Progressive Era and World War I

Progressive Era

This is the title given to a time of massive social reform.

Social Reform-of or pertaining to the life, welfare, and relations of human beings in a community and the improvement or amendment of what is wrong, corrupt, unsatisfactory

Problems before Progressive

Bad Living Conditions Bad Work Conditions Pollution Bad Food Bad Health Care Bad Businesses

Results of Progressive

FDA, made food safe Regulation on pollution, housing, building,

healthcare Labor Law, 8 hour work day Child Labor Laws WORKMENS COMPENSATION

World War I

Also called “The War to End all Wars” We talk about it because it is a cause of both

World War II and The Great Depression, which are really important to Utah

Also it changes everything

Basics

The War was from 1914-1918, it ended November 11 at 11 O’clock-11-11-11

US entered the war in 1917

Before Entering

ISOLATION- Do not talk to are mess with the American Continent we will leave you alone

Supplying the Allies with Money and Weapons, so though not in the war they choice a side

Americans volunteered to serve in France and England’s military

Why they entered

Germany sunk a boat with American Civilians on it with their U-boats or Submarine

Zimmerman Telegram- Germany sent it to Mexico. It proposed in Alliance, if Mexico supported Germany (financially) Germany would help them conquer US.

A Year changes everything

Gas, Weaponary, and Trench Warfare changed everything about war.

Reality was brutal

The world no longer saw war as noble. They sent them off as heroes they came

back forever haunted The world lost their idealism

Dulce Et Decorum Est

Not Sure what they were fighting for Death was brutal and massive Sickness and life in trenches was ugly Loss of Humanity

Dulce Et Dorum Est Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, 

Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,  Till on the haunting flares2 we turned our backs  And towards our distant rest3 began to trudge.  Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots  But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;  Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots4  Of tired, outstripped5 Five-Nines6 that dropped behind.

Gas!7 Gas! Quick, boys! –  An ecstasy of fumbling,  Fitting the clumsy helmets8 just in time;  But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,  And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime9 . . .  Dim, through the misty panes10 and thick green light,  As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,  He plunges at me, guttering,11 choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace  Behind the wagon that we flung him in,  And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,  His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;  If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood  Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,  Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud12  Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,  My friend, you would not tell with such high zest13  To children ardent14 for some desperate glory,  The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est  Pro patria mori.15

Disabled He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,

And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the parkVoices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,Voices of play and pleasure after day,Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.

About this time Town used to swing so gayWhen glow-lamps budded in the light-blue treesAnd girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim,- In the old times, before he threw away his knees.Now he will never feel again how slimGirls' waists are, or how warm their subtle hands,All of them touch him like some queer disease.

There was an artist silly for his face,For it was younger than his youth, last year.Now he is old; his back will never brace;He's lost his colour very far from here,Poured it down shell-holes till the veins ran dry,And half his lifetime lapsed in the hot race,And leap of purple spurted from his thigh.One time he liked a bloodsmear down his leg,After the matches carried shoulder-high.It was after football, when he'd drunk a peg,He thought he'd better join. He wonders why...Someone had said he'd look a god in kilts.

That's why; and maybe, too, to please his Meg,Aye, that was it, to please the giddy jilts,He asked to join. He didn't have to beg;Smiling they wrote his lie; aged nineteen years.Germans he scarcely thought of; and no fearsOf Fear came yet. He thought of jewelled hiltsFor daggers in plaid socks; of smart salutes;And care of arms; and leave; and pay arrears;Esprit de corps; and hints for young recruits.And soon, he was drafted out with drums and cheers.

Some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheer Goal.Only a solemn man who brought him fruitsThanked him; and then inquired about his soul.Now, he will spend a few sick years in Institutes,And do what things the rules consider wise,And take whatever pity they may dole.To-night he noticed how the women's eyesPassed from him to the strong men that were whole.How cold and late it is! Why don't they comeAnd put him into bed? Why don't they come?

They by Sasson The Bishop tells us: ‘When the boys come back ‘They will not be the same; for they’ll have fought  ‘In a just cause: they lead the last attack  ‘On Anti-Christ; their comrades’ blood has bought  ‘New right to breed an honourable race,          ‘They have challenged Death and dared him face to face.’    

‘We’re none of us the same!’ the boys reply.  ‘For George lost both his legs; and Bill’s stone blind;  Poor Jim’s shot through the lungs and like to die;  ‘And Bert’s gone syphilitic: you’ll not find   ‘A chap who’s served that hasn’t found some change.’  And the Bishop said: ‘The ways of God are strange!’

Glory of WomenYou love us when we're heroes, home on leave,

Or wounded in a mentionable place.You worship decorations; you believe

That chivalry redeems the war's disgrace.You make us shells.  You listen with delight,By tales of dirt and danger fondly thrilled.

You crown our distant ardours while we fight,And mourn our laurelled memories when we're killed.

You can't believe that British troops 'retire'When hell's last horror breaks them, and they run,Trampling the terrible corpses - blind with blood.

  O German mother dreaming by the fire,  While you are knitting socks to send your son

  His face is trodden deeper in the mud.