Women's Voices / Women's Struggles By The Decades: Part 1--1940s/1950s

by: Paul Rosenberg

Tue Jun 03, 2008 at 11:41




Discussions we had this weekend in a series of diaries touched some very deep and strong emotions that had been brought to the surface again in the bruising last few months of the nomination campaign.  There was an obvious hunger there to take things further, so I've come up with an idea for trying to tie together individual experience, history and politics.

All three OpenLeft founders, Chris, Matt and Mike, have written about the history of progressive movements at different times, always from the point of view of sharing insights, while acknowledging there's much more that we do not know.  So it seems like a no-brainer to me to draw on our community here to see what we can learn from one another about the diverse history of emerging feminist consciousness, from the everyday life level on up.  Clearly, things have changed enormously since the 1940s, the decade in which the oldest posters who have dated themselves (including me) were born.

So my idea is this: Each day this week I'm going to post a diary calling for people to share their experiences, from everyday experience of family and friends, to local politics, all the way on up, as high as our experience reaches.  The nation is not the limit.  If you've been part of an international women's movement group, like WEDO, we want to hear about it.  Obviously, more and more people can participate as we go on, so I'm going to start with two decades combined together, the 1940s and 1950s, but every diary after that will just be for one decade.  Tell us what it was like for you then.  First hand experiences, how things seemed to you watching the news, reading newspapers, magazines and books, watching tv or the movies-anything and everything that made an impression is fair game.

The point of this series is to get at women's experience and the growth and development of feminist consciousness-and/or womanist consciousness as many women of color prefer.  Naturally this does not exclude men.  We are an important part of this story, even if we are not the center of it. But our main role here is one of listening. Because we don't do that enough. If we listen well enough, we will know when to speak.  I've commented a lot in the diaries I put up this weekend, but if this works right, I should be doing a lot less of that.  I'll probably be asking questions, tho. After all, "Tell me more..." is the whole premise of this series.

On the flip, I'll say a little that's period specific to get things started, and then it's up to you....

Paul Rosenberg :: Women's Voices / Women's Struggles By The Decades: Part 1--1940s/1950s
The 1940s was the decade that re-started it all.  In the 1920s, women got the right to vote, but the Great Depression set things back enormously.  It may seem astonishing today, but it would not be until the 1960s and 70s that women re-entered higher education in numbers comparable to the 1920s.  But World War began the change, drawing tens of millions of men of to war, and creating an enormous need for workers, so vast that it mobilized a whole new army of them-women, who had previously been shoved to the back of  the line during the Great Depression years.  My mother was one of them.  And life was never the same after that.

In 1950, my mother was part of another army, an army of volunteers in the Senate campaign of  Helen Gahagan Douglas., one of the most progressive politicians in American history. Douglas, pictured here from the 1920s, was considered one of Hollywoods great beauties, but like many others after her, she was a great deal more than that.

Originally a Republican, but became an ardent New Dealer, and eventually left show business for politics, representing a congressional district that was largely African American, and, of course, poor.  An audio interview regarding her introduction of an anti-lynching bill can be heard Helen Gahagan Douglas here .

The story of her campaign against Richard Nixon is told in the book Tricky Dick and the Pink Lady: Richard Nixon vs Helen Gahagan Douglas-Sexual Politics and the Red Scare, 1950, by Greg Mitchell, who is current executive editor of Editor and Publisher.  

The nastiness, unfairness and dirty tricks of that campaign turned my mother off to close involvement in electoral politics for most of the rest of her life, but she was never apolitical.

Here's an article about a play , "Don't Blame Me, I Voted for Helen Gahagan Douglas," starring Christina Lhati.


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America was the Arsenal of Democracy (4.00 / 4)
But well before the Normandy landing, (to push Paul's 'Decades' back just a little) however, that arsenal was built by "Rosie the Riveter" our factories filled with women, who for a few short years had been told by Roosevelt's Administration and Hollywood that they were capable, strong and principled. shift after shift of women turned out tanks and rifles, turned out battleships and submarines. There wasn't a bullet or a B-17 flying fortress that didn't have the sweat and blood and tears of many women built into it. Hair tied up in a handkerchief was a "fashion" you find across the era's glam shots, a fashion taken from life women lived at the time.

This is no poetic dreamy exaggeration, men where in bootcamp, on those ships, in those tanks and falling from the skies over Europe. Not to ignore the women who were training pilots, transport pilots and all those females serving, and all the nurses and doctors and officers and others serving, but the factories where emptied to fill troop ships, women built the arsenal.

This is fantastic almost hidden history of womens greatness and potential.

And then the war ended. And factories fired all the women, and they lost all their pay checks, and returning soldiers took their jobs, and men took their paychecks home, and breadwinner became praise for a man. And Hollywood literally made films that said any woman that wanted to live a life outside the home were clinically deranged.

A generation  of women had a "social revolution" taken away. A society where they controlled their lives, had a paycheck and exciting life, was exchanged top one were they were expected to be locked up in pillbox ticky tacky suburban homes for the rest of their lives.

They had participated in the defining of the social revolution, participated in the defeat of fascism, participated in the restructuring of work and participated in the discussions and elections and issues of their time.

To say that this was the point at which modern feminism was born doesn't begin to measure the expolsive anger and confused disappointment of half our poulation.

You cannot look at the women of the fifties, with the odd hair and odder clothes (to go from useful clothes like handkerchiefs to skirts too tight to walk in) to have the entire world suddenly confined again in mere months, a couple of years, is the drive that fed and formed the feminists that created the modern women.

Women of the forties weren't feminists, they were free. After the war, women as a class, in relief and joy at Victory, may not have known they weren't free, but life had changed, and it was far from all good.

Thats what women's lives in America has to be judged against. Right-wing 'thinkers' have tried to spread the lie of women's weakness, of limited roles, of "male head of household" since, trying to force free women back into the kitchen and onto Valium, gin and dogma.

Ok thats the big picture that predates Paul's decade, its really broad strokes, but I think its' a necessary foundation for talking about the struggle of women to return to life in America, to have their social revolution, to be taken seriously, whether you like it or not.

Rent a Katherine Hepburn film, strike a blow for the revolution, rent "A League of their Own."  

--

The government has a defect: it's potentially democratic. Corporations have no defect: they're pure tyrannies. -Chomsky


WW2 (4.00 / 5)
My father's mother was a machinist in a machine tool factory during World War II; at the war's end, she was terminated to make room for the men who'd be coming home and went to work at a blouse factory for much less money on piecework.

My mother repaired aircraft engines in the State Farm Show building during the war and then she had me. There was no housing available, and we lived mostly with my mother's family in their apartment until my father was released from the Navy and thereafter with his family.

Before and through the war, my father's family household was 13 people, 3 generations, crowded in a small house; after the war on her blouse factory pay, my grandmother managed to find a house to rent for her two youngest children, husband, and father-in-law, and for my parents and me. According to my father, she ferried all their belongings across town on a little red wagon. My paternal grandmother was strong of soul.

In that big household of my father's, the authority figure was not my great-grandfather, but my father's aunt, according to him, because she brought the most money into the household. I asked how, and he said she worked in a factory, no not a forelady, but important, no didn't run the office, but important to the factory owner. She always had nice clothes, and she had a son out of wedlock about my father's age who got anything he wanted, even a new car of his own while he was in high school in the mid-1930s, while my father's clothes were patched and often. I have my suspicions although my father seems oblivious. By the time I was around, my great-aunt was married to a doctor and living prosperously in another county.

Well, that's all I know about the women of my family in the 1940s, mostly secondhand. I know more earlier female family history, but I'll try to stay on topic. If I get a chance, I'll write the same about the 1950s. It'll be longer and mostly firsthand.


Please Do Write About The 50s (0.00 / 0)
I was planning to do one diary a day.  But I think that folks don't have enough time during the week, so I'll probably re-promote this tommorrow to keep it prominent for 2 days.

So go right ahead!

"You know what they say -- those of us who fail history... doomed to repeat it in summer school." -- Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Season 6, Episode 3


[ Parent ]
My mother was a flapper and Rosie the Riveter. (4.00 / 2)
She helped to make airplanes for the war, and my dad got into a huge fight with the army because they refused him for WWII due to a punctured ear drum.  I remember stories about the depression.  They "sneaked" into shows because they didn't have the ten cents for admission.  They would steal clothes out of yards because they couldn't afford clothes.  My dad ened up in the Conservation Corp camps, and he said it was one of the best times of his life.   Frank Sinatra, dance clubs, speak easys, and the Purple Gang were a part of their daily lives.  

I remember Ike, Soupy Sales, Father Knows Best, and back alley abortions.  I remember no seat belts in cars, no helmets on bikes, no knee or elbow pads on skates, and no birth control except condoms.  

Women's rights, gay rights, minority rights are just a part of human rights, something to which we are all entitled.  


[ Parent ]
Don't remember the 40s, but (4.00 / 4)
Let me tell you what it was like to be a little girl in the 50s. Girls were not allowed to wear pants to school. We were to wear short skirts and little socks around our ankles  -- tights weren't even all that common at the time. Why is this important? Because the rule held in winter as well -- we had to walk to school in the snow with bare legs in order to uphold the principle that girls must display their legs at all times. It encapsulates for me the message that females are first and foremost sexual objects on display even when they are seven years old.

My mother was partially liberated some years before the second feminist wave hit. Starting in the 50s she worked as a college math teacher, and went back to graduate school in the summers to get a master's. Later, for a year or so she spent weekdays away from the family to work on her PhD. But, she did all the housework, all the cooking, most of the childcare. One motivation for her career was her experience of watching her own mother wither into bitterness at the enforced leisure of life as a doctor's wife. She (my grandmother) had gone to college and after graduating had spent 5 years in China as a missionary before coming home to marry my grandfather. After her early life, garden clubs and bridge games did not really suffice.

My mother was brilliant (still is at 85) and accomplished, she brought home some of the bacon, but still accepted that the second shift -- the housework one -- was hers alone. She never finished her dissertation because, as she admitted later, she was concerned about becoming better educated than my father (he later earned a PhD while she supported the family). My father was a workaholic, but not too busy to also encourage his daughters to pursue whatever interested them. He gave me my first lessons in carpentry. So, mixed messages all around.

Reflecting on this exercise, it occurs to me that my awareness of the repressiveness of the gender roles of the 50s did not really develop until the 60s. I certainly was aware that expectations for girls were different from those of boys, and that boys had some advantages for no rational reason (they could wear pants!). But it wasn't until I reached adolescence, coinciding with the 60s, that the injustice of those irrational strictures really hit me. Perhaps it was because with my mother's example I never believed that women could only be secretaries or teachers or housewives, and perhaps it's because gender roles aren't as brutally enforced when you're a child as when you become a teenager, I don't know. The experiences I recall most clearly when I personally chafed at sexism came after childhood.

No society that feeds its children on tales of successful violence can expect them not to believe that violence in the end is rewarded. -Margaret Mead


snowpants (4.00 / 3)
Smith, when I was a child in the 1950s, we wore those little short skirts and little short socks, but in Pennsylvania we wore heavy snowpants under the skirts when the weather turned cold. After school, we went home and took the skirts off and put on pants.

But we did have to wear skirts to school all the way into college. Even at Temple U in the 1960s I had to wear skirts because all my part-time jobs required them. Office jobs required skirts until maybe 1970 or so.

Which reminds me, it always shocks the young 'uns that so many colleges and universities were male only in our day. Hillary Rodham could not have been admitted to Yale or Harvard because she had the wrong genitalia.

My mother always said, "Learn to type." You never know when your husband might take off, die, drink his paycheck, or get sick, and then how would you feed your children? For the times, it was good advice.

I didn't want to go to college out of high school. I certainly didn't want to be a teacher and get stuck within a school forever, and why else would a girl go to college? There wasn't any other reason, as far as I could tell. Then when I was a secretary and doing a parts clerk's job (he was out sick for a long time) and the office manager's job (he'd quit for a better job), but the boss hired a college boy (well, actually, he'd flunked out his first semester, but he'd BEEN there) for the new office manager, I figured I needed more education. Yes, years later it finally dawned on me that the boss wanted to hire a man, not an educated person.

More later. I should be working.


[ Parent ]
Any fan of classic Hollywood movies.... (4.00 / 4)
....which you can be too if you watch Turner Classic Movies (TCM)....

....knows that there was something of a Golden Age for roles for women in movies, in the 1930s and early to late 1940s.

TCM has done some eye-opening documentaries on the films that were out in the early 30s, that had strong women and frank discussion of sexuality.  E.g. Baby Face, The Divorcee.  Such films were possible because of the cultural shock waves that the Great Depression brought.  

The Hayes Code pushed the discussion of sexuality underground, but there were still great roles for women.  I'm thinking for example of wonderful actresses like Jean Arthur in Only Angels Have Wings and Mr Deeds Goes To Washington, Barbara Stanwyck in The Lady Eve and Meet John Doe (and obviously Baby Face), Rosalind Russell in His Girl Friday, Ginger Rogers in Kitty Foyle, and Greta Garbo and Bettie Davis in just about anything they do.  Lots more examples of great roles for great actresses.

By the time you get into the 50s, Barbara Stanwyck is reduced to Kate Capshaw-like scream-a-minute performances, Garbo has wisely retired, Davis is quitting her career because she's getting married in All About Eve (contrast this with Barbara Stanwyck in the 1941 You Belong To Me), etc.

I've often thought of the late 40s and early 50s red-baiting as part of a larger rollback of cultural advances of the 30s.  That wouldn't be reversed until the late 60s (Bonnie and Clyde comes to mind as a marker), but in fact even today movies have lousy roles for women by and large, and actresses older than 40 (30?) might as well be invisible.

The 30s and 40s really were a kind of Golden Age.


Just to clarify.... (0.00 / 0)
....by "Golden Age" I'm referring to the kinds of female roles that were available in movies, which may reflect something of the social dynamic at the time.

Nevertheless, as a lot of Depression-era films make fairly clear, lots of women at that time faced a stark choice: starvation or prostitution.

Just think of Fay Wray in King Kong.

[And oh yeah, it's Mr Smith Goes to Washington, obviously....]


[ Parent ]
Speaking of Pop Culture (0.00 / 0)
I'm a bit too young to have much to say about the misogyny of previous decades. That said, I've been watching the show Mad Men (I think it is on AMC) which is a really wonderful drama about a 1960 ad agency on Madison Avenue.

It's fascinating, and it deals with misogyny more directly than anything I can ever remember seeing on television. Not only that, but it does so even handidly, and really shows the personal toll that mainting that '50s power structure took on men and women alike.

I definitely recommend it.

I support John McCain because children are too healthy anyway.


[ Parent ]
Mad Men (0.00 / 0)
My husband (younger) came across that show and loved it. He wanted me to watch it. I did, briefly, and then said, a la Peewee Herman, No thanks. I lived it.

[ Parent ]
Heh (0.00 / 0)
That's a totally understandable reaction. My dad's a defense lawyer. He watched one episode of the Sopranos and said "I have to end up representing these guys."  

I support John McCain because children are too healthy anyway.

[ Parent ]
Plus, Shirley Temple Ended The Depression With A Song & Dance! (4.00 / 1)
Talk about power!

"You know what they say -- those of us who fail history... doomed to repeat it in summer school." -- Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Season 6, Episode 3

[ Parent ]
Frankly, Paul... (4.00 / 1)
I don't give a rat's ass what YOU - as a white male - have to say about women's history. How.dare.you!

You think this is gonna help get Barack Obama elected? By "stealing" women's voices and coopting them for "progressives", under the name of a WHITE MALE?

This is one of the things that just infuriates me about so-called progressive men and men, generally. You just think that if you say the right words (even if you are a male); try to tell women "our" history - when you don't have a clue; act like we should all get kissy and huggy again, just because YOU want to win an election, women are just gonna fall down and fall in line and "do the right thing."

You have NO IDEA how angry women are this time around; none. You haven't been paying attention and now, because you're afraid Dems may blow it again, you come out with this s*it to make nice.

Women are sick and tired of being told to get on the train, do the right thing, follow progressives down some primrose path because of all the wonderful things we'll accomplish. B.S.! Rarely has any of the progressive agenda even focused on or cared about what real women want.

Take this pathetic attempt at "make nice" and shove it!


Mom, what are you doing here? (4.00 / 1)
Well, my 80-something Mom said that more politely but just as vehemently to my youngest sister and me, both Obama supporters, yesterday. Women have been oppressed much longer than blacks, she said, and it isn't fair that a black man is going to be elected before a woman! Just about hissing. She changed her registration to Democratic to be able to vote for her Hillary.

(And the 1960s supposedly liberal men, which I guess would include Paul, really did treat women like shit. I stayed out of that scene and avoided being trampled, I see in retrospect.)


[ Parent ]
I'm Sorry You Feel That Way, Mabelle (0.00 / 0)
But you really know nothing about my relationship with my mother, and how it influenced my life.

"You know what they say -- those of us who fail history... doomed to repeat it in summer school." -- Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Season 6, Episode 3

[ Parent ]
And I Don't Care... (4.00 / 2)
because you are not a woman and nothing you can write, no matter how erudite or informed or empathetic, takes the place of real women telling the stories and struggles of real women throughout history, your relationship with your mother notwithstanding.

What? There aren't any erudite, informed, empathetic REAL women at OpenLeft who could have this "dialogue" - ostensibly to "reach out" to women (read as HRC supporters) in order to "unify" the party? I'll tell you one thing: Barbara Wertheimer knew about women's struggles and she was one devoted feminist and unionist. Have you read her books? She could teach you a lot... So could Maya Angelou and Toni Morrison - about the struggles of women throughout history.

When progressive men get a clue about why women are so damned pissed-off and why this election may well be the tipping point for feminists - finally - then maybe we'll have a real "dialogue" without all the show about how supposedly intelligent and informed and egalitarian progressives really are; about how they "care" about women's rights and concerns.

Where have the OpenLeft stories been about how the foreclosure crisis is affecting women? How about the food crisis? Skyrocketing health care costs? Student loans drying up? Family responsibilities - and who still gets the brunt of them? How about the fact that women's pensions and Social Security are approximately half of what men get? How about all the coverage you give to state and local budget cuts and how they impact domestic violence, women's and children's programs?

Where the h*ll have all these stories been, Paul?

Now, do you understand why this is just nothing more than a teeny bit late, overdone, and completely ironic...


[ Parent ]
Please....Get over it! (4.00 / 4)
And I say that to you as a 63 year old working professional female.  The issue isn't yesterday, it is tomorrow.  It is John McSame and his constipated right wing agenda that wants to push you and me further back into history than they have already.  It is also about children.  No female or feminist with children and grand children can ignore their futures. I have three beautiful grandsons, and I intend to fight to the death for their futures - even if I have to run over a few die hards like you and the Rev. Wright to do it.  Besides, Hillary's ovaries don't qualify her anymore than Obama's penis (or skin color) qualifies him.  

I don't want to have a beer or burn a bra with the President, I want him/her to fix my freaking country.  Bill Clinton and three decades of Republican rule destroyed everything I was taught to believe in and stole the American dream from my grand kids.  Bill Clinton fully aided and abetted that agenda, and HE is why I don't support Hillary.  If SHE had declared her independence from his corporate policies, she might have had a case besides vote for me because I am woman.   Give it up.  I wanted Edwards, and he lost.  I moved along and so can you.  Being a female has its advantages and disadvantages just like everything else.  As long as we bury McSame and put this country back on track, women will do just fine.  The biggest women's issue is making sure they can't keep us barefoot and pregnant.  


[ Parent ]
Me too (4.00 / 2)
As a 63-year-old white woman, I'm a human being first. I liked all the candidates, but my first choice was Chris Dodd, for showing true grit.

[ Parent ]
I Beg To Differ... (0.00 / 0)
It's much more than that this time.

As long as women are disrespected, dismissed and ignored the way women have been throughout this campaign (as though we will just go along anyway, so it's okay for us to be treated badly even by our brothers and sisters in the progressive movement), then we take a step back, not forward for true equality. Until each and every person recognizes how ugly and disparaging and hurtful and harmful it is to degrade women and our legitimate concerns and questions (even through those "Oh, it was just a joke, get over it", or "I don't think it's sexist to refer to her as 'Billary'", or "Get over it" comments), we deny half the planet of basic human respect, simply as human beings.

So, it's much more than "Roe v. Wade" this time around. Much, much more...


[ Parent ]
Do you know how weak & whiney you make women sound? (0.00 / 0)
Until each and every person recognizes how ugly and disparaging and hurtful and harmful it is to degrade women and our legitimate concerns and questions ...
 Sticks and stones, baby!

Calling Hillary Billary had nothing to do with her gender.  It had to do with her running as Bill II.  If you liked Bill I, you were for it.  If not, that left anybody but Hillary.  You are so emotional angry your arguments don't even make sense.  

Respect is something one commands, it isn't "given".   I am sorry you feel so ineffectual and helpless compared to men, but lots of us women don't share that feeling one bit.  We don't need or want to stand closer to the target.  

Last but not least, nothing would make me happier than to give Dems their come-uppance.  Come uppance for what they did to Dean, Reid and his dry powder, Pelosi's impeachment is off the table, and a whole big list of votes for things like trade, bankruptcy, etc.  In fact, I too am eager to drop the Dems on their asses and will just as soon as the Republican Party gains one ounce of sanity and provides an alternative that isn't McSame, Bush or Falwell.  Until then, nothing is more important than politicians who will protect privacy and Roe V Wade.  If you think glass ceilings and being called MS is more important than this, then you must be post menopausal and not have any kids to protect.  

Hillary'S loss had no more to do with her gender than Obama's win had to do with his skin color.  For identity voters in both camps, it was pretty much a wash.  You guys need to quit whining because it is degrading to women everywhere.  You talk about equality and respect, but you older female Hillary supporters can't even take a punch.  Rocky was hokey before, and you make it even hokier now.

If you are such a feminist, you need to fall in line sooner rather than later.  


[ Parent ]
You cannot speak! Why haven't you spoken? (4.00 / 2)
To point out that there are internal contradictions seems unnecessary, however, Paul talking about his mother, others speaking their understanding, offering their support, moving informed stories of our common struggles, do NOT preclude others of any gender from speaking, it is not appropriation.

Having a mother is pretty common, History is everyones', Paul isn't pretending to have ovaries - he is saying people with ovaries deserve the respect of everyone in society, no less than someone with a prostrate.

The offerings here do describe an understanding of why women are so pissed off, might I say, Paul's among them.

--

The government has a defect: it's potentially democratic. Corporations have no defect: they're pure tyrannies. -Chomsky


[ Parent ]
Go through it, Mabelle (4.00 / 2)
not "getting over" it, "going through" it.  

I'm listening.


"It sounds wrong...
     ...but its right."


[ Parent ]
Lots of respect for your mother, Paul, but.. (0.00 / 0)
...mabelle is right, the timing of this story IS suspicious. Sure looks like a manipulative effort to provide comfort to disheartened Clinton voters. This may have not been intended, but to suspicious minds, it leaves this impression.
:-/

[ Parent ]
What is suspicious about trying to be empathetic? (0.00 / 0)
I can't speak for Paul, but his diaries have a way of "opening up" the space for conversation.  He hit a nerve with Mabelle, and now she has entered that space.  I suspect his intentions are more aimed at empathy (for lack of a better word), than some kind of sociopolitical gamesmanship, but I could be wrong.



"It sounds wrong...
     ...but its right."


[ Parent ]
Well, She Has A Right To Be Suspicious (4.00 / 2)
as you point out.

But anyone who's been here a while knows that I'm not an Obama cheerleader.  You can see some pretty harsh comments even today in the organizing diary.  I've always been an issues-oriented activist, rather than a candidate activist--even when I was in "Jews for Jackson," "Peace Activists for Jackson," and "Environmental Activists for Jackson."

Maybe the sole exception was when I supported Shirley Chisolm over McGovern in '72, because he was really very good on the issues.  I just felt a whole lot closer to Chisolm.

So my interest is in the issues and the people who care about them--those who are impacted, and those who do something about it.  I think that this campaign has clearly done some damage, and there is need for healing.  That's my motivation.  If someone doesn't get it, and lashes out at me, I am sure they have their reasons.  If someone like maybelle wasn't angry, there would be no need to be doing this in the first place.

"You know what they say -- those of us who fail history... doomed to repeat it in summer school." -- Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Season 6, Episode 3


[ Parent ]
"Sociopolitical Gamesman." Who wouldn't want that job title? n/t (0.00 / 0)


[ Parent ]
Except that (4.00 / 1)
Paul has never been a rah rah cheerleader for Obama. He never got sucked into that, which is one of the reasons why I trust him now.

Paul is not the enemy.

Montani semper liberi


[ Parent ]
Let this thread run until it runs out of steam (4.00 / 1)
It's 1am here and I've got to crash, but I'd like to think over what I want to contribute, being as I was born in '42 and quite aware of stuff between the genders until my second marriage collapsed in 1994.  That's a few decades I've got things to say about, but it's 1am and I've gotta crash.

Tomorrow.


I'll Be Re-Promoting It Tomorrow (0.00 / 0)
I think it needs to hang around longer than just one day for it to really serve its purpose.

"You know what they say -- those of us who fail history... doomed to repeat it in summer school." -- Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Season 6, Episode 3

[ Parent ]
My mother survived the 40's and i mean that literally (4.00 / 9)
My mother was a Polish Jew who escaped from the Vilna Ghetto before it was liquidated.  She escaped with her younger brother...he was caught but she hid in an abandoned storefront until night...then she walked the 30-40 kilometers back to her home shtetl. It had been demolished but a local, good gentile farmer took her in.  In the day my mother hid in the recesses of the fireplace. There was no electricity.  The large fireplace was for heat and cooking.  In the day she hid, at night she came out to help with the the household and the farm anyway she could without being discovered.  When I was a kid every 6 months we sent the farmer and his family a huge package of foodstuffs and other things of use that was not available in communist Poland.

My mother survived because she was brave...it amazes me because I never saw that bravery when I was younger.  I saw stamina, endurance, patience and stolidity.  The other reason she survived was her pert nose, fair skin, red hair and perfect Polish.  

I ask how would it be if she hadn't been a woman?  Don't know.  After all my father escaped from a German labor camp in Poland on its day of liquidation also to live in hiding for the last year and half in the same Polish farmer's woods until the Russians liberated eastern Poland.

They were both brave and resourceful... and yet I didn't see that in their later lives.  Their lives were more characterized by the time in hiding than by the impetuous rush of the escape.  

Unlike many immigrants they were not willing ones...they were always strangers in a strange land.  They didn't come to America to get ahead...so they weren't like the immigrants who had ambitions for their children.  When I began reading, my mom would actually pull the books out of my hand saying it would spoil my eyes. ( It did and she had limited vison...she was legally blind) And in high school they didn't want me to go to college...that wasn't for girls....a job at Woolworth's was quite okay.  I was supposed to get married.  

After all my mother only had a 6th grade eduacation...my father was a Yeshiva bucher (scholar) and trained like his father to be a canter.  It was ironic because it was acknowleldged by one and all that my mother was a lot smarter than my father.  But she was always proud that despite her foreshortened education, she knew algebra, Hebrew as well as Polish, Russian, German, and Yiddish.  Later of course English.  Despite that she had no ambitons for herself or for her smart daughter....my parents grew up in a 19th century world. with 19th century mores..not the 20th century.

So the 40's wasn't the 40's ...it was a combination of hell on earth and a world that was dying.  It's so dizzying and wrenching not just to have so many of your family and friends die...but the world/culture itself that created you also die.

I will just have to stop.

"Incrementalism isn't a different path to the same place, it could be a different path to a different place"
Stoller


in that hell was also my first mother-in-law (4.00 / 3)
She was west of Lvov, and the town was repetitively overrun by the Reds and the Nazis; she was the mother of an infant and de facto mother of many younger siblings at age 18.

After the war, there was ethnic cleansing east of the new border (for which my f-i-l to this day hasn't forgiven FDR, Truman, and every other Democrat); the ethnic Poles were moved to Silesia, newly part of Poland to the west, where the Germans were being forced out. Out of the Tatra Mountains and onto a prairie: the farm was objectively better, but they didn't like it.

And I (via my late first husband) suspect my f-i-l was into blackmarket dealings, but at any rate they had to run. My f-i-l first and then her and the toddler. (We think she may have had to have an abortion to be able to flee, or else he brought back VD from soldiering in the Polish Army as it tattered; at any rate, she was unable to have more children.) He left a trail for her across East Germany to Berlin, but sometimes the trail didn't work; he spoke good German but she didn't. A Protestant clergyman carried them on the back of his bicycle in the dark of night from one safe house to the next; a Swedish seacaptain paid to take them across the Baltic turned them in instead, and they barely escaped; the toddler talked a lot and was given sleeping pills to quiet him, and then they thought he was dead.

Eventually they wound up in the British DP camp at Hannover for a couple of years. They turned down going to Australia and Canada, and were sponsored by her great uncle to emigrate to Philadelphia.

BTW, Paul, there's an ethnic slur you're probably not familiar with, DP (displaced person). As a grade school kid, my husband heard it many times, sometimes taunts from other kids, mostly from their mothers, as in "Stay away from that dirty DP" (yelled).


[ Parent ]
So I was born in the 1930's.... (4.00 / 7)
Some folk getting into the 50's, I'll try to stick to the 30's and 40's.  I was born in Akron Ohio -- which then had five very large Rubber Companies that smelled of sulpher, not all that far from the Air Dock where they made Blimps. My Father was an accountant at Goodyear, and during the 30's my mom worked at O'Neills, one of the major department stores.  During College, my Dad had been radicalized through the American Student Union, which led him after college to quietly support Industrial Unions, thus the social circle included like minded college educated young professionals quietly supporting the CIO, and a number of hot tempered Labor Organizers -- and their wives and children.  

In Akron, this group through a series of odd accidents in the early 30's, ended up being semi-official sponsors for refugees from Nazi Germany and later other places.  It happened because the German Social Democratic Party in Exile had sent two representatives to the US in 1933 to try to educate the American Labor Movement as to the Evils of Hitler, and through a set of odd connections a system was established for providing jobs that qualified for over the quota visas for refugees who qualified for those jobs.  At first, virtually all of them were for organic chemists, later a few others opened up -- but in essence it was the interest of the War Department in synthetic rubber as a potential strategic material that was the core of it all.  In the 30's the US was about 20 years behind Germany in this research and development -- but they caught up quickly once the refugee chemists were established in the Rubber Company labs.  Thus the social circle also included Social Democratic (yes, mostly Jewish) German Chemists and their families.  

One of my earliest memories involves my mother teaching English in our living room.  The wives would come, go food shopping with my mom, cook both special and ordinary meals, master reading cookbooks, describe everything they did, and then discuss politics.  The men would come for dinner, and there would be more politics.  German to English, English to German.  One or another of the Labor Organizers might drop by (they were involved with the sponsorship), and the in's and out's of American Labor's situation would be explained, CIO papers would be passed around, read aloud as part of the "English Lesson" -- same with Political reporting in the local papers -- and on occassion, something in German from a Refugee paper would be translated.  There were perhaps fifteen American Couples in this group -- and over the years this migrant community came to number about seventy five families.  During WWII many of the men joined the military, leaving their wives and children in Akron.  I would later learn that many went into Army Intelligence, either in DC or in N.Africa and later in France & Germany.  During the war virtually all these women worked, at least part time, a good many of them were hired by the Army to teach German to Officers, who were to be part of the Occupation, at their training center near Cleveland.  My own mother organized a child care co-op, and continued to work part time at O'Neills.  My Dad became an Accountant with the War Department, dealing with contracts with all the Akron Rubber Companies.  

I really don't identify some elements in the conventional wisdom about Women's Roles in this admittedly odd slice of America in that late Depression and WWII period.  I see these women as "organizers" of a sort, as much modeled on the labor organizer model as anything.  Need an English Class -- well, organize it.  Need to preserve a sudden oversupply of summer fruit, well organize a canning party.  Need child care while you work -- organize a co-op.  Need to keep 30 or so men from the group in the military up to date on the whole group -- organize a typing party.  Organize a pot-luck or a picnic, and read all the recent letters from men in service, and then see if the political pieces of it all could be fit together.  Eventually this gang would have to organize support for two who lost husbands, one killed in a traffic accident in England, and another very badly wounded in N. Africa, and then hospitalized for two years.  And eventually most of the Refugee families would come to get terrible news, many family and friends dead in the camps or gassed.  A few heard from fragments of family that somehow had survived. Some of the Social Democrats in Exile survived, and the group organized huge relief shipments to them, for themselves, and for distribution.  The CIO shipped the huge crate somehow, and I remember the night everything got sorted and properly packed.  (A Hershey Bar, double wrapped in waxed paper from bread wrappers, in the pocket of every child's garment.)  24 pair Children's rubber boots, seconds from one of the Rubber Companies...stuffed with socks, underwear, soap and packets of nuts.  Again, all about organization of a project and resources.  


Pretty Amazing (0.00 / 0)
Thank you so much for sharing this.

I was too young to experience this directly, and my parents moved away from our extended family roots so my dad could find a teaching job.  But I heard bits and pieces of stories--some from my great aunts over Chinese checkers during holidays--so I know that my family roots intersect with a similar cultural milieu, but without the chemists, at least to my knowledge.

This not-so-well-known world of organizing was where Women Strike For Peace and Betty Friedan came from, so any disconnect is more from our lack of knowledge than anything else.

"You know what they say -- those of us who fail history... doomed to repeat it in summer school." -- Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Season 6, Episode 3


[ Parent ]
my mother's struggle (4.00 / 8)
started when her mother died in childbirth when my mother was 5 or 6, in 1914 or so.  As an only child she was already extraordinarily precious to her father, but suddenly she was all he had.  And he proceeded to be an imaginative and special dad to her - doing all the usual parent stuff but also promoting her schooling to her, making sure she did well in school, encouraging her to learn and dream outside the box.

In the summers, however, she was sent off to her mother's family in the deep south and there was taught what it was supposed to be to be a girl - tatting, crochet, knitting, religion, sitting still and not asking questions - by her aunts and cousins.

Thus was set up her lifetime conflict between the two role expectations.

When she was 10 or so her father remarried, a woman with 2 sons older than my mother.  Different role expectations emerged from that, including bullying by the boys and some sexual exploitation from them as well - slowly she became a thing in her father's home.

When she reached 16 she moved into the YWCA and finished high school from there.  She was, at that point, pretty confused about her role, but clear enough to "tell" her father that she was moving out.

From there she started to try to figure out who she wanted to be as an adult.  She cast about for a few years until finally settling on becoming a occupational therapist and moved to Philly, completed her training and found a freelance job.

Around then, at age 25 or 26, she met my father who was 35 or 36 and still living at his parents' house - the oldest son of a SE European, deeply Roman Catholic, immigrant family.  My father was still at home because his father was an alcholic and he beat his mother.  So my father stayed there to protect his mother from his father.

My father was pretty poor.  He was a piano teacher and church musician.  In the summers he took a job as a camp counselor, at a boy's camp in Maine teaching water sports and hiking.

He thought my mother was the greatest thing since sliced bread, and wooed her for 2 years.  She would not marry him until he moved out of his mother's house.  "How could a 35 year old man be a grownup if he was still living with his mother?!!!"

So one summer his mother went back to Roumania to find her family and my father moved out.  His mother never returned to America, and my mother agreed to marry my father.

Neither of them had much money, it was never a question of my mother not working, but the pressure on her to have children began and finally they had one, when my father was 40 and my mother 30, in 1937.  The little baby was not viable and failed to thrive - lived for 6 weeks or so.  So they went on with their work, bought a house in the center of the city, continued being camp couselors in the summers on opposite sides of the lake in Maine, sneaking across the lake at night to be together.

They tried again in 1942 - five years later.  My father was 45 by then, my mother 35.  That baby made it - was normal.  My father described his joy when the little thing yelled and wiggled and gurgled.  

I never heard similar joy from my mother.  I went with her on her OT rounds, from home to home throughout the city.  Her clients needed home visits, adaptive walking devices, arthritis exercise supervision - one little boy had had polio and couldn't use his legs.  She found someone to modify a tricycle so he could pedal it with his hands.  I went along for the ride, babysitters were not in the budget and she wasn't about to quit working.

As soon as she could I went into nursery school, then kindergarten. I never remember my father picking me up from those places.  I vividly remember my mother networking with the other childrens' mothers.  By the time I was 4 I had a best friend with whose mother mine split the child care work.

In the summers my parents ran a residential camp for teens studying the piano.  They bought a big house on Cape Cod, rented pianos from Boston for the summer, hired an art teacher and three other piano teachers.  Filled the house with teens from 13-17.  Piano lessons every day, swimming, tennis, softball, bike hikes, Gilbert and Sullivan operettas in the big living room at the end of the summer.  I was the mascot.  

It was a very safe era, the Cape was profoundly rural.  If I needed to get somewhere - to the village library once a week, to the general store for a treat, to Woods Hole (9 miles away) for science school, to the beach - I jumped on my bicycle and went.  Noone told me I couldn't go or had to be driven in the car.  They would only come pick me up if I was exhausted from the ride and couldn't make it back.  I was an only child and had lots of mental resources.  I got my own piano lessons too.  Had my own dream life, read lots of books.

In the winters my mother went on working and I got on the school bus, until the public school education was inadequate in their opinion.  Then I walked to the train station and got on the train and went to a suburban grade school  They paid tuition.

And yes, it was bitter in the winter walking across the Schuylkill river in that short skirt and little white anklets.  The big city post office was toasty!

When I got to be around 12 my mother took a full time job running the office of a group of psychiatrists.  OT just didn't pay well enough.  Summers on the Cape became with just my father.  The next year they sold the house on the Cape and we made do with summers in Philly.  I entered high school in the city school system taking public transportation to get there.  It took me 40 years to forgive them for selling my house.  I live 5 miles from it now - see it every day.

Now, about the role expectations in this tale: my father was a very conventional turn of the century man from SE Europe.  He had been called to a very unconventional life work.  Throughout his life he struggled with the conflict in that - the intense calling to be creative and make a living at it against the working joe, church going, house owning, schedule keeping, tidy head of the household upbringing.

My mother was desperately caught up in a similar conflict: strong enough to leave her father's house in outrage and finish her education, support herself and get professional training, but not strong enough to say no to children, not strong enough to build a career instead of ending up stuck in an office at a typewriter.  I now believe she wasn't strong enough to recognize that she really didn't want children.

And, because they lost yet another child 5 years after me, a boy this time, I grew up with a very conflicted set of messages - my poor father never understood that I hated standing out in the sun waiting for a little white ball to come over the net so I could try and miss hitting it with a racket.  He never understood how I could stand in the infield and duck when the softball came my way.  And he so wanted me to play his piano that every musical thing I did excel at was fine and nice but there was only one way to do music.  Singing just didn't cut it against the piano for him.

And, of course, I was supposed to be a girl, but a smart girl.  Simultaneously I was supposed to don my crinolines every morning and go learn algebra - sort of the quintessential example of the conflict.

OK.  Now what to make of this story, and the stories of others of my generation on this thread.

What's always impressed me about my upbringing is that fulfilling the imperative of being one of the gifted, the ones with the high IQ, however you want to express it, was a given in my upbringing.  Noone ever told me to pretend that I wasn't among the smart.  For instance, although I was sent to summer school to learn to touchtype, I never got the message that I was only going to be a secretary and should not expect more.  (And, of course, in this digital age I feel sorry for those of my generation who didn't learn to touchtype, whatever gender they are).  And, indeed, in adulthood I never got queries about why I wasn't rushing to multiply.

But at the same time I got repeated messages from my father that I could never be good enough, and I still believe that part of it was because I wasn't the boy child that he really wanted.  A big piece of the message I got was that I was only a girl, but a precious girl because I was the only child they had.

And I never heard my father put my mother down, indeed I think he recognized that he would have had to live a very different life had she not been working and earning reliably.  His paychecks depended on his hustling, while hers were deposited into the bank every couple of weeks as long as she got to work and did what her bosses needed in their office.

In summary, I think as we explore this theme of being female in the decades, we'll find such a range of stories, of motivations, of scripts, of unexplained impacts, that we will not be able to generalize.  Each of us has a unique story and finding the common threads will be extremely tricky.  None of what we were raised to think about ourselves can be separated from the economic stresses our parents labored under, and for my generation probably the depression was pretty important.

When we move on to subsequent decades I will tell you further pieces of the story, however.  Some of them are not particularly pretty and reflect the conflicts of this part.


a home of his own (0.00 / 0)
It's probably still common in South Philly for children of advanced age to live "at home" until they marry and sometimes even then. Twenty years ago when I lived in Philly, we knew men (but no women I knew) in their 30s and 40s still living in that family home. Inertia.

[ Parent ]
S/N Philly (0.00 / 0)
I suppose there was some of that among the Poles of N. Philly, too.  That's where my father's father went when they got there.  But they came from Bucharest via Vienna, and they left intending to make a fresh start and never look back.  I suspect they left hoping to leave the charms of alcohol behind too, or at least my father's mother did.

For my dad it wasn't inertia, however.


[ Parent ]
On Grandma Rose (4.00 / 3)
My grandmother, who I was named for, would have been coming of age in the 30s and 40s (she was born in 1918 and died in 1998).

She was the middle child of poor Italian immigrants.  She always spoke glowingly of her mother and I don't believe she ever had anything nice to say about her father.  In fact, my mother recalls buying a birthday card for him as a child, and my grandmother got very angry because it was a nice card.  She insisted that she go back to the store and buy him something less nice.

She was a talented artist.  She never would work as an artist.  She would work as a seamstress at a sewing factory.  She didn't marry until her early 30s (which was considered an "old maid" at that time).  She always made clear in her way that she never really loved my grandfather (who I didn't know as he died when I was only 3 years old), she just married him because it was time to get married before it was too late.

She had three children.  My mother, born in 1950, was a middle child.  The only girl with one older and one younger brother. Grandma Rose always preferred the boys to the girls.  Boys could do no wrong and girls could do no right.

She would betray my mother repeatedly around the issue of rape.  At that time, raped girls were dirty.  My mother would become dirty at the age of 12 and spend her teens in and out (mostly in) mental hospitals and homes for wayward girls.  My mother would later go on to betray me in similar ways, although that's for another comment.

When my mother was too crazy to take care of me, I went to live with Grandma Rose.  She was a pain in the ass.  Always complaining.  "Oh, what's the use?" was her favorite expression.  And she was a great cook.  The best cook I would ever know and I've never had a meal as good as hers were since her death.  She was a pain in the ass, but in some ways she was the only mother I ever really knew, as my own mother was never really ever to function in a motherly manner toward me.

Grandma Rose never had a chance to be an artist.  She would never live her dreams, just as many women of her time couldn't make their dreams reality.

She's been dead over 10 years.  A die-hard smoker to the end.  She used to light a cigarette, gasp in agony, clip the cigarette out, take a hit from her oxygen tank, get her breath back and then re-light the clipped cigarette!

Sometimes it's hard to believe that I haven't seen her in 10 years.

I miss her.


Yeah, part of the reason this thread is so touching to me (4.00 / 3)
is that my situation is the reverse of yours, in that my grandmother is schizo-effective and could never tell a coherent story going back that far. She won't take any from of medication now(she's against aspirin and vitamin pills) because the treatments and the medications in the mental homes of the 60's and 70's was so horrendous.

        I'm bipolar myself and now suffer zero symptoms with the aid of meds, but it gives me shivers up and down to hear from her what women of an earlier area were put through.

One of the reasons I supported Edwards early on was that he proudly emphasized mental health care as part of his program. NC still has a regressive amount of shame when it comes to mental health care, so it was especially impressive coming from a Tarheel.
  My grandmother was institutionalized into this sort of Gothic prison, as recently as 2005. She was categorized as a danger to herself because, I kid you not, a streetlight had changed before she was fully across the street. She's obviously an older lady who took a little longer to cross the street.
Anyway, thanks for your story.


[ Parent ]
In the 1950s (4.00 / 3)
I was a bookish kid, not a tomboy and not interested in dolls. Abnormal. I lived at the opposite end of the football field from the town library, and I brought home as many books as I could carry, thanks to the kind librarian, who gave me special privileges to borrow teenagers' and then adults' books. My mother made me take the Perry Masons back unread, though.

Books were my reward for going to the dentist or the doctor without "carrying on." I bought Nancy Drews and Trixie Beldens and classics. I was embarrassed in college when I waited till the last minute to reread Huckleberry Finn and realized my old copy was an abridgment for youth. It had the plot, so I passed, but not much flavor.

My mother's favorite admonishment for a time was "Nobody will ever want to marry you" because of something or other I said or did. My answer was always "I'll never want to marry anybody!" So now I've spent my entire adult life married, to my surprise (and my mother's?), with less than a year of widowhood before falling for someone else, on a blog, no less.

Some little girls' mothers back then curled their hair in twisted rags to make poopy curls. My mother much admired a neighbor's daughter's coiffure, but she had to give up on my obstreperous thick, bushy hair. My youngest sister finally had fine, thin honey blond hair to play with, but my mother had no interest in such things by then.

One year everybody in my class got lice in their hair. Everybody stank from the treatment.

The first time I bumped into this gender thing was when I was 11, I think. For Christmas, I got "The Boy's Book of Science." Why didn't you get me "The Girl's Book of Science," I asked. Because there is no such thing, I was told, and I concluded I shouldn't have anything to do with science.

My mother didn't work for pay in the 1950s. After I was an only child (except for when my cousin lived with us. Her parents "had too many children" and were evicted, and the children, all 8 of them by then I guess, were farmed out to various relatives until the parents could find a place to live and regrouped) through kindergarten, my mother had two more in 18 months and her hands full. My father's commute was an hour each way if the road wasn't flooded and the bridge was open, etc.--once a bull blocked the road for hours--and we saw him only weekends. She canned, she baked (although not the family bread like my father's mother!), she washed the summer lace curtains and attached them to a curtain stretcher in the yard to dry without shrinking and to bleach in the sun. She kept a vegetable garden and hung all the wash outside on the clothesline. She went to art class one year at night; I think she was way too stressed. She had good neighbor ladies, though, and that always helps.

On farming out kids and stress: This was very common on both sides of my family. We'd go stay with a cousin our age for a week or two in the summer, or with grandparents or greataunts. A kid's mother got a break by having one less urchin to watch, an additional kid usually distracted her own enough to be no bother, and I got to know cousins my age enough to pick up where we left off decades before. More people ought to do it.


We still do it! (0.00 / 0)
We call it "poor man's summer camp."

Montani semper liberi

[ Parent ]
poor man's summer camp (0.00 / 0)
I went to summer camp one year, and trading around relatives is much more fun and educational, too!

Oh, and we went to all the vacation Bible schools in various churches and backyards, by which I acquired lots of self-contradicting tangles of religious data. (For younger folks, these were all in the daytime in those times, and in a town so everyone could walk everywhere, unlike a suburb.)


[ Parent ]
My Grandmother (4.00 / 1)
contracted bacterial meningitis at the age of 19 in the early 1930's.  She was working in Elgin IL. at a watch factory.  One of the last things she ever heard was the doctor telling someone that she would probably die.  While she didn't lose her life, she did lose her hearing.  

A few years later she met my grandfather and moved to a farm in Iowa.  She had two boys and a girl (my mother) and worked her whole life as a housewife on a farm.  There are many things that I will remember about her, but to talk about her and not about him would not be right.  There never was a him or her aspect to my grandparents, it was always both of them.  He was her ears to the world and she was his rock.  She did a bit of everything from taking care of the house to helping with the field work.  There are several pictures of them doing chores together.  I never got the impression that there was 'his' work or 'her' work, it was always their work.

I remember when my parents bought a TDD (telephone for the deaf) they took me along so I could teach grandma how to use it.  I was trying to explain to her about busy signals and dial tones, when I realized that she had never heard those sounds in her life.  I couldn't for the life of me see how she was going to learn how to use the phone.  But at the age of 80 she did.  After a few weeks she was calling people on a regular basis.  

Then in the fall of 1993, my grandfather died after suffering a stroke.  My grandmother said something to me that I hope that my wife will say about me someday.  When I saw her for the first time after his death, she hugged me and looked me right in the eye and said 'I was married to Bud for 56 years and it wasn't long enough'.

My grandmother's story will never be known to most of the world, but she inspires me to this day.  Whenever my wife and I are struggling and our relationship isn't the best, I think about my grandparents and the hard times they lived on a farm in the 30's and 40's.  I think about the things that she had to overcome and how she learned to communicate by reading lips and later by using a telephone.  Mostly I think about her statement to me about her husband and how I hope that I can be worthy of such a statement someday.  I know my wife is.        


equality on a farm (4.00 / 1)
While running a family farm may be among the most equalizing work in our society, it does contain many classic examples of division of labor along gender lines.  Did you grandfather run the fall canning operation while your grandmother slaughtered the chickens, for instance?  Was your grandmother out plowing and caring for the horses while your grandfather was getting the kids up and ready for school?  Did your grandmother sharpen the saws and axes, buy the seed at the grain store, supervise the haying while your grandfather prepared the evening meal?  These tasks I mention are not as physical strength dependent as we like to think, and can be done by both genders equally.

But the '30s and 40's were not necessarily an age when they would be, even on a small family farm.

From the perspective of an energetic feminist, the conventional division of labor on a family farm might not look gender role free at all...


[ Parent ]
I can't say (0.00 / 0)
exactly how jobs were divided amongst them on the farm. I am the youngest of their grandchildren and also lived in Indiana for most of my life so I didn't see it for my own eyes.  I realize that my grandmother's life is not what some or most feminists would see as very significant.  Yes, I am sure that many of their roles were of the traditional nature.  However, if you had witnessed their relationship in person, I think you would have been struck by how they worked together and how connected they were to each other.  

When I wrote this, I was pretty sure that her life, on the surface, didn't really apply to the topic.  I did feel that she was a woman of tremendous character and determination, however.  The fact that she chose to live her life in a traditional manner, seems to me irrelevant.  She overcame losing her hearing, not to mention almost losing her life, to live a very happy life.  Could she have chosen a different life for herself without facing great odds, no.  Was she brought up to believe that she had the option to do something other than be a wife to a small farmer in Iowa?  I doubt it, but I really don't know.  

What I do know is that her daughter did go to school beyond high school and while she paused to have and raise five children, she did get a degree in nursing and became a highly respected individual in the hospital that she worked.  All three of the daughters she bore went to college and while one is now a traditional housewife; one other will retire quite comfortably from her current job in the business world next year at the age of 50; and one has a PHD and works in the Texas University system and is the mother of two.  So while my grandmother may not have fought for the ideals of an energetic feminist, she obviously did not discourage her daughter or grandaughters from becoming whatever their dreams lead them to do. I believe that the only thing my grandmother would wish for any of our lives is the same wish that she had for hers.  That we would desire just one more day, month or year with the person that we had shared our lives with.    


[ Parent ]
the bad old days (0.00 / 0)
To have meningitis before there were antibiotics--no wonder they thought she'd die.

But about killing chickens, my great-aunt was the one on the farm who slaughtered the ducks they raised and who prepared them for market. She owned the farm, too.


[ Parent ]
Actually (0.00 / 0)
I could be wrong on this, but I believe bacterial meningitis is more deadly than viral.  Not sure why, but as it doesn't make sense, I think that is why I remember it.  Then again, I could have it all mixed up.  I'll blame that on my kids.

[ Parent ]
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