250th Anniversary Exhibit at the National Museum of the United States Army. He and James Kirby Martin also co-authored A Respectable Army: The Military Origins of the Republic, 1763-1789.

At his first inauguration, George Washington made a very carefully calibrated political statement: he wore a brown suit. It was tailored from a weave of superfine wool made in Hartford, Connecticut, and was so far from being the crude homespun which was for some an emblem of a proud American—or, for British cartoonists, of crude Brother Jonathan—that some newspapers criticized Washington for wearing a suit of imported fabric. The cloth seemed too good to have been made in America.Washington wore two suits that day. In the evening, at the inaugural ball, he wore a suit of imported purple silk. The choice of these two suits, argues my guest Chloe Chapin in her new book Suitable: The Sartorial Revolution and the Fashioning of Modern Men, shows a dividing line between two eras: an eighteenth century of Washington’s youth and early middle age in which men wore a wide variety of textiles in a cornucopia of colors and textures; and a democratic age in which drab and severe signaled liberty and equality among men. Chloe Chapin holds a PhD in American Studies and has worked for more than two decades as a costume designer for Broadway productions, opera companies, and Shakespeare festivals. Suitable: The Sartorial Revolution and the Fashioning of Modern Men is her first book.