Trachtenberg: The IWW. The International Workers of the World was a syndicalist movement founded in 1905 that aspired to serve as a single union for workers in every industry—mines, textiles, iron, timber, trucking. Its members were called Wobblies. Its program wasn’t just higher wages or better working conditions but a fundamental revision of the American social contract, including the abolition of wage labor. It encompassed socialists and communists and anarchists, which was part of what made it so threatening to government and business. Over the next twenty years the union was brutally suppressed. Joe Hagelund, or Joe Hill, was executed on a trumped-up murder charge in 1915; his death is commemorated in the song, “I Dreamed I Saw Joe Hill Last Night.” In Everett Washington, at least five Wobblies were killed by a death squad convened by the town sheriff. At its peak the IWW had 100,000 members and could call on a good 300,000 sympathizers. By the end of the 1920s, it was down to about 10,000. At present it’s undergoing a small revival. It’s been organizing truckers in the South, for example, and there’s a chapter for employees of universities.


––Why about this thing appeals to you?

Beal: While I've always had a kind of unfulfilled romance with cowboy living, my particular interest in chuck wagons has to do with the fact that I am returning from a week in Far West Texas by myself, where I cooked most of my meals in a cast iron skillet that I bought at a cowboy supply store (the spurs were prettier but less useful). The food tasted good, and I imagine would have tasted better eaten out of doors, under the stars with family and friends. Now, traveling eastward on a plane from El Paso, I'm contemplating my return to family life in our apartment in New York City, with two children under the age of four, where mealtime will resume its usual madness. The idea that a man would pull up in a horse and wagon, portable kitchen in tow, light a fire, make fresh food, and then my family and I would all gather round for a meal with our neighbors or fellow travelers would answer of so of our many dining issues. Also, someone else is making the coffee in the morning and doing the dishes, too.

Bock: There’s something wonderfully bizarre,  something almost chastely naïve in the idea behind the automat — the future is now; just press this button and, bingo, here is your tasty roast beef sandwich on white with mayo.  (I remember being a kid and my mom taking me to one and the whole event was magical, even if the food actually was kind of bland). Now, the truth is, in the present day, we know too much: to be preserved like that the bread would have to be chemical-ized to death; the meat, to be warm, would have to be kept beneath a heat lamp, or else your sandwich would be cold and wrapped in cellophane and antiseptic.   But the idea of an automat itself is romantic and it’s vision of the world and of food has a certain wide-eyed charm to it.  And, if you went to eat in an automat, you wouldn’t have to give your order to someone, which is always a plus.

Chenoweth: 1.) A letter feels like a present—something perfect and made just for its recipient. A letter has a nice stamp and the scratch of someone’s handwriting. 2.) I think it’s too bad that people are isolated within nuclear family units. I’d like to live with/be very near my extended family because a.) I love them and b.) they could help me with childcare. Because playing with a 10-month-old is wonderful, but it can get pretty boring. 3.) I think it’d be amazing to see a furry, 11-foot-tall, six-ton elephant.