September 2020
Featuring...
pre November 2018
muse-letter \’myüz-‘le-tər noun
1: a personal message, inspired by a muse of one's own creation, addressed to a person or organization, in the course of which, the sender becomes absorbed in thought; especially turning something over in the mind meditatively and often inconclusively.
2: a letter from a poet, or one who envisions oneself as such, in which he or she “muses” on that which is perceived to be news, or newsworthy, usually in some ironic or absurd way.
pre November 2018
Remainder of the site under reconstruction
At Random, in the Would-be Year of the Woman
The 18th of August last month marked the 100th anniversary of women winning their battle for the right to vote. And it was a battle. Of at least 72 years duration. Arguably, beginning at Seneca Falls in 1848.
Given the impact of that belated right long overdue, I would have expected much more of an anticipation and recognition of this milestone throughout the year. Even if not being accompanied by an official logo (a given in merchandising opportunities) or perhaps, a Centennial Minute. (Who of a certain age can forget those compelling Bicentennial Minutes of '76). Especially with an upcoming election said to be the most important one of our lives. And most especially, given that the percentage of woman voting has exceeded that of men, in the last ten presidential elections.
Yet, what with Covid-19, the Black Lives Matter movement, stoked by the murder of George Floyd (and now more recent incidents), encounters in the streets of a contentious kind (to be kind), and economic issues, there have been a few "distractions." Understatement, over-intended.
In this special extended "women-themed" issue, I've indulged in some musings at random, repeating a few sizable chunks of what I've written before. Perhaps the product of an over-inflated inner tube, in the tire of self-regard? Or to be less metaphorically hyperbolic, simply returning to thoughts and sentiments once expressed that might still apply. Especially in this year of much doom and gloom, and the role that women might play in turning that around.
As always, there will be a few detours large and small, that will veer off the main thematic road. Including a couple of short poems inspired by women I've admired or loved, up close or afar; real and imagined.
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This 47-year old mom… from her home in Tennessee… with pencil and paper… sending a rambling letter… long before even the need of a zip code…which apparently arrived at its destination only 1 day before the vote is to be taken…has been said to have “saved suffrage.” Suppose it got lost in the mail? Or someone on Harry’s staff never passed it on to him? History would have been changed?
I had never heard of Miss Febb until this year. And what kind of nickname is Febb anyway. But Tennessee certainly hasn’t forgotten her. And a memorial statue erected in 2018, honoring both she and Harry, her hand on his shoulder (“That’s my boy”) sits in a prominent location in Knoxville.
He Said/She Said Again
(a sampling in reprise)
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Phoebe Ensminger Burn (a postscript)
Introducing, Harry's mother. Better known as Miss Febb to family and friends. And no, convincing her son to vote aye on ratification, wasn’t a “Psycho-like” scene afterall. In fact, no "scene" at all. Rather bloodless. Not even a hint of any arm twisting. Simply something she suggested to her boy in a letter, written in pencil on note pad paper from her home in Niota (formerly Mouse Creek) Tennessee. And while she was a college graduate and former teacher, there are no grammatical or rhetorical flourishes in that penciled communication. It is simple and home spun.
There's small talk of family, of town, of weather. It's not until that's out of the way, that she gets to her suggestion as to how her son should vote on ratification. Obviously, she has not been particularly following his career, as she doesn't even know where he---a staunch Republican and presumably conservative, based on his organizational affiliations---stands on the issue. In fact, later on in the letter, she even wishes he would get out of politics all together. As one would. Finally, nearing the end of a letter that would go on for a little over seven pages, she comes back to her suggested ratification in the form of a pun. And that's about it.
Lady in a Bonnet, 1943
Illustration by Josephine Tommasone ("Aunt Josie") ,1943
for Rose
When she first came bearing fresh flowers
amidst the Greatest War
when time was tethered to a pocket watch,
we had not as yet arrived.
And when we did
we would one day learn that
to everything there is a season.
Something especially,
we did not primevally surmise.
And that April showers bring May flowers—
what with the quaint clichés still being crocheted.
And perception, like a peach,
was still fuzzy and yet to ripen.
And the years went by
like a runaway train.
Troubadours hopping off in the village
would wonder in song:
Where have all the flowers gone?
And as for a face once “as pretty as a picture?”
"All still here when she reappears"
we want to shout to those withering among us.
But keep it locked within ourselves
and take to a silent meadow each year---
a rite in mainspring precision---
to welcome her arrival.
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January in Amsterdam
A bicycle outside the Anne Frank House
Sits enchained in a virgin snow.
The canal, like hell, has frozen over.
Whose bike? Not hers. Perhaps she may never
Even have learned how to ride. What with
The war, the hiding, the being found out.
But surely Otto must have taught her. While in Merwedeplein?
Steadying the seat as she wrestled with her balance?
I, myself, was once given a ride down those very streets
Or straats as they call them—on the back of a bike
Of a girl so angelic I almost cried.
My arms wrapped about her as our laughter shattered
The delicate glass of a summer night.
We woke up the kinfolk when we arrived at the house.
One ride of passage… one ride never taken.
Show Me the Money
As early as 2012, there was an anticipation building for 2020. A grassroots organization called Women on 20’s, was created for the express purpose of replacing the face of Andrew Jackson (not to mention his unbridled do) on the $20 bill, with that of an iconic American woman. $20 in 2020. Get it? But already by 2015, any celebratory gesture agreed to by the government was being watered down.
It started with the announcement by Treasury Secretary Jack Lew, that the decision on which a woman was selected to grace a newly designed $10 bill, had been postponed. Whoa! First off, ten measly dollars? What happened to that twenty? Though it should have come as no surprise, as historically and to this day, women have been paid less than men for the same work done. Sometimes significantly so. Consequently, the devaluation in a "woman-faced currency" by 50% off a $20 bill, might not have been so surprising. Be lucky someone didn’t suggest the creation of a $3 bill in their honor.
In addition to that dollar devaluation, no decision had yet been made as to who would take this... one small $10 step for women... one giant condescending step for womankind. Although we may have forgotten, that technically, Martha Washington was the first. She was featured on a $1 Silver Certificate in the late 1800’s. When a dollar was a dollar. That should count, no? Even though this "silver dollar" soon disappeared rather quickly, 134 years ago.
Even before that, there was what might generously be called, an implied compliment to the gender? In 1875, the spunky Pocahontas appeared on the reverse side of a $20 bill, within an artwork entitled "The Baptism of Pocahontas." (Who knew she was baptized and given the name Rebecca in an Anglican church, by the way). Gotta' love the gravitas of all those Roman numbered X's on this bill. This was a money that meant business.
And yes, I'm aware that the last two “woman currency” efforts —Susan B. Anthony and Sacagawea appearing on dollar coins— never caught on. Though perhaps it was not as much a gender issue, but simply, that we like our dollars in paper. That they not weigh us down. Like in some countries I know, that will remain Harryless.
Then in April of 2016 came this rather surprising good news announcement:
“The yearlong attempt by the U.S. Treasury Department to select a woman whose face will appear on future American banknotes came to a close on Wednesday, with the news that the Treasury Department plans to replace Andrew Jackson on the $20 bill with Harriet Tubman. Meanwhile, Alexander Hamilton will retain his central position on the $10 bill.”
Now we're talking! And this design was immediately put in the works.
It might be worth noting, all gender considerations aside, that this was a very big deal. The appearance of any new face on our paper currency, is something seen less frequently than Halley’s comet. The last time it happened was in 1929 with the addition of Alexander Hamilton, (replacing Andrew Jackson, who was upgraded to twenty bucks). This coming just 128 years after Alex and Aaron had that machismo encounter (My 2¢ and Then Some, on the $10 Bill to Come, JANUARY, 2016 MUSE-LETTER).
But a kabash was put on this plan three years later. Enter new Treasury Secretary Steve Mnuchin (who needs to buy a vowel), who told a congressional committee that the debut of this new bill would have to be delayed until 2026. What? Why? Seven years?
The development of new security features was cited as the reason, and “the Nuch” denied (with a straight face) that political considerations were a factor. Though The New York Times couldn't help but note at the time that… “As a candidate, Trump had criticized the decision as ‘political correctness,’ and he has made no secret of his admiration for President Andrew Jackson, whose image Tubman would have dislodged from the front of the $20 bill.”
I’ll leave it to the reader to decide if the reason for this seven-year switch sounds kosher. But imagine if on January 1, 2020, a “Tubman twenty” had been issued, in concert with the ceremony and media attention that would have accompanied it? The inevitable presence of Gloria Steinem at one event or another; one interview or another? And Oprah, kvelling? But Harriet Tubman, like all women who came before and after, will have to wait her turn. It beats having to sit in the back of the bus.
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Happy 90th Birthday to Ma and to the 19th Amendment!
This originally appeared ten years ago in the SEPTEMBER, 2010 MUSE-LETTER. Aside from my mother’s untimely passing at 96, she died too young--- a brother going on 102, and a sister at 98, are still going strong, mentally and physically--- all other facts and suppositions within, still hold. Including, the mothers we have known and loved.
My mother, who art in Jersey, turns 90 years of age this month. We are blessed to not only still have her, but in good health and still acting like a mother. To which the following exchanges will attest. And bear with me if you’ve heard them; I speak of them often.
This first took place a couple of years ago when I stayed at her house and got in at 1:30 AM one morning.
MA: You’re just getting home now?
ME: Ma…I’m 62!
This next one occurs almost every time I head out the door from her house, to grab a bus into “The City” (i.e. New York).
MA: Be careful
ME: Ma…I’m on Social Security.
Although in this regard, she may have a point. “ME” may be too old to go into the city by himself now.
On a more universal note, it strikes me as we plan a big bash this month in celebration of her long life, that she was born less than a month after women were given the right to vote. In this context… only 90 years ago. We're not talking ancient history here.
The 19th Amendment was ratified by the Tennessee General Assembly on August 18, 1920, which as the 36th state to ratify, gave the amendment the three-quarters of the states it needed for passage. Finally.
Apparently, the Founding Fathers never found it in their hearts or minds to give women the vote at the outset. Or to put it in another perspective, this ratification came a full fifty years after even those once considered chattel by law— male slaves— were given that right. And this only happened, as the story goes, because a 24 year old state legislator named Harry Burn, changed his vote at the last minute at the behest of his mother.
I imagine this exchange between Mother and Harry Burn, who I think bears a striking resemblance to Norman Bates:
MOTHER: Harry. How are you voting?
HARRY: Well, mother, I, er…don’t think women are…er, ready to uh, vote.
MOTHER: Then find your own motel to run when I’m gone!
Pass me that knife.
HARRY: (Holding his ears. Then the knife) MOTHER!!! Now look what you’ve done. I’ll vote “Yes!” “Yes!” “Yes!” "Yes!"
(sound track: "Whee, whee, whee, whee, whee…")
And then again, hey, not so fast. Consider that almost a quarter of those voting in the House of Representatives— 89 out of 393—still thought women unworthy of the right to vote. We have, what I will call, the “back nine.”
Astonishing as it was to me in having only recently made this discovery, these states did not ratify—that is to say, did not give their formal approval to the passed 19th Amendment— until the years indicated:
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Maryland - 1941
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Virginia - 1952
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Alabama - 1953
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Florida - 1969
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South Carolina - 1969
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Georgia - 1970
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Louisiana - 1970
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North Carolina - 1971
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Mississippi - 1984
1984? Yes, March 22, 1984. It boggles the mind.
I can’t help but think of all of this now, when we consider some of the debates in our “modern day,” about human rights issues.
So while Happy Birthdays are in order, a belated Thank You note to Harry Burn’s mother.
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A lot more about statues in a bit.
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If only there was some other worldly intervention on that day to block those two planes, by the sheer power of presence and bare hands. Unsurprisingly, the piece is entitled Memorial to September 11. And in ten days from now, it will be the 19th year since that fatal day. And we will remember.
In seeking to learn the backstory of this piece, I came upon Meredith Bergmann who created it. She works in a style I'm inclined to call "the art of moment." And she's been at it for over 40 years, on public monuments and on a private scale.
As a feminist, her themes almost exclusively involve women. Either their role in history, or in this case, other realms into which they have been cast. (From Under My Radar an Artist Emerges, SEPTEMBER, 2018 MUSE-LETTER) In explaining her thinking behind this creation...
“This had to be a sculpture of a human being that had absorbed and survived an attack, wounded but alive…
I made the figure a female nude because in our tradition descending from ancient Athens the female figure has represented the most life-giving, nurturing and inspirational forces we can imagine. This figure’s nudity is chaste, and it reveals both her strength and her vulnerability, as our open, democratic, inclusive society (at least in its ideals) is both strong and vulnerable…"
Two years ago, I’d be hearing of Ms. Bergmann again.
It was announced in July 2018 that she had beat out 90 other candidates--- in a contest sponsored by, a non-profit organization--- for the honor of designing and putting the first statue(s) of real women in Central Park. The fictional Alice has been sitting there on her mushroom since 1959.
No real women in a worldwide-known park, that yet, has even honored a dog with a bronze statue!? True. His name is Balto. His inscription reads:
I take this little side path down those steps, to further illustrate what a gross oversight it has been, to not have honored women who have contributed so much, especially in the cause of equal rights and justice. But finally, the “bronze ceiling,” as it’s been called, has being broken. At least in Central Park. A mere 95 years after Balto got his statue. And he was still alive at the time! Most likely, the only one in the park who has ever received that measure of premature infatuation. I guess every dog has its day.
But back to Bergmann’s sculpture.
Her design would be featuring suffragists Susan B Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and would go up on the Literary Walk on the Mall in 2020.
With all the upheavals of this year, I wondered if this project might be put on hold? Especially, as the year has rolled on and I hadn’t seen or heard it mentioned in any media outlet. I thought maybe this had gone the route of the "Tubman twenty." But suddenly last month, in conjunction with a milestone anniversary of the 19th Amendment ratification, it would be unveiled on August 26th. With a "slight" adjustment.
Bergmann's original 2018 proposal here to the left, faced criticism for only featuring Stanton and Anthony, without recognizing the efforts of Black women in the movement. She then redesigned the statue, starting from scratch, to include Sojourner Truth, who delivered one of the most famous abolitionist and women’s rights speeches in American history, “Ain’t I a Woman?” in 1851.
It would now portray Truth speaking, Anthony organizing, and Stanton writing, all elements of activism, according to Bergmann. And at the unveiling, Hillary was there and offered these brief remarks:
Statues of No Limitations
Years ago while wandering around inside St. John’s Cathedral, I happened upon a bronze sculpture off in a corner. One encased not in glass, but in drama. A depiction of that tragedy with which we are all too familiar, fantastically being short-circuited.
A photo op with the artist then followed.
"It seems especially appropriate that today, on Women's Equality Day, we are unveiling a new statue in Central Park for the first time in over six decades: the first statue of real, nonfictional women, the first statue of an African American and significantly a statue that depicts three great Americans working together,"
A couple of days later, I went over to check it out. I wanted to go beyond the obvious sociopolitical context surrounding the piece, and view it, and feel it, as a work of art. And you can only do that in the flesh. Or to suggest a new expression, "going beyond the Zoom." In a word, I found it stunning. In another word, gripping.
Unlike usual park statuary that strikes a rigid pose, with the subject staring out blankly as if wondering how he wound up stuck here ("don't bronze me bro"), there is an energy around this table. These are people engaged, as has been noted. And the offhand detail, a pen raised in mid air while a thought is gathered, a satchel beside the table, Sojourner Truth's missing finger noticeable as she is using her hands to make a passionate point, all go to making the work come alive. And it exudes, dare I say it, an oxymoronic sense of an "earthly spirituality." At least it did for me. The least "new-agey" person in the cosmos.
A steady smattering of people would stop by quietly, as if to pay their respects. Their masks adding a certain somberness to the visit. Somehow, I expected loud throngs. Because it's New York. And because it's something new. And because we are not shy by nature of expressing our thoughts within earshot of everyone. But today it's quiet. People are keeping their voices down as they reach for their cameras, take a few pictures, stay a few moments, read the adjacent plaques that offer some backstory on what they are seeing... then move on. I lingered a bit longer before departing. Just because.
In these troubled times, coming upon something as uplifting as the Women's Rights Pioneers Monument (which is what it is titled) can make a day. It made mine. And I left the park wondering if this might start a new trend in putting statues up, that might rightfully replace those torn down.
finito
At Random, in the Would-be Year
of the Woman
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Show Me the Money
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Harris in Wonderland
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Happy Birthday to Ma
and to the 19th Amendment!
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Phoebe Ensminger Burn (a postscript)
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Lady in a Bonnet, 1943
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He Said/She Said Again
(a sampling in reprise)
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Statues of No Limitations
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January in Amsterdam
"
"
I never make the mistake of arguing
with people whose opinions have no respect