Giant Steps Page 5

  “Her name is Emily McClarty Kennedy. She’s Jack’s older sister.”

  Bernie’s mouth went bone dry and she felt her face flame red. She sat staring straight ahead, not wanting to see Alice’s expression. She desperately wished she had not come to this meeting. After a short while Bernie slumped miserably in her seat, trying to think of a way to escape, but she was trapped with Lizzie on one side of her and Alice on the other. She did not know how she was going to get through this evening.

  Bernie did not look up again until she heard a loud rapping of a gavel as the meeting was called to order. “Our speaker has come a long way to be with us this evening. Her name is Isabel Grandison. She is one of a group of women from Great Britain who have been touring our country to tell us what our sisters across the Atlantic are doing for the cause of women’s suffrage. We are very fortunate that she was able to speak to us here tonight.”

  The slender woman who stepped to the speaker’s stand was so short that she had to step up on a wooden box so that people could see her. “Thank you Madame President. I am pleased to have the opportunity to be present this evening. I shall begin by saying that one of the things we in England recently have done is to change the name of our cause. We are no longer asking for suffrage. That sounds too pleading. What we want is merely to be accorded our rights as human beings. One of those is the essential right to vote. Out of that power springs all our other rights.”

  At first Bernie found it difficult to understand not only her accent, but some of the things the woman said. It wasn’t long, however, before she heard things that never before had entered her mind. Bernie didn’t know that there had been a time when women could not own property in the United States and England. In some places, if a woman’s husband died, she had to have a male relative go with her to a court of law in order to get custody of her own children. Women were not allowed to serve on juries in England. Utah, she learned, allowed female jurors in 1898 but very few other states allowed them. Bernie heard how women who worked to support their families worked long hours and were paid low wages. Even little children worked at dangerous jobs in spinning mills six days a week, and many were injured by the dangerous machines. Many young boys worked in coal mines ten-and-a-half hours a day in dark, damp conditions.

  Miss Grandison continued, “Sometimes men neglect their families. Sometimes they spend not only what they earn, but even take the pitifully small wages their wives and children bring home. Often the men spend that money on drink at the local pub. That leaves the family without a way to pay rent or buy food.”

  The young woman’s crisp voice continued, “But a change of our organization’s name does not imply that we have not suffered. Indeed many of my dear friends who have enlisted in this struggle for their rights have suffered greatly. At first we were merely ignored or simply laughed at when we tried to talk to politicians. We were pushed out of the way and told to go home where we belonged. When we carried banners, people jeered at us. We were called vile names. It did not matter that many of the women marching shoulder-to-shoulder with us came from well-known families. Sometimes stones were thrown at us.” The speaker paused momentarily and the faraway look in her eyes told Bernie that the woman was reliving those painful experiences.

  The speaker resumed, saying, “We were promised that we would have a hearing in the halls of justice, but we waited in vain. Even the newspapers refused to print our story. We realized then that we would have to resort to more drastic efforts in order to get attention. One of our marchers was accused of spitting in the face of a policeman. It didn’t matter that it was untrue. She did not spit, but she was arrested. This brave woman rejoiced because she thought her arrest would put our cause in the public eye. But we still were not given the right to have our case heard in court. Somehow we had to make people listen. More of us were arrested. We went on a hunger strike. We refused food. We risked death by starvation. We thought if some of us died it would capture the attention of the people. The authorities could not allow that to happen, so they force-fed us by jamming tubes down our throats. Sometimes the food was shoved down the throat so hard it went into the lungs. That very nearly killed some women.”

  On July 4, 1917, the National Woman’s Party picketed for women’s rights in Washington, DC. Helena Hill Weed of Norwalk, Connecticut, was arrested and served a three-day sentence in a DC prison for carrying a banner, stating, “Governments derive their just powers from the consent of the governed.” (Library of Congress, Manuscript Division, Women of Protest: Photographs from the Records of the National Woman’s Party)

  Bernie marveled that this frail-looking woman and her friends could have endured all the terrible things that had happened to them. She could imagine what a reporter like Nellie Bly would have written about that!

  Miss Grandison continued, “And, what was it we wanted? We wanted only the same right to vote that men have taken for granted for generations.”

  Alice jumped up from her chair, as did many others, and stood applauding as she called out, “Hear! Hear!”

  When the applause died down, the speaker said, “Men denied us the vote by using the flimsiest arguments of all. They claimed they were protecting us. They said women were too pure to be sullied by having to vote. They said that no decent woman had a need to vote. They said we were too emotional to vote.”

  Miss Grandison closed her speech quietly, stating, “The philosopher and politician John Stuart Mill addressed Parliament in 1867 about getting votes for women. He said that denying women the vote is not only an ‘injustice.’ It is ‘silly.’ ‘To continue to deny women the right to vote,’ he said, ‘would mean that women would have to be declared unfit or that their vote would be a public danger.’”

  To Bernie’s surprise there was no applause following this. There was only silence, as if a prayer had been uttered.

  Bernie sat thinking about all the ideas she had just heard. She sensed that she had opened a door and was looking out into another world. Her own problems suddenly seemed to shrink in importance. She didn’t like it that her brothers could do things that she was not allowed to do simply because she was a girl. However, Bernie now realized there were things going on in the world that were far worse than the trivial things she complained about. There were brave women who risked their lives trying to do something about greater injustices. Yes, Bernie knew she had opened a door, but was she ready to step through it? That would be a giant step.

  After Miss Grandison’s speech, Bernie heard little of what was going on around her until the president of the group rapped her gavel loudly to make an announcement: “Miss Grandison has given us much to think about. We could have had no better inspiration than she has been as we start making plans for this year’s annual Lafayette Franchise League Essay Contest.”

  At the words “essay contest,” Bernie started to pay attention.

  “These essays are to be no more than one thousand words in length. This year’s theme is ‘Why the world will be a better place when women get the vote.’ The winning essay will be published in the Daily Courier. The deadline for entries is November 30. The winner will be announced on the first day of January 1917, and her essay will be published in the paper that month. What better way for us to start a new year of our work for women’s rights?”

  Bernie glanced at Alice, who whispered to her, “You want to be a reporter. Here’s your chance to get published in the newspaper.”

  Bernie decided this would be easy as pie. She always got good grades on her essays in school. She could probably do it in a couple of evenings. Papa would see that she was putting her time to good advantage. He might be proud of her, especially if her piece was published in the newspaper. When she got home that evening, Bernie started to write her essay.

  5

  August and September 1916

  The Rocky Road to Fame

  Bernie couldn’t forget about the things she had heard at the su
ffrage meeting, especially the theme of the essay contest. The next evening at the dinner table, just after the pot roast had been passed around, Bernie turned to her mother and asked, “Do you think the world would be a better place if women could vote?”

  Mother looked startled and dabbed at her lips with her napkin. She opened her mouth but no words came out. However, she didn’t have to come up with an answer because Papa stared at Bernie and asked, “Why in the world would you ask your mother such a strange question?”

  Bernie said, “I just wondered. There are people who think that women will get the vote someday.”

  Papa said, “There is no need for Mother to vote. Why would your mother want to vote? In fact, why would any woman want to vote?”

  Bernie said, “Maybe Mother has some ideas of her own. Maybe there are some things that Mother would vote to change.” Once again Mother dabbed daintily at her mouth with her napkin and looked at Papa. Papa just looked irritated. Bernie knew she was on thin ice, but she persisted.

  “Would you vote for a candidate who promised to end child labor?”

  “I’d vote for that,” piped up Nick, who had been scolded that afternoon for not filling the wood box next to the kitchen stove.

  “I’ll second that,” Ben chimed in, “Then I wouldn’t have to unpack all those boxes at the store.”

  “Or stack cans on the shelf,” Nick added. “Or sweep the store every evening.”

  “Down with child labor,” Ben chanted.

  “Oh, do be quiet,” Bernie said. “This is a serious matter.”

  “I’m deadly serious,” Nick said. “Besides, I don’t know why you care about child labor. I don’t see you doing any work.”

  “That’s all you know. Mother sends me upstairs to look under your bed when it is time to get the laundry ready. I have to pick up your dirty, stinky socks,” said Bernie. “Besides that’s not the kind of child labor I’m talking about. I’m talking about little children working in mills or mines.” She turned toward Mother and asked, “Do you think little children should be doing such dangerous jobs? Would you vote for a candidate who promised to end that kind of child labor?”

  Mother seemed flustered. “Well, I suppose I never gave it much thought.”

  Bernie could not let the argument go. “And what about women who work for a pittance at terrible jobs? Or how about the men who take their wives’ hard-earned money and waste it in saloons when their own children need food?”

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t know about such things,” Mother said.

  “Exactly right,” Papa said. “Decent women like your mother shouldn’t have to be bothered with that kind of unpleasantness. Politics is a dirty business. It’s a man’s business.”

  “Yes, it certainly is dirty business—because men have been running things for so long.”

  As Bernie discovered, young children were working difficult and dangerous jobs in factories and mines around the United States. In many cases, these children received little or no schooling because they worked long days. They also received very little pay. These photographs, taken by Lewis Hine in 1908 for the National Child Labor Committee, are of children working in factories in Indiana. The girl above is making a melon basket in a basket factory in Evansville. The boys are working in a cigar factory in Indianapolis. (Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, National Child Labor Committee Collection, LC-USZ62-57883 and LC-DIG-ncic-05352)

  “It comes down to this,” Papa said in a tone that made clear he expected to be listened to. “I’m sure your mother knows that I am looking out for her best interests. I see to it that she has a comfortable life. In fact, I believe it is my responsibility to make certain that all of you have everything you need.”

  “But Papa, there are many women who do have to work in order to feed their children. If women could vote, maybe things would change. Don’t we care about them? Or do we care only about ourselves?”

  “Be careful, young lady,” Papa said. “You are on the verge of being impertinent.”

  “I don’t mean to be rude,” Bernie insisted. “I just want to know how Mother feels about such things. Surely she has a right to her own opinions.”

  “Eat your dinner and do not bother your mother with such drivel,” Papa said.

  Bernie could not let the subject alone, even though it was clear that Papa felt the matter was settled once and for all. “What about women who don’t have anyone to look out for their best interests? What about women whose husbands don’t take good care of them?”

  Papa said, “I think we have talked enough about this subject. Women will never have the vote.” With that, he finally lifted his fork to his mouth. The table was quiet for a few moments with only the clinking of forks and knives sounding against china plates.

  Bernie put down her fork and said, “Did you know that women in Wyoming were able to vote as early as 1869? In fact, when our own President Benjamin Harrison signed their statehood bill, he called Wyoming the ‘Equality State.’ That was because when they entered the Union, they declared they would not do so unless women could vote.”

  “Where did you hear such balderdash?” Papa demanded.

  “I’ll bet I know where she got it,” Nick piped up. “She got it from Alice. Alice is always filling her head with a bunch of stupid ideas like that.”

  “It is not stupid,” Bernie said. “It happens to be true.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Ben said. “What do you know about Wyoming? Have you ever been there?”

  Bernie started to admit that she had, indeed, gotten the information from one of the papers Alice had given her. Then she thought better of it. “I don’t have to go to Wyoming to know about that. I read it in the newspaper,” Bernie countered. She didn’t add that the newspaper was one of the women’s suffrage publications. “Well, everything you read in the newspaper isn’t true,” Ben said.

  In 1869 Wyoming was the first territory in the United States to grant women the right to vote. Despite the U.S. Congress’s strong opposition to granting Wyoming statehood as long as women had this right, the residents refused to give up women’s suffrage. The women in this image from an 1888 newspaper are lined up to cast their votes in this northwestern territory. Two years later President Benjamin Harrison of Indiana granted Wyoming statehood, making it the first state to have women’s suffrage as a legal right. (Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, LC-USZ6-2166)

  Papa brought his fist down so hard on the dining room table that the china cups rattled in their saucers. “Enough of this. I would like to be able to eat my evening meal in peace.” Papa’s face was very red.

  Bernie glanced at Ben and Nick. They looked as startled as she felt. They seldom saw Papa get as upset as he seemed to be tonight. She looked at Mother to see what her reaction had been. Mother held her napkin up to her mouth. Bernie couldn’t be certain, but she thought she had glimpsed a slight smile on her mother’s lips.

  “There will be no more conversation at this table unless it is civilized,” Papa said.

  “And I suppose this is how civilized men settle an issue,” Bernie mumbled under her breath, “by pounding on the table and refusing to talk about it.”

  “What did you say?” Papa demanded.

  Bernie shook her head. “Nothing, Papa.”

  That evening, Bernie went up to her room and went back to work on her essay. She soon learned it wasn’t going to be as easy as she had originally thought.

  * * *

  It took Bernie a few weeks instead of just a couple of evenings to complete her essay. It also took enough sheets of crumpled paper to fill her wastebasket twice over. She wrote it and revised it. She could not believe how difficult it was to say all that she thought needed to be said in just one thousand words. Before she made a final copy, she looked up the definition of a few words and checked the spelling of others. She painstakingly copied her e
ssay until it was perfect, even though it took several tries to get pages without any ink blots on them. When she was satisfied that it was the best she could do, she looked at it with satisfaction. She wondered what Alice would have to say about it. It seemed important to get her approval. That night she tucked it carefully into her book bag.

  Bernie could hardly wait until school was over the next day. She met Alice as she was coming out of her last class and handed her essay to her cousin. Alice sat on the top step outside their school to read it. Bernie watched expectantly, but Alice continued to sit silently. She read it through once, and then she read it again.

  Bernie looked at her and asked, “Well, what do you think?”

  “I’m sure it would get an excellent mark in English class. There are no misspelled words. You used good grammar. Your sentences are complete. You have even included some quotations from famous people, but…”

  “But, what?” Bernie wanted to know.

  “It’s…” Alice pursed her lips and paused a long time. Bernie knew Alice was trying to find the right words.

  “You think it’s…boring?” Bernie said.

  “I didn’t say it was boring. Boring is not the word for it,” Alice said, and sighed. “In fact, it’s perfect.” Bernie started to smile but stopped when Alice said, “Yes, it’s perfect. Too perfect. There’s just no heart in it. You are holding the subject at arm’s length. I don’t get the feeling that you really care about suffrage or believe in your words. Anyone could have written this. It’s not very original. You just strung together things that other people have already written or said.”

  “But I put in all the facts. I wrote how Abigail Adams told her husband, John, to remember the ladies when the men wrote the Constitution. I wrote about the early American poet, Anne Bradstreet, and the colonial religious leader Anne Hutchison, great women who would not be silenced. I even used some of the things that Miss Grandison talked about in her speech.”