logic, metaphysics, rhetoric, and English. The suave southerner even won the David Masson prize for poetry while he was there. Returning to Texas in 1881, Garrison was immediately stricken with tuberculosis, but by 1884 he was well enough to join the faculty of the one-yearold University of Texas as part of a two-man department of English language, history, and literature. Four years later Garrison was teaching all of the history courses at Texas, a fact that determined him to enroll for the doctorate in history at the University of Chicago, which he completed in 1896. He put his personal stamp on all things historical at the University of Texas and insisted on teaching all of the courses in U.S. history.
Garrison and Texas were attracting favorable attention in the historical profession. In 1898 J. Franklin Jameson, editor of the American Historical Review, invited Garrison to submit an article. There was a wealth of hitherto unknown and unworked material on Texas and the Southwest, Garrison explained. He, Bugbee, and his students were all at work on it and would have something ready for publication soon. “At least some of it shall be offered to the Review,” as indeed it was.11 He sent Jameson some articles by his students about Spanish missions in Texas and the wanderings of Cabeza de Vaca.
National notice of Texas made the replacement of Bugbee all the more pressing. Garrison had obtained some help from Eugene C. Barker, who held a fresh new Texas MA, but with Bugbee gone Garrison needed a new wheelhorse. Barker was not yet the proper animal; he needed to complete doctoral work before he would be credible in the estimation of the historical profession. In search of the right man Garrison initiated a “furious correspondence,” as Barker put it.12
One of Garrison's letters fell on the desk of Jameson, who knew almost everyone in the history profession. “It is important that the man selected should not only be of high scholarship,” Garrison explained. “I am anxious especially that the man chosen should be of high character and an inspiring and effective teacher, ready to devote himself…to the general interests of the School of History and the University at large.”13 Where could Garrison find such a man? In all likelihood, though letters have not surfaced, Garrison (and perhaps Jameson) sent queries to Turner and Haskins, perhaps only the latter since Garrison wanted someone to teach European courses. In any case, Haskins recommended Bolton for the Texas job.14
Meanwhile Bolton had almost given up looking for jobs when a graduate school friend recommended him for a place at Dartmouth College. He got the offer, but it was not a permanent position as had been promised. There was a chance the position could be made permanent, but he could not justify moving his family on that uncertain basis.15 Bolton turned it down. Neither Turner nor Haskins encouraged him to go. Turner said that he would “be more ready to help me into a university if I stay than if I go out of his territory.” Turner admitted that he was selfish in recommending that Herbert stay so that he could “help build up in Wis a history centre.”16 Turner's advice was no doubt sound, but there was an edge to it. Do my bidding here for a while, Turner seemed to say, and I will help you. If you leave, I may not. In 1901 the world of American history was Turner's world. Turner knew it and so did Herbert.
Within a month Herbert regretted his decision to stay in Wisconsin. His raise at Normal was fifty dollars less than he had expected, and he was unlikely to be promoted over other faculty with more seniority. Nevertheless, as the fall semester approached, he seemed determined to make the best of his situation. Perhaps in an effort to make his teaching more congruent with the objects of the normal school mission, Herbert developed a proposal to team-teach an innovative history course on “the child in history—an historical child study course,” with Vande Walker, one of the women on the faculty. Herbert thought it should be “evolutionary in character,” examining the childhood experience over time and across cultures.17 He would use anthropology and psychology as well as historical sources. This unrealized idea—it never got off the drawing board—surely was a pathbreaking approach to historical study. In an age when the lives of great men and important political movements were considered to be the proper stuff of history, Herbert was thinking about the history of children, a topic that would not come into its own until the rise of social history in the 1970s. In some ways it was not surprising that Herbert would consider such a subject, for it combined his own interests with those of his brother in child psychology. Turner's interest in social scientific approaches to history also may have influenced Bolton. The history of childhood proved to be a road not taken, but it revealed an innovative streak in a developing young historian who was struggling to find himself.
Herbert's ruminations about new courses were interrupted when baby Helen suddenly fell ill with intestinal complaints all too similar to those that had almost killed her older sister in Philadelphia. Herbert hired a nurse and gave Helen all of his attention. (Gertrude was eight months pregnant at the time.) “She is a very dear child—Beautiful in temperament and feature. We can't spare her.”18
Herbert was so consumed with the welfare of his child that Garrison's letter scarcely registered. The Texas professor offered Bolton a position, which would become permanent “providing Prof Bugbee does not recover from consumption—an improbability.” The starting salary would be $1,500 with the rank of instructor the first year and the possibility of promotion through the ranks to “head of the school.” “The work will be European history. What do you think of the prospects?” he asked Fred.19 Herbert worried about the impermanent nature of the appointment, but Garrison assured him that Bugbee was unlikely to live and that prospects at Texas were bright. Garrison's words seemed unambiguous, but after his experience with Dartmouth Herbert was looking for fine print and disappearing ink. He wanted his brother's advice but could not wait for a reply. “I wired that I would accept.” Once the decision was made, Herbert found his courage. “I am going in to win and hope to succeed.”20
Herbert knew that Haskins had recommended him for the Texas job, but there is no reason to believe that he knew Jameson and Turner may have been involved. If Haskins knew about the Texas position, surely his best friend, Turner, knew. Bolton's name may have come to Garrison from University of Texas president W. L. Prather, who had a doctorate from Penn and who was also searching for a likely candidate.21 The ambitious (and sometimes jealous) Herbert complained about “pull” when it benefited others, but he had plenty of pull, even though it operated out of his sight. Bolton's offers from Wisconsin Normal and Texas show how murky the hiring process was at the turn of the twentieth century. Searches were not advertised. The selection process was opaque and connections mattered; inside candidates often got the nod. A few prominent historians and university presidents controlled the professional destinies of aspiring academics, who often did not know that they were being considered for a professorship. Although Doctor Bolton was still a pawn in other men's games, this time he was the happy beneficiary of the secretive dealings of presidents and professors.
Herbert's decision to go to Texas settled his professional future, but important personal matters hung in the balance. Helen's health slowly improved, but Herbert was reluctant to leave until Gertrude gave birth. He lingered in Milwaukee until their third daughter, Laura, was born on October 7. “Easy labor, fine child, mother doing nicely,” he scrawled in a hasty note to Fred.22 The following day Herbert was on the train south, leaving Gertrude and the children, who would follow in December. It was the most decisive journey of his life.
As Bugbee convalesced in El Paso, a letter arrived from his admiring friend and former student, Eugene C. Barker. Texas had hired the new man from Wisconsin, Barker wrote. “He is rather good looking, a blond, about six feet tall; and I believe he will prove a pretty good teacher.” Barker, peeved with Garrison for having given Bugbee's summer courses to Bolton instead of him, “exploded.”23 Explosions in front of Garrison were not wise. He expected professional behavior at all times, and the men who worked under him soon understood that there was an iron hand in Garrison's velvet glove.
Garrison and the university made a fine first impression on Bolton. “Prof. Garrison is a royal good man, well-trained, 48 years old.” Garrison's age (seventeen years older than
