While American political development scholars tend to focus on national or state-level politics, late nineteenth-century cities provided the lion's share of services: clean water, paved and lighted streets, and sanitation. How did cities innovate and build municipal capacity to do these things? We answer this question by looking at municipal responses to the garbage problem. As cities grew and trash piled up in the 1890s, cities explored ways to effectively collect the garbage. A government requires not just resources, but also the ability to marshal those resources. Corruption could provide such abilities. Looking at four corrupt cities—Pittsburgh, Charleston, New Orleans, and St. Louis—we consider whether corruption, and what type of corruption, fostered innovation and capacity. We compare these corrupt cities with a shadow study of the reformist government of Columbus. We found the following: (1) The logic of corruption is the most important factor to explain why municipal governments chose particular garbage strategies. Corrupt regimes chose garbage collection and disposal strategies that would benefit themselves—but these varied depending on what type of corruption dominated a city. (2) Corruption sometimes promoted innovation and capacity, but at other times, corruption hindered them. For better or worse, cities ruled by corruption gained the capacity that these informal regimes held.

Nineteenth-century Pittsburgh and New Orleans were a mess: trash filled the streets impeding travel, hindering commerce, and spreading disease. City officials in Pittsburgh turned to private contractors to collect trash at public expense while in New Orleans they relied on city employees (through the mechanism of widows carts). Like Pittsburgh and New Orleans, nineteenth-century cities faced a mounting garbage problem and, like Pittsburgh, northern cities more often chose contract while southern cities more often chose city collection. In this paper, we look in depth at how Pittsburgh and New Orleans chose contract and city collection, what those solutions looked like in practice, and how these two cases might shed light on the North-South difference. We find that both cities rebuffed offers of assistance that may have led to better trash collection and instead based their collection practices on politics. Moreover, the solutions in practice defied the dichotomous labels of public and private and the assumptions that underlie each.

Hans Urs Von Balthasar's lament that coincidence of the theologian and the saint has not been the norm since the Middle Ages can be emblematic of a methodological issue impacting both academic theology and the Church wholly by separation of that which as a faith tenet should be unified—word and witness. Theologians’ intent today to speak from but not be confused with their location, the theological discipline's reach for respectability in an increasingly secular academy, market forces deliberately shrinking theology's influence except in such as interdisciplinary endeavors supporting other publics’ aims, the contemporary narrow specialization of the theologian, and the sometime view that narrow tasks serving theology are theology itself all result in conflations of theology and religion. So “theology” and “spirituality,” as Balthasar identified the breach, will be separate. Yet we hope that theologians, with all others, will be saints. Does this not, particularly to students, transmit the faith? Although Bernard Lonergan's method might seem to exacerbate the separation given its numerous theological specialties and conversion types, it also offers the way of reunification—without threat to academic integrity. The theological method, with its turn to the subject, can ground a theology (and method) of pedagogy.

The Catholic Church's efforts at evangelization must include even its own members in an age of growing secularization wherein religious impulses can be subordinated to culture even unconsciously. Bernard Lonergan observed that religious values should transcend cultural and personal values. But prominent advertising confirms that in contemporary Western societies religious values are subsumed under others, even where spirituality may be held important. The goal before the Church, then, is a transposition of values possible in focus upon a common perception of theology and the culture reflected in advertising—the felt transcendence of the human person. The Second Vatican Council called for the Church to engage with the world; if the message served by the Church is to be heard above the din of the larger culture, it must be delivered in manners persuasive upon the sensibilities of contemporary people. The powerful cultural transmitter that is advertising may assist in this task, for study of the anthropologies of advertising and theology reveals certain surprising commonalities suggesting that methods, if not media, could be equally effective in both realms. Advertising's use of ethnography and narrative, in particular, may provide lessons for the Church in defining audiences and targeting the message to them.

The mechanisms of accumulation of zinc and cadmium by the marine polychaetous annelid Neanthes arenaceodentata (Moore) have been studied. Animals have been exposed to EDTA chelate buffered sea water containing 65Zn and 109Cd. The calculated free ion activities of the zinc and cadmium in the sea water were 10-8.13 M and 10-7.65 M, respectively. Uptake occurs from the free ionic pool of metal and EDTA and EDTAmetal complexes are largely excluded from the animal. In unfed animals, the metals accumulate linearly with time at a rate which decreases when the temperature is reduced but increases in the presence of metabolic inhibitors. Experiments using [14C]EDTA as an extracellular marker indicate that the observed increase in accumulation caused by the inhibitors is at least partially due to media entering extracellular anatomical compartments such as the coelom and lumen of the gut which are normally isolated from the seawater by cilia or sphincters.