peacocks and lilies

in number too big to ignore, and I know too much to go back and pretend.

Oh yeah, some Helen Reddy will get you pumped up in the morning, for sure. If only they played music like that on the radio anymore. But no, now it’s all about kissing a girl because of the attention men give women for doing it, or the lollypop women suck in a bedroom setting, or how a heart keeps bleeeeeeeeeeeding love. God, the Third Wave can be so utterly clueless at times, and my patience with the non-novelty of youth wears thinner daily.

But I digress in a totally gratuitous morning (for me) rant, so I thank you for indulging me. That’s not what I want to write about today. Yesterday, I shared with you the story of how the 19th Amendment passed, and the work, horror, bloodshed, and determination and grit that made that happen. I consider PUMAs (and other like-minded people) to have the potential to affect that kind of change in the near future. We haven’t shown it yet, but we will, I believe. We are finding our ROAR.

And we are not alone in history. In addition to the fine examples of leadership I shared yesterday, I’d like to add the case of the Seneca Falls Women’s Rights Convention, held July 19th and 20th, 1848. Yes, you read that right. American Feminism, for those not in the know, officially kicked off with this organized event. And it was organized in less than 10 days, in a time before phones, the Internet, television, corporate media, hotel chains, fast food establishments, or even running water and plumbing. And it was a smashing success. So let me tell you the story. Rather than giving you the straight facts on this one, I’ve written it up in a little fictional first person tale, from the point of view of a volunteer. If you want the straight facts story, find it here.

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My name is Abigail Woolson Finley and what follows is the record of my conversation with my beloved Grandmother on the occasion of ratification of the 19th Amendment. She was 88 years old that August 26th and despite her best efforts and sincerest desire, she would not live to cast her vote with other women just three months later. Her death was a sad, ironic event given her involvement with the movement and that she was one of the last two living witnesses to the events of 1848. I voted November 2, 1920 for the first time in my life. I was twenty-nine years old and I dedicated my vote to my grandmother.

As you know my dear, I was born the 17th of November 1833 under the most spectacular Leonid meteor shower that ever was, according to my father. He always said it was a sign that I would live to see great things and I guess in some strange way he was right. I saw Frederick Douglass speak at an abolitionist rally 20 years before the Civil War. I worked for abolitionist reform alongside my brothers and sisters. I saw the Civil War up close and personal, our home being just ten miles north of the Antietam battleground. I nursed the wounded and wept with them. I numbly read the newspapers when Lincoln was shot; I was resigned in the grief that consumed us all. I saw women start their own fight for suffrage—I was there at Seneca Falls in 1848—and I have lived to see this day, this fine August day, when the last Tennessee son casts his vote for our suffrage. I hear the young man dedicated his vote to his mother. Good for him.

I was 15 years old when my mother and I arrived in Waterloo, New York on an unbearably humid day in the middle of July 1848. We had been summoned by her friend Martha Wright by way of telegraph to assist a group of women in putting together a “women’s rights convention” in neighboring Seneca Falls. We had few details when we left but Mother didn’t waste any time getting us on a train to New York; Mrs. Wright had saved Mother from drowning when she was a child and she would have gone to the end of the earth for her.

Once we were there for an hour or so, we began to understand the complexity of the situation. First of all, this whole event had been planned on July 9th and was scheduled to start just ten days later. This was probably our biggest obstacle, and everything seemed to stem from the time shortage. It was already July 13th when we arrived and getting the word out was already posing a problem. Some newspapers, even upstanding abolitionist papers didn’t want to publish the announcements. Mrs. Mott and Mrs. Stanton enlisted their husbands’ help though, and they managed to convince their friends in the press. The broadsides were another problem—almost as soon as they went up they were destroyed or defaced. One of the ladies who owned a ladies journal had some handbills printed and volunteers walking from house to house, town by town in the area distributed them. We were short of everything but volunteers— thank God for the volunteers!

Of course there was opposition, both locally and nationally. The news made all the papers and preachers across the land where thundering outrage and protest at their congregations on Sunday as word spread. The newspapers ran editorials and cartoons lambasting it, one even showed Mrs. Stanton and Mrs. Mott in bed with George Washington! Can you imagine, my dear? The politically and religiously inclined opponents tried their best to incite action. There were rumors that gangs of men would come and break the thing up, right in the middle of Wesleyan Chapel! No doubt it was talked about. It was also rumored that gangs of men would show up and either fill up the Chapel, or stand around the inside and heckle loudly, either way rendering our plans useless. As a result of this fear, the main two women in charge, Mrs. Stanton and Mrs. Mott, decided to close the convention to men on the first day and open it to the public only on the second day. We all agreed this was a good idea and would likely save the meetings from any saboteurs.

There were meetings planned for all sorts of topics: the hand bills, newspaper advertisements and broadsides all read A CONVENTION to discuss the SOCIAL, CIVIL AND RELIGIOUS CONDITION OF WOMAN. I think I have one of those old handbills around here, let me look. (She reached for a small box under her chair and fumbled through it.) Ah, yes, here it is, look right here, where it says “Ladies only July 19th.” I stamped that there- it was one of my jobs in my service to the effort.

I’ll never forget the feeling I got as we approached the Chapel that day. How scared I was! We were already apprehensive as we left Mrs. Wright’s house to prepare the Chapel. We had no idea what to expect so we expected everything. As we rounded the last corner our walking slowed in unison and finally stopped all together in the face of at least a hundred fifty men, women and children all of whom had such a look of plaintive benevolence that we scarcely were afraid. We were delighted and surprised to find such a warm welcome. Our fears melted away immediately as every one of us—fifteen in all, counting our escorts—broke into giggles, we couldn’t control ourselves. There was such a sense of relief that Martha was so effected by she ran and flung open the Chapel doors, allowing everyone to come in two hours before anything was scheduled. I suppose the opponents, for all their fuming and blustering, didn’t take us very seriously after all.

We had fastidiously planned for 100 to 150 attendees and we quickly realized that we were in trouble. Tubs had been set up outside the Chapel, which had been filled with water for the conventioneers and provisions had to be made for heat stroke was a concern. Mrs. Mott quickly dispatched a team of ten girls to locate more tubs and to fill them with water from the river, which was luckily just 300 yards away. Food and accommodations were going to be a problem since more than half of the attendants had traveled too far to return home and come back for the second day. It wasn’t like it is today, with hotels on every other street corner; there was only one hotel and one boarding house then.

Mrs. Stanton arrived shortly after we realized our new constraints and was most helpful, suggesting that someone might try the MacNealy farm just outside of town. It was the largest farm around, run by an abolitionist sympathizer who was friendly with Mrs. Stanton’s husband. Mr. Mott and Mr. Douglass volunteered to ride out and Mrs. Mott decided to join them. Meanwhile, Mrs. Stanton volunteered to make the rounds of her friends not in attendance and ask for their assistance in providing a night’s shelter to some of our conventioneers. She herself volunteered to take on ten more people than the original ten she had planned, though I don’t know how they did it in her tiny house unless they slept on top of each other. I’m sure it was sweltering, but I digress. Mrs. Hunt had a rather large house in neighboring Waterloo, where we started our journey if you will recall, and she said she could house upwards of fifty people. This was a huge relief since that would take care of almost a fifth of the audience, not all of whom would need lodging since a sizable portion lived in the area. A plea to those area attendees was planned for the opening of the convention and Mrs. Wright was elected to be the coordinator that effort.

When Mr. Douglass and the Motts returned they brought Mr. and Mrs. MacNealy with them along with a wagon full of food: slightly green potatoes, carrots, onions and some small peppers; two bags each of flour and sugar; four dozen eggs; three moulds of butter; and some meat from the large buck that Mr. MacNealy bragged about shooting. Mother and I, along with three other women, were assigned to take the wagon and assist the cooks, who were already slaving away in Mrs. Wright’s kitchen in preparation for the larger crowd. Even though it meant that we would miss most of the activity that first day, we endeavored to take on the job with fervor and I realized at that moment how tense I had been through the whole thing—everything falling into place was a such a relief.

And it worked—the convention was a success and, as today stands testimony to, the campaign begun that day was a success. We can vote now, my dear! Isn’t that marvelous? Of course, now it is up to us to make it meaningful. Promise me you will, Abigail. Promise me, please?

***

Keep in mind, these two dates, JULY 19^th and AUGUST 26^th will be important actions days this year, and efforts are underway already to organize for them, so mark your calendars! More announcements in the very near future!