III ORGANIZING

Although it is impossible to do justice to any department of the National Woman’s Party, it seems particularly difficult in the case of the organizers. The reason for this is not far to seek. These young women were turned loose, sometimes quite inexperienced; sometimes only one to a State, with the injunction to come back with their shield or on it. They always came back with their shield—that is to say an organization of some sort in the State they had just left. As has been before stated, the National Woman’s Party has organized in every State in the union at some time during its history—that is between the years 1912 and 1919. As has also been stated, the organizers divided into three groups—those who worked in the first two years; those who worked in the middle two; those who worked in the last two.

It has been shown with what careful instruction Alice Paul sent these young adventurers into the wide wide world of unorganized States; but perhaps justice has not been done to the trust she placed in them and the consequent extraordinary results. She kept in close telegraphic communication with them all the time—and yet always, she left them free to make big decisions and sudden changes in policy. “She made us feel that we could do it in the first place,” one of them said to me, “and somehow we did. That sense we had of her—brooding and hovering back there in Washington—always gave us courage; always gave us the physical strength to do the things we did and the mental strength to make the decisions we made.”

As one looks through the lists of these three groups of organizers, one is astounded at the various kinds of work 328they did; their versatility. Mabel Vernon for instance. Her activities form an integral part of the Woman’s Party history. Mabel Vernon traveling ahead of Sara Bard Field in her spectacular automobile trip across the country, was more responsible than anybody, except Mrs. Field herself, for the success of that trip. Mabel Vernon challenged the President in the course of his speech at the laying of the corner-stone of the new Headquarters of the American Federation of Labor in Washington. Mabel Vernon was one of the women who dropped the banner in the Senate when the President came to speak before them. Mabel Vernon picketed and went to jail. Mabel Vernon seems to have organized or spoken in every State in the union.

Elsie Hill, Doris Stevens—you find them everywhere, luminous spirits with a new modern adjunct of political-mindedness. Abby Scott Baker was always on the wing.

One’s mind stops at the names of Vivian Pierce, Lucy Branham, Mary Gertrude Fendall, Hazel Hunkins. How many and what varying and difficult things they did! Vivian Pierce in addition to speaking and organizing and picketing activities, edited the Suffragist, and designed the charming tea-room at Headquarters. As for Lucy Branham—she must have seemed a stormy petrel to all opposing forces—she had so much the capacity of being everywhere at once.

When one comes to the last group, a sense—almost of awe—is leavened by a decided sense of amusement. Julia Emory, Betty Gram, Anita Pollitzer, Mary Dubrow, Catherine Flanagan are all little girls. But in Suffrage work, they were active, insistent, and persistent in inverse ratio to their size. In ratification, that legislature was doomed on which any two of them descended.

What they accomplished! Once Alice Paul turned Anita Pollitzer loose on the entire State of Wyoming and Anita Pollitzer brought Wyoming into camp. It is impossible to do justice to all of them, to any of them. But as an example of how they worked, I am quoting from letters written by Anita Pollitzer describing various experiences in her work 329of organization. I use Miss Pollitzer’s letters, not because they are exceptional but because they are typical. Space will not permit me to do equal justice to any of the others. But perhaps some day all those marvelous narratives will be collected. Miss Pollitzer writes me as follows:
Wyoming

“Campaign against the party in power”—late October, 1918—snow on the ground and no friends in the State—traveled miles to get help of most influential woman, found her lying on the floor of a church with brass tacks and a hammer—She said she was “chairman of the committee on laying carpets in the church,” and that was all she could undertake.

Cheyenne wonderfully beautiful—plains—most exceptional place for campaign purposes—forty minutes between street cars—snow miles high and every woman demanding a separate visit. Influenza epidemic so bad that it was considered immoral for six women to meet in a parlor—only way was to campaign by dodgers and street signs—Got permission from owner of building to put a forty-foot purple, white, and gold sign, suspended it from the most prominent building—Town literally gathered in groups to see it—I got up next morning at seven and sign was down—I had “antagonized”—so I went to call on the Mayor and we toured the town, and rehung the sign on an even more important street, and I had double publicity, the Mayor taking full responsibility for the sign even inquiring if it would “run in the rain.”

Such fearful snow, could get no billboard men to put up my big paper signs outside of the cities, and I wanted them on cross-country roads. I met a woman delivering newspapers, explained our campaign and my difficulties, and she offered us her eighteen-year-old daughter and a box of stickers, and we tramped the automobile roads and papered the tree trunks—Posters.

This is my first National Woman’s Party trip. Wyoming a real adventure—South where I have always lived (Charleston, South Carolina) so utterly unlike—When I went out to mail my thousands of circular letters each night at two A.M. funny Filipino bell boys and other kinds would escort me and carry the thousands of circular letters to mail box. Local post-office really asked me to be “more considerate.”
330South Carolina

Getting Senator Pollock’s vote seemed largely a question of getting the farmers of South Carolina. If Pollock (the Progressive) was to beat Senator Smith (the Reactionary) he must please the farm element.

So I journeyed out to Mayesville—arrived on hog-killing day—at the house of Dabs—impressive person, leading farmer of South Carolina. We ate all day, and sat around a glorious fire, and in the afternoon Mr. Dabs wrote a letter that he gave me to take to town to mail that helped more than we’ll ever know. In the letter Dabs spoke for the farmers, urged Pollock to declare for the Suffrage Amendment, and ended, “We farmers are doing little talking but a lot of thinking.”

I always believed if Pollock voted, he would vote “Yes.” But Mrs. William P. Vaughan of Greenville, our State Chairman, and I tramped the State up and down, saying, “There’ll be no vote—unless Pollock declares.”

Finally one night Senator Pollock’s secretary appeared at my hotel in Columbia, and he said, “Don’t say again that Pollock is defeating Suffrage by delay.” I said, “Well, then, get him to declare.” He said, “I’m going to Washington, going tomorrow. Good night. We will have a surprise for you within a week—within three days.” And at once, after weeks and weeks of campaigning, Senator Pollock of South Carolina broke the Conservative record of his State, declared “Yes,” and voted “Yes,” on the freedom of American women.

When it was all over—his vote and our campaign to get him to declare—I came back to Washington, had lunch with him at the Capitol, and sat, while he told me of the numerous people in South Carolina who had asked him to vote “Yes!” “You’ll never know the sentiment that exists in South Carolina,” was all he said. But I felt we knew.
Florida

Getting the South Florida Press Association at its annual meeting to endorse the Federal Suffrage Amendment was marvelous fun—I learned that Senator Trammell had gotten solid support from two counties, and owed this support to a man named Goolsby—editor. So I hired a car and made for Goolsby. He is a very powerful newspaper man. We sat around a log fire, with the wife, a parrot, and a cat, and finally he said he was 331going in two days to a meeting of the South Florida Press Association, and that he was President. I said, “I’m going too.” He said, “Well, there’s hope while there’s life—they’re against you, but you can try.” I felt that we could do it, talked it all over with him, and said that I would be down to put the resolution in regardless of the results—but that I knew it could pass.

Two days seemed like years. At daybreak—five—I climbed in a Ford and arrived at the Press Conference at ten. Goolsby was the only one I knew. He introduced me to the Resolutions Committee. I sat through speeches and speeches. At noon came a luncheon. The Chairman of the Resolutions Committee took me to that. Then an auto ride all through the orange groves—we got out and picked them, talking Suffrage all the while. Only the Resolutions Committee and I were in the car. The Chairman of the Committee finally said out of a clear sky to the elderly gentleman at my left—a strong anti—“I believe we ought to pass a resolution or something, don’t you, thanking Miss Pollitzer for coming?”—all in joke. I said: “No, but you ought to pass a resolution urging your own Florida Senators to stand behind President Wilson. They’re not.” He said, “They should.” I said, “Well, let’s pass it.” So in the car, speeding along, thanks to the marvelously smooth roads and my luncheon friend—we wrote the resolution. The old editor said, “What? Suffrage!” My young one said, “Yes; Suffrage; standing back of President Wilson.” When we got back, my old editor said: “Say, let’s make that strong—we’ve got to go on record unmistakably for Wilson.” He worked—Goolsby worked—of course the young one worked. I sat and ate oranges. It was all done—in less than fifteen minutes. The Resolutions Committee reported out a glorious resolution, calling on Senators Trammell and Fletcher to support the Susan B. Anthony Amendment, and it passed unanimously. The Resolution read: “Be it resolved that we stand with President Wilson in his advocacy of Woman Suffrage, and we urge our Representatives in Congress to vote for the enfranchisement of women!!!”

The most exciting adventure of my life was “holding up the Florida legislature” till midnight so Governor Catts could send a resolution in asking Trammell and Fletcher (Senators) to vote for Suffrage. I saw Senator Trammell in Washington, and he said he had not decided how he would vote on the Amendment. That his vote would represent “the people”—I asked him if in our government a State legislature didn’t represent “the will of the people.” He said, “Yes, but I don’t intend to instruct my legislature.” I said: “No, but maybe your legislature will 332instruct you.” I came home and told Miss Paul, who said, “Will you go down to Florida tonight?” and Bertha Arnold and I went. Helen Hunt, a capable young Jacksonville lawyer, joined us, and the campaign began.

It was absolutely essential to get Governor Catts to send in the Resolution, as messages from the Governor only took a majority—others a two-third vote, but we didn’t want this too soon. When we had our votes all there in the Senate, the leader, anti, moved that no new business not already in by noon, could come up at all—the legislature barring everything, to save themselves from Suffrage. This was fearful, as the House was most difficult, and we had planned to attack the Senate first. At four o’clock the last afternoon of the special session, called simply to discuss prohibition, we flew to the Governor’s office. Helen Hunt, a senator, a member of the House, and I got Governor Catts to say he’d send a message at once. 4.30 came—5.30 came—no message. In terror, I flew down. The Governor’s office was locked—I got one of the House to move a night session—we lobbied for that, it carried. The Night Session began at eight—Governor Catts still nowhere to be found. Finally, after phoning his home every five minutes it seemed—I called at ten and they said, “Governor Catts is in bed.”—I said we had to have him. The person who answered the phone said nothing could be done. His secretary had the office keys; he was ill at home; his stenographer had the desk keys; she was at a movie. These obstacles to be overcome, and Governor Catts to be rushed to the Capitol. I flew back to our night session at the Capitol. I sent in a little slip-written message to Mr. Stokes, saying: “Trust us—you said you’d help—keep this session going—filibuster—do anything—don’t let them adjourn.” I stood in the door and saw him nod “All right,” and flew.

Bertha Arnold in a taxi secured the outer key from the secretary—after arousing secretary and encountering a storm.

Helen Hunt in another taxi called for Governor Catts, waited till he got up from bed and dressed, and brought him and his daughter, Ruth, to the Capitol. I meanwhile stopped at a Western union Office and got a messenger boy. He said, “What am I to take?” I said, “Me!” He knew the way, and together we ran through the streets of Tallahassee at midnight, covered every movie, and had the stenographer paged—brought her and her escort to the Capitol—produced the desk keys—got the resolution. Never was any sound more marvelous than Governor Catts’ thud when he walked up those Capitol steps at midnight—instantly he rushed it up—the door of the House opened—there 333stood my man Stokes, talking and hoarse. He had kept them there. The secretary announced, “Message from the Governor,” and our resolution was read!

The vote was closer than close—didn’t pass, but they had to stay till the next day at two—we stayed too, and in the morning—of the last day—we got a majority petition from the Florida legislature which showed Trammell and Fletcher that Florida wanted their Suffrage votes.

When I heard that Senator Trammell was arriving in Lakeland, I wired Miss Paul I would stay—Such a hectic and great day. I saw him with four antis in the hotel lobby. He looked dumbfounded, shook hands, discussed the climate, and acted as though I were touristing because Florida was beautiful—but he knew.

Then I went out of his life—but sent others in—all day I got out little delegations to him—the State Senator from that district—his minister—president of the Bank—leading Labor man—his editor. Mr. Trammell’s one day in Lakeland was a Woman’s Party event. I asked Mr. Smailes—a strong Labor man—boyhood friend of Trammell’s, to see him. That night they all came to me at the hotel and each reported his achievement with Park Trammell.

Smailes said: “I looked at him and said, ‘Park—it’s funny you can’t see it and those you were brought up with all can,’ and Park looked at me, and he said, ‘Well, there’s one thing worrying me a little. I don’t want women to get more than their share of electors.’ I just looked at him, and I said: ‘Park, you know Mrs. Smailes don’t want more than her share, but she ain’t got her share yet; that’s what she’s asking for.’”

I said, “Mr. Smailes, what do you think that Senator Trammell will do?” He said, “I don’t know. I’ve known him since we were babies, but he’s a Senator now.”

Helen Hunt met Trammell in Jacksonville when he arrived—on his “one day” to Lakeland. He said, “Where is she?” (meaning me). “Is she still in the State?” (Miss Younger thinks this funny because it shows how scared they are of the Woman’s Party—even one of us.)
Virginia

I think our hotel experiences are so funny.

We had a terrible time getting any one to consider taking action on Suffrage ratification at the Special Session. Virginia legislature called just for good roads—I went to Roanoke to see 334floor-leader Willis (strongest Suffragist in the House) and he announced he was scheduled himself to introduce a bill saying that nothing but good roads would come up. After a morning’s work with Willis, he decided he would bring up Suffrage provided Senator Trinkle agreed. He promised to see Trinkle the next morning, so I decided I’d better see Trinkle that night. Fortunately a train was leaving in ten minutes. I arrived at Wytheville at nine p.m. It was black. Senator Trinkle was on the platform. I picked him out because he was the biggest man obviously and I asked where Senator Trinkle lived and he said, “I am Senator Trinkle.” When my interview was at an end and it was fixed, he said that the last train out had left, and that I should go to the hotel, and say to the owner that he said to give me the best room. To my great consternation, the hotel proprietor escorted me into a room the size of a young stable, which contained six beds, explaining, “This is our best room. I’ll call it a single room for tonight.” Never can I describe the creaks of the empty five beds all night long. It doesn’t sound funny, but it was—I and six beds, some of them double, and a box of Uneeda crackers and Hershey’s milk chocolate.

The way we got the University of Virginia mass-meeting was amusing. I taught art at the University of Virginia Summer School. We had just staged a big pageant at the University. Director Maphis was grateful and said he’d do anything I wanted. That afternoon, Senator Martin arrived in Charlottesville, his home, and so I went to see Mr. Maphis to tell him I wanted Cabell Hall, the real University of Virginia Hall, and he said, “Yes.” I phoned Miss Paul and she sent Lucy Branham—we advertised with huge sheets on the front of each of the eight street cars, in Charlottesville and hand-made slides at movies and posters that my Art classes all were given to do as a “problem.”

The Hall was full and the wonderful old Jeffersonian University held its first Federal Suffrage Mass Meeting and passed resolutions urging Senator Martin to vote for the Amendment. Lucy Branham and I drove to his home the next morning, presented him with the resolutions, and described the meeting of his own constituents to him.

Here perhaps is the place to describe the work of the Political Department, of which Abby Scott Baker was Chairman. The Political Department supplemented the work of the Legislative and Organization Departments. Whenever 335the work of the National Woman’s Party demanded instant pressure on Congress and on State Legislatures, Alice Paul despatched Mrs. Baker at once to the power who could exert that pressure. She was a kind of perpetual flying envoy for the Woman’s Party.