Memories grave and gay

by Florence Howe Hall

When we remember how the glad tidings of the Christian religion were first spread by sermons in the open air, when we call to mind Peter the Hermit and John Wesley, we see that the soap-box is only a modern representative of a very ancient institution.

“Soap-box” is only a generic name nowadays. During our 1915 campaign in New York City, we used automobiles, or, failing these, borrowed a chair from a neighboring shop.

Perched on this, with our banner of the Twelfth Assembly District waving near by, and with one or two members on hand to distribute literature, collect signatures, and pass the hat, we addressed the public. Permission was obtained beforehand from the police, and an officer was sent to look out for us in case of possible trouble.

Valiant little Corporal Klatschkin did receive a douche of cold water from a neighboring window, but the rest of us had no trouble. The fact of her Hebrew blood, and some incautious criticisms, were responsible for the amenities extended to her.

The literally pressing interest of the children on the East Side was flattering, but inconvenient. They would pack themselves so closely around the speaker, many of them little tots who could hardly understand anything of the address, that we were often obliged to ask for more room. But we, the suffragists, were the show of the hour, and those babies were determined to lose no moment of it. Indeed, they were sometimes extended in such a wide circle around us as to place the grown-ups at an inconvenient distance for our voices to reach. From Tompkins Square the boys escorted us and our banner in such a solid phalanx, one evening, as to make it difficult to get on the trolley. We were sometimes applauded, the majority of the crowd being “with us.” The obligations of hospitality were not so personal as during our domiciliary visits, but we were well received. In the foreign neighborhoods where we spoke our audiences were especially quiet, though it is doubtful whether they understood much of the speeches.

In the course of our campaign work people related their woes to us or asked us to help them get a job. We were recognized as friends of the people. One man had much to say about the iniquity of the women who watched the street workers and reported absences, thereby causing a person to lose his job, “when very likely he was somewhere else.” I thought it probable that he was.

We spoke indoors as well as out, notably at the Memorial Building of St. George’s Episcopal Church, where we held a debate with the “antis.” Even the Tammany chieftains consented to listen to us in the room of the Anawanda Club. Here we were so fortunate as to secure the help of Mrs. Margaret Chanler Aldrich, a favorite great-niece of my mother’s. They had worked together in the Association for the Advancement of Women. Mrs. Aldrich, the treasurer of the New York City Woman Suffrage party, is an ardent suffragist. She is also strong in the Democratic faith, as becomes the daughter of Mr. Winthrop Chanler. She produced an excellent effect by reminding her hearers that her father had represented this very district in Congress! I prudently refrained from mentioning my own political faith.

To hunt the elusive politician to his lair, ascertain his views, and, if possible, enlist him to our side, was a part of our duties. It was so difficult to do this that we sometimes interviewed him over the telephone. Wherever possible, we arrived as a delegation at his office. The appointment once made, we found it well to have plenty of time at our disposal, for the politician may desire to do the talking himself. Then you listen patiently while he tells you his views, or what he wants you to think are his views. I, a black Republican born and bred, have harkened, with outward resignation, to a panegyric on the benevolence of Tammany Hall. One man talked to us for half an hour or more, explaining his chivalrous feelings toward women. Incidentally he told us of one of our sex who received a salary of three thousand dollars. Whenever he saw her he thought of some man who might have had the job. The chivalry of this point of view was not clear to us.

Our reception was always courteous, sometimes encouraging and sometimes not. We were glad to know the real opinions of the men, even if these were unfavorable. The ignorance in high places about woman suffrage is surprising. People will talk to you about the dangers of the ignorant vote, and in the same breath will make statements showing great ignorance not only of what the ballot in the hands of women has accomplished, but of human nature itself. I suspect this ignorance among politicians is wilful.

Our activities increased as November drew nearer, coming to a climax on Election Day. The Legislature had granted us permission to have a watcher at each polling-place then and on the preceding registration days. The same leave was given to the “antis,” at their request, but they failed to attend. If they had not demanded the place, we should perhaps have been allowed to fill it. To be the only woman at a polling-booth was a little trying. But we knew that we were fulfilling our duty as citizens, and we felt great confidence in American men. Since the law had given us a right to be at the polls, we were sure we should be protected.