HIGH BRIDGE

Matilda and Grover Battle Learned Ignorance

Prologue.

Gage home, 210 East Genesee Street, Fayetteville, N.Y., Wednesday, March 14, 1888. 3:00 P.M.

    Temperatures plunged to frigid single digits. Winds howled. Bare trees bowed. Snow piled to depths of nearly five feet. The Great White Hurricane, the blizzard of blizzards, brought the northeastern United States to its knees. Millions of people were stymied. Hundreds died.

   Sixty-two-year-old Matilda Joslyn Gage sat in her cozy, dry parlor, a virtual prisoner of the winter. As she gazed through a window half-covered by drifted snow, she confided to her daughter, “Maud, in less than two weeks, the National Woman Suffrage Association is supposed to meet in Washington, D.C. I worry. Will attendees living in eastern New York and New England be able to get to Washington?”

   Maud offered, “I cannot speak for the others, but I can clear the way from our home and get you to the train in Syracuse.”

   “Thank you, but that is only a partial solution. Will the N.W.S.A. be able to get notices out to people if mail and telegraph systems are paralyzed? Darn if this storm thwarts our hopes, prayers, and plans for women’s rights. Will those who are not so committed not make the effort to come? Will attendance suffer? Will our movement be thwarted?”

   By the time Matilda arrived in Washington on March 25^th, it was apparent she had little to be concerned about. Nearly two thousand, driven people successfully braved the elements to attend. The campaign for women’s rights would not be denied.

* * * * * * * * * *

Morrison-Clark Hotel, 1011 L Street, Washington, D.C., Sunday, March 25, 1888. 5:00 P.M.

   A dozen past and present officers of the National Woman Suffrage Association collected in a large meeting room of the hotel. After greeting each other and milling about, the women settled into chairs set about a grand cherry table. A set of portraits hung on the walls. The art showed European men who fought for the nascent United States and its ideal of freedom for all – Friedrich von Steuben, Casimir Pulaski, and Gilbert du Motier, better known as the Marquis de la Fayette. It was unclear whether the piercing gazes of these icons were condemning or egging on the women. Could the painted patriots “see” that a storm among the women was brewing?

   Matilda took the floor. She pleaded with her colleagues sitting around the table. “We must stand together.” She focused on Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton, her closest collaborators. “Since we birthed the N.W.S.A. nearly twenty years ago, we have held strongly to the goal of full rights for all women. We’ve fought for civil, employment, marital, and voting rights equal to those of men. Such rights must be honored, regardless of a person’s race, creed, or sex.”

   Miss Anthony declared, “For years, I’ve heard Matilda argue for rights for women, even more, for the universal rights of all people. Her support for those lofty, broad goals seems fathomless.” Then, turning to Matilda, Miss Anthony added, “You’ve written extensively about these goals in pamphlets, editorials, and books. I’ve endorsed it.”

   “Actually Miss Anthony, in most of our publications, you essentially affixed your name to my writings.” Matilda added. “Now, it seems that you are campaigning to erase my name from history.”

   Miss Anthony shot back, “That’s of no matter. Where have the books and pamphlets gotten us? Coloreds. . .”

   Matilda cut off her colleague, “Why do you call Black people ‘coloreds’? If you are indeed a co-author, then of all people, you should appreciate the power of words. When you use that word, you presume white is the standard for comparison – that white is ‘correct,’ that white is supreme. All of us agree that all Americans are equal.”

   “It sounds like you have been talking with my Frederick Douglass.” Anthony snapped.

   Matilda flamed, “Your Frederick Douglass? He is anything but yours. And you, you are most certainly not his.”

   “I beg your pardon,” Miss Anthony sneered. “Even Mr. Douglass understands that Blacks, Black men, that is, were granted the vote by the 15^th Amendment. Women, regardless of their skin color, were abandoned. We were left to continue our fight alone. We must work for one right at a time.”

   “Balderdash! Are you going to abandon the grand goals to which all of us dedicated ourselves? You know there are other critical rights! Are you willing to focus on just the vote? Are you prepared to marry our national assembly with the single-issue American Woman Suffrage Association?”

   “Yes, to all of your questions. I am willing to accept the blurring or the erasure of the political lines between church and state to achieve women’s suffrage. I am even willing to accept temperance and ally with its Christian acolytes. I am not beholden to you, or anyone in this room! ” Miss Anthony’s eyes bore into Matilda with a withering intensity.

   Matilda rose abruptly and left the room, mumbling, “I must focus. We must have full rights for all people: White, Black, or indigenous, regardless of their sex. Civil rights for all. A strong separation of church and state. Anthony threatens to twist a dagger in the corpus of universal equality.”

   Mrs. Stanton followed Matilda out the door, called for her attention, and confided, “It is easy for Susan to abandon reworking marriage and religion, institutions that historically subjugate women. Keep in mind, Susan Anthony is unmarried and calls herself a Quaker.” Mrs. Stanton inhaled, paused, and continued, “Let’s discuss this further at another time. Right now, we must collect ourselves to attend the presidential reception.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Executive Mansion, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington, D.C., Sunday, March 25, 1888. 7:00 P.M.

   Selected dignitaries of the National Woman Suffrage Association rode carriages down frozen, rutted Pennsylvania Avenue. On arriving at the Executive Mansion, they dismounted beneath the columned portico made famous in Daguerreotype images and postcards. After dodging the crusty remnants of the massive snowstorm covered by a light powder from flurries earlier in the day, they entered the grand foyer.

   Each of the four corners of the foyer boasted a bust of a Founding Father who served as President. Matilda remarked to Mrs. Stanton who was standing nearby, “It’s interesting, Liz. Three of the presidents glorified with busts were from Virginia, and each was a slave-owner. What does that say about the nation’s leadership?” That rhetorical question hung heavily in the atrium.

   The N.W.S.A. honorees shook the hands of Grover Cleveland and the first lady, Frances Folsom Cleveland. The President received each with ‘Missus’ or ‘Miss,’ the honoree’s last name, and the message, “On behalf of the nation, we welcome you to the Executive Mansion. We appreciate your tenacious devotion to women’s suffrage.”

   The last guest to greet the President was Matilda. On seeing her, Grover’s bushy mustache rose with his broad smile and his work-worn eyes twinkled. He gave Matilda a hearty hug, as if he did not want to let her go. It was as if he feared this was the last time he would see his dear, childhood friend. “As always, it’s wonderful to see you, Mrs. Gage. And a happy belated birthday, yesterday!” Gesturing to his right, Grover continued, “Let me introduce you to my wife, Frances. You can call her Frankie.”

   Frances was as gracious as the newspapers described. “It’s a pleasure to meet you! Grover has told me so much about you – your work on the Underground Railroad, for abolition, and for women’s rights. Come, tell me more about yourself and my Grover when he was a child.”

  Susan Anthony gawked as Frances linked her arm with Matilda’s and the Clevelands escorted Matilda to the residence for private conversation and to reminisce.