First Draft Follies: The "Women's Crusade" of the 1870s, Part Two

Part One --- Part Two --- Part Three 

Welcome to First Draft Follies, an ongoing series here at the blog. The material here is presented "as is" from the first draft of the book that became Ambitious Brew. In a few places I added one or two words in brackets -- [like this] -- for clarification. When the material is lengthy, I break it into several parts; this is part two of three. The setting here is the early 1870s, when the American temperance movement, which had been derailed by the Civil War, regrouped and renewed its efforts to eliminate alcohol in the United States.

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And so it went in another nine hundred towns in thirty-one (out of thirty-seven) states and the District of Columbia. The tens of thousands of marchers met with but limited success and may have done the cause more harm than good: most men were hostile, and many of the women played to type, thereby reinforcing the common view among men idea that a woman’s place was in the home. “It is easy enough to conquer a man, if only you know how,” one crusader explained.

I wish you could see me talking to some of these saloon men that I would never have spoken to before; I employ my sweetest accents; . . . I look into their eyes and grow pathetic; I shed tears, and I joke with them--but all in terrible earnest. And they surrender. (*1)

The hypocrisy left a bad taste in the mouth of an Ohio man.

“It is a little amusing,” he commented, “to hear one of these women talk to ‘their man’ as they have him cornered behind his bar, and to see how he takes to talk of that sort.”

He listened to one crusader as she “opened out her battery of words,” telling the proprietor that she “loved” him and “always had.”

“I’ll venture a treat,” the man scoffed, “that this same woman never thought of this poor devil of a saloon-keeper before, and if she had met him on the street . . . she would not have spoken to him.” (*2)

Still, there was no doubt that the crusaders placed themselves in real danger. In some communities minor riots erupted and mobs attacked the women. At a march in Pittsburgh, hecklers jeered and threw rocks, paint, eggs, bricks, and beer at the women. One man used a horsewhip to rescue his wife from the crowd.

In Plano, Illinois, the occupants of a saloon removed themselves to the second floor of the building and dumped “the contents of baser toiletware” on the crusaders below. (*3)  In one town, a man exposed himself to a group kneeling for sidewalk prayer.

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*1: Blocker, ‘Give to the Winds Thy Fears’: The Women's Temperance Crusade, 1873-1874 (Greenwood Press, 1985), 43.

*2: Ibid. *3: Ibid., 60.

First Draft Follies: The "Women's Crusade" of the 1870s, Part One

Part One --- Part Two --- Part Three 

Welcome to First Draft Follies, an ongoing series at the blog. The material is presented "as is" from the first draft of the manuscript that became the book Ambitious Brew. In a few places I added one or two words in brackets -- [like this] -- for clarification. When the material is lengthy, I break it into several parts; this is part one of three. The setting here is the early 1870s, when the American temperance movement, which had been derailed by the Civil War, regrouped and renewed its efforts to eliminate alcohol in the United States.

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The “Women’s Crusade" of the early 1870s was the inadvertent by-product of an otherwise ordinary evening of entertainment. In the 1870s, lectures and speeches were the most common forms of mass entertainment. Experts of all sorts toured the United States speaking to large audiences on everything from homeopathy to hydropathy; transmigration to trans-Atlantic travel.

Among them was Diocletian Lewis, a physician-reformer with interests in abolition, women’s rights, and temperance. In late 1873, he took the platform in front of a crowd of about a thousand at a hall in Fredonia, New York. There, he touted the virtues of temperance, denounced the evils of liquor, and regaled his listeners with tales of drink-induced woe and degeneracy.

Lewis capped his discourse with an anecdote about how, some forty years earlier, his own mother, married to a drunk, had led a group of her friends into a saloon where they prayed until the bar owner was persuaded to shut his doors and find other employment.

The following morning, a hundred or so women who had attended Lewis’s lecture gathered at a Baptist church to discuss what they had heard. Shortly after noon, the women began marching, first to the bar at the Taylor House Hotel, and from there to the city’s eight liquor retail outlets.

At each stop, the women demanded that the male owners of the establishments abandon their devilish business and then prayed for their redemption. Only one of the men so targeted agreed to find another line of trade.

Over the next few weeks, the Women’s Crusade spread across New York and the midwest. It arrived in Milwaukee in late February when the city’s “gentle raiders” mailed postcards to hundreds of saloons. "Sir,” the cards read, “believing your own conscience must smite you for your criminality in dealing out liquid damnation to our husbands, sons and brothers, we propose to aid that conscience by praying in your gilded hall of vice, next Monday March 2.” (*1)

On the appointed day, the women’s efforts provided plenty of entertainment for the throngs who pushed past them on Milwaukee’s sidewalks, but not much else. No saloonkeepers repented; none shut their doors.

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*1: “The Gentle Raiders,” Milwaukee Sentinel March 2, 1874, p. 1.

The Surrealism of Modern Life

You gotta love surrealism, especially when it's live! In person! Happening now! As in my past few days:

As you may know, we midwesterners just experienced a giganto-super-wallopy snow storm. The snow and wind started Tuesday afternoon and stayed with us until Wednesday afternoon (at least here in Iowa). Fourteen inches of snow, forty mile-per-hour winds, etc.

Which would have been okay, except that I was supposed to fly to Los Angeles on Thursday morning for a speaking engagement. When the airport shut down Wednesday morning, I got, um, a little worried? Would I make? Should I even try? And what to do if I can't make it? (*1)

To cut to the chase (because someone else's travel woes are about as interesting as someone else's home movies), I got up Thursday morning at 5 am and decided to give it a try. The temperature was  five degrees below zero, the streets had barely been plowed, the interstate was, as the weather people say, 100% snow and ice covered.

Took me 90 minutes to make a trek that usually take about 45 minutes (which, frankly, wasn't bad, given the circumstances). Made it to the airport without mishap. (Thank god. Because sliding off the road and into a ditch in sub-zero weather is not my idea of a good time.)

Boarded one airplane. Landed. Boarded a second plane.

Voila! Hours later I was gazing through the plane's window at --- palm trees, sun, warmth. And about an hour or so after that, I was in the hotel's rooftop, outdoor pool, swimming laps before my speaking gig. That, my friends, is the surrealism of modern life. (*2)

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*1: Being the conscientious soul that I am, I rounded up a substitute in case I couldn't make it: My dear pal and all-round-fabulous-human-being Anat Baron, the producer and director of "Beer Wars," agreed to take my place if need be, short notice and all. How great is that?

*2: Said surrealism is, to be honest, a tad exhausting. By the time I got back to Iowa last night, I was wiped out, especially thanks to a serious interstate traffic snarl of indeterminate nature that turned my forty minute trip back from the airport into an hour and 45-minute nightmare. And then I had to get up this morning and drive back to Des Moines for a previously planned engagement.

Winter, Walking, and Warmth

Man, we're having a blizzard. Serious snow. Went for a long walk earlier and enjoyed the hell out of myself. I love walking and I love walking in snow. (*1)

Speaking of which: Last year, my ten-year-old boots finally shot craps. All I wanted another pair just like them (they were Merrells) but, of course, the company no longer makes that model. (Of course. I mean, if it's a great product, why keep making it?)

So in October I started hunting for a new pair of snow/cold boots. Did an in-house test-drive of several. Kept coming across a kind made by Bogs.

Frankly, they looked so insubstantial that I kept skipping past. But after trying, and rejecting, a half dozen or so other brands of boots, and after seeing Bogs on offer from reputable companies, I decided to do a little investigating. The company claims its boots are insulated down to forty below (!) and waterproof. Truth be told, that sounded too good to be true, especially given their appearance: most winter boots are clunky, leathery, hardware-laden affairs, but these are sleek, streamlined, and minimalist.

But I found some at Zappos, and as we Z. fans know, it costs nothing to try shoes from Zappos. So I ordered a pair.

They fit. (Major deal with me: I'm 5'10" and most shoe/clothing manufacturers don't bother with tall people.) They were comfortable. I wore them a couple of times in freezing temps and my feet definitely stayed warm.

But today was the Big Test: Would my feet stay both dry and warm during an hour-long walk in seven inches of snow? YES! And because I got the tall model, my calves and ankles stayed dry, too.

So. Will they last ten years, as my last pair did? I dunno. Check back with me in, oh, four, five years.

Meanwhile, Bogs is now on my list of Things I Love, and I'm equipped for winter: My ten-year-old coat (basically this coat, but the old model) is fraying at the cuffs but otherwise up to the task. (I dread the day I have to replace it. I love the damn thing. Plus it actually comes to my knees.) (I'm thinking of trying duct tape on the cuffs.)

And last year, I finally finally finally found a serious winter-weather hat. This guy. Perfection. It's warm, water-resistant, and the brim is bigger than it looks, which means it keeps winter sun off my face. (I have CLL and am fair-skinned, to boot, so sun is not my friend.) So. The weather outside is frightful, and our, um, furnace is so delightful. But I'm ready for winter.

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*1: Walking is good for heart, body, and soul. Plus it's the most efficient way to get from Point A to Point B.

Tom Philpott on Food and "Class"

There's a ton of garbage written about the American food system. (No pun intended. Really.) Inaccurate. Misleading. Muddle-headed. Etc.

Indeed, there aren't many food writers to recommend, but one I do read regularly is Tom Philpott. I don't always agree with him --- indeed, most of the time I don't --- but he works hard to present facts and argument rather than blather and nonsense.

A fine example of his work is in his most recent post at Grist. Good reading from a smart guy. (Although the historian in me must note that he's off about about fifty years in his comment about an "official" policy of cheap/affordable food.) So, if you're interested, take a look. Better still, bookmark the Grist site. (Tom is also at twitter as @tomphilpott.)

Now Playing: 3 Journeys to a Holy Mountain

By Alan Hovhaness. Stunning.