Document 19: Caroline Bird, "Houston Day by Day," in National Commission on the Observance of International Women's Year, The Spirit of Houston: The First National Women's Conference (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1978), pp. 119-70.
Introduction
Caroline Bird, the chief author of the NWC report, The Spirit of Houston, attended the NWC and in this document summarizes the major events at the conference allocating space to all the participants, pro-change and anti-change.
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HOUSTON DAY BY DAY
By Caroline Bird
In November 1977, close to 20,000 people left homes all over the country to travel to the National Women's Conference in Houston. Two thousand were delegates charged with telling the President and Congress what ought to be done to help American women achieve equality with men in all aspects of American life. It may well have been the most diverse and representative conference of delegates ever assembled.
THE DELEGATES
They were of all colors, cultures, and heritages: whites, blacks, Asian Americans, Hawaiians, Samoans, Eskimos, Aleuts, American Indians from many different tribes, and Hispanics of Mexican, Puerto Rican, and Latin American origin. They were of all occupations: secretaries, teachers, nuns, nurses, lawyers, doctors, ministers, factory workers, farmers, waitresses, students, scientists, migrant workers, Members of Congress, mayors, business owners, and at least one astrologer. Many were homemakers. As a matter of fact, whatever else they did, most of them did housework too.
They were single and married, divorced or widowed, and a small number were lesbians. The overwhelming majority of delegates were or had at some time been traditional wives and mothers. Illinois delegate Susan Catania, a member of her State legislature, nursed the youngest of her seven daughters during plenary sessions. One delegate was an 11th grader, and several were in their eighties.
One of the most heroic delegates was Judy McCarthey of Arizona, an Indian from the White Mountain tribe and a student at Arizona State University, who insisted on coming even though her labor pains had started. She stayed through the Conference and managed to get home before the birth of a daughter whom she named Era, in honor of the Equal Rights Amendment. The doctor she had defied said he had known a lot of strong-willed women in his time, "but never one who could control labor pains."
Of the 2,005 delegates who came to Houston, 1,403 had been elected in State and Territorial meetings, 186 were alternates, and 47 were IWY Commissioners. There were also 370 delegates-at-large appointed by the National Commission on Observance of International Women's Year to comply with the law requiring the Conference to reflect the demographic composition of women in the country and to include representatives of organizations that "work to advance the rights of women."
The provision for delegates-at-large was a safety precaution against an unbalanced delegate body. The States had been so successful in reaching out to women who are usually underrepresented that only 64.5 percent of the elected delegates were white, as opposed to 84.4 percent in the general female population; 14.1 percent of the elected delegates had incomes of more than $20,000, compared to 25.7 percent nationally. This meant that some while middle income women had to be appointed to achieve demographic balance.
The Commission used its appointment mandate to achieve balance in other ways: it appointed blacks as delegates-at-large from States like Mississippi and Alabama, where white anti-IWY groups had flooded the meetings and elected overwhelmingly white delegations.
The Commission also appointed as delegates-at-large presidents of national women's organizations and women of notable achievement. The law did not require that any delegates be appointed on the basis of their views, only that they be people who "work to advance the rights of women." However, some people who belonged to organizations that opposed equal rights for women as well as the IWY Conference itself were going to Houston as elected delegates.
THE REAL SILENT MAJORITY
During the summer, the State meetings had attracted attention to the Houston Conference, and some of it was hostile.
"Houston will finish off the women's movement," Phyllis Schlafly, a leader of the Stop ERA movement, predicted on television. "It will show them off for the radical, antifamily, prolesbian people that they are." She claimed that a "silent majority" opposed the ERA and the Congressional mandate of the IWY Conference.
But the facts were otherwise. Poll after poll showed that most women really favored change.
According to a 1975 national survey of women prepared by Market Opinion Research for the IWY Commission, women
with an "expanding outlook" appear to be the wave of the future. The survey found that a broader choice of lifestyle
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There were many reasons why some women and men disagreed with these majorities. Some were mobilized by ultra-conservative religious and political forces whose leadership they accepted. Others were women who were opposed as a matter of religious conviction or who believed ERA would undermine their roles as wives and mothers. Still other women knew only that the issues were "controversial" and were glad of a chance to hear them debated.
As a vocal minority stepped up its attacks on the IWY Conference, the real silent majority began to feel that the delegates at Houston would need support. In Peoria, Illinois, an auto worker who had watched the Stop ERA forces pack her State meeting asked her union to send her to Houston. The union refused. So when her shift ended on Friday night, she drew on her savings, packed her bag, flew to Houston, and caught a plane back in time to punch in on the job Monday morning.
"I had always kept silent about the way that women are treated," said a nurse from the Midwest. "But when I heard Phyllis Schlafly speak on television for the ‘silent majority’ I felt I had to do something to show that she wasn't speaking for me." What she did was to borrow money and buy a ticket to Houston.
Though most delegates had their expenses paid, raising money was a problem for many others who wanted to come. Women put on bake sales, fashion shows, raffles, rallies, wine-tasting parties, and even a quilting bee to raise the fare for friends. The children of a woman from Nevada gave her the trip for Christmas. In California, a lesbian group paid the way for a disabled black woman who was concerned with the needs of both blacks and the disabled. A student organization in Albuquerque contributed transportation for Professor Joyce Trebilcot and ten of her students at the University of New Mexico. On her return, she pronounced the educational experience "worth four years of college."
Bea Rodriguez, a Chicana from Salinas, Kansas, decided she had to skip Parents Day at Kansas University, where two of her children were
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Not everybody came to work for a cause. Many came for more personal reasons. A mother came because her husband disapproved of her working, and she wanted to find out "whether other people are feeling the same way I feel." She found that they did.
Another woman came after a brutal session with her drunken husband, who had been beating her regularly. She stuffed her clothes into a shopping bag and set off for Houston to get help. She found it: Women she had never seen before put her up in their hotel and located services she needed.
A television show predicting "confrontation" at Houston convinced a black woman in Oregon that Houston was going to be like the 1963 March on Washington when Martin Luther King made his "I Have a Dream" speech. Acting on impulse, she took her children out of school, packed them in the car, and started driving toward Texas.
Like so many others, she came to see history made and to play some part in making it.
THE OBSERVERS
More than 2,000 people came to the Conference as invited guests, official observers, and resource people. They came to lead workshops, give lectures, run exhibit booths, and provide entertainment. About 100 women from other countries were also official guests.
Some observers came because the aspirations of women were important to their work—social workers, equal employment officers, educators, elected officials, corporate policymakers, and publishers.
About 1,500 reporters, writers, photographers, television people, and broadcasters wanted press passes, twice the expected number. Many were media professionals, and about 60 percent were women journalists, some of whom were so eager to record history that they came at their own expense.
Nearly 3,000 came as volunteers. More than 2,000 of these were Houston women who took tickets, guided visitors, carried messages, made lists, went for coffee, answered phones, and did whatever had to be done to keep operations moving. Eight hundred women employed by the Federal Government volunteered to do everything from registering delegates to handling money.
None of these people knew quite what or whom to expect. The Ku Klux Klan had threatened to come. "I will be in the vicinity of the national IWY meeting in Houston," proclaimed Robert Shelton, Imperial Wizard of the United Klans of America, Inc. "Some of our women members and sympathizers will be in the meetings to oppose what is going on. Our men also will be there to protect our women from all the militant lesbians. It's not safe for a decent woman to be there."
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George Higgins, self-styled Grand Dragon of the Realm of Mississippi, United Klans of America, Inc., whose wife was a delegate, told a reporter that the Klan had controlled the State meeting in Mississippi. "I plan to go to Houston and do the same there," he added.
Newsweek had predicted that Houston would pit "women against women." The Washington Post had said that it might "create a public impression of even more discord than actually exists" so that citizens could just sit back to watch a brawl that would confirm "the most harmful stereotypes of women in politics."
Members of the IWY Commission who had media experience had worked for more accurate coverage. At the suggestion of Commissioner Sey Chassler, editor of Redbook, 23 women's magazines carried positive stories or references about the meeting in their November issues. Word spread that Houston was the place to be.
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1977
Early Arrivals On Thursday women from all over the country began to converge on Houston by plane, car, and bus. Caught up in a common mood of excitement, many made friends on the way. At New York's LaGuardia Airport, an American Indian in traditional braids chatted easily with a proper New England matron with blue-rinsed hair. Like many delegates, they expected something big to happen, not only to women in general, but to themselves.
At the Hyatt Regency Hotel in Houston, where delegates were being registered, the lobby was
full of women whose faces were familiar from television. Early arrivals spotted members of the Commission
who had been in town for several days. Presiding Officer Bella Abzug was easy to recognize in her hat. Many
of the women in Congress were expected. Barbara Jordan of Texas was to be the Conference keynote speaker;
Margaret Heckler a key figure in the struggle for ERA, was to address a plenary session; Lindy Boggs
of Louisiana, sponsor of a bill to help battered wives, was to attend a workshop; Elizabeth Holtman
of New York, known to many Americans for her role
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Some of the best known women in the country were coming: Rosalynn Carter, Betty Ford, Lady Bird Johnson, Billie Jean King, and Margaret Mead.
There would be women from Government: Ester Peterson, currently consumer affairs adviser to the President; Eleanor Holmes Norton, the new chair of the critically important Equal Employment Opportunity Commission; Commissioner Mary Anne Krupsak, who as Lieutenant Governor presides over the New York State Senate; Sarah T. Hughes, the Federal judge who had sworn in Lyndon Johnson as President on Air Force One; Mary Crisp, co-chair of the Republican National Committee, was coming as a delegate from Arizona.
There would be relatives of political leaders: Judy Carter, the President's outspoken daughter-in-law; Sharon Rockefeller, wife of the new Governor of West Virginia and board member of the Public Broadcasting Corporation.
There would be the women other women wondered about: Midge Costanza, top woman on the White House staff; Ellie Smeal, the homemaker president of NOW; television actress Jean Stapleton, who portrays that archtraditional wife, Edith Bunker, while serving as an IWY commissioner off screen.
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The Commissioners Thursday noon, Presiding Officer Bella Abzug presented the Commissioners to the press. They were from every part of the country, of different ages and backgrounds, women and men with records of personal achievement and service.
One was a young Japanese-American, Rita Elway of Seattle, Washington, a founder of the Asian Pacific Women's Caucus. Three were Hispanic: Carmen Delgado Votaw, president, National Conference of Puerto Rican Women; Cecilia Preciado-Burciaga, assistant provost of Stanford University; Rhea Mojica Hammer, publisher of El Clarin, a Spanish-language newspaper.
Eight were black: Maya Angelou, poet: Audrey Rowe Colom, director of women's activities, Corporation for Public Broadcasting; Jeffalyn Johnson, management consultant; Coretta Scott King, civil rights leader; Ersa Poston, Commissioner, U.S. Civil Service Commission; Gloria Scott, national president, Girl Scouts of America; Addie Wyatt, vice president, Amalgamated Meat Cutters and Butcher Workmen of North America. And finally, one of the commission's three male members, law professor Harry T. Edwards, who co-chaired the Cmmission's Rules Committee.
The other male Commissioners were editors Sey Chassler of Redbook and John Mack Carter of Good Housekeeping.
Other women's magazine editors on the Commission were Gloria Steinem, editor of Ms. magazine, and Lenore Hershey, editor of the Ladies' Home Journal.
There were policymakers from national women's organizations: Ruth Clusen, president of the League of Women Voters; Jane Culbreth, former president, National Federation of Business and Professional Women's Clubs; Beverly Everett, Iowa State president, American Association of University Women; Mildred Jeffrey, chair, National Woman's Political Caucus; Eleanor Smeal, head of NOW.
There were Catholics, Protestants, and Jews: Margaret J. Mealey, immediate past executive director, National Council of Catholic Women; Claire Randall, general secretary, National Council of Churches of Christ in the U.S.A.; Bernice Frieder, former officer, National Council of Jewish Women. (Names and biographies of all the Commissioners appear elsewhere in this report.)
"We range from the young to the not so young," Bella Abzug noted. "Thirty-four of us are married. Four are widows. Seven are single, and one is
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Among them, Abzug added, the Commissioners were the parents of 74 children and 17 grandchildren. "And one is the mother of eight children," she continued, indicating Gerridee Wheeler of North Dakota, past president, National Association for Mental Health.
Denying claims that the Conference would be the "death knell" of the women's movement, she wound up: "We are a multitude. We are alive and kicking, and we shall get even livelier. The women's movement has become an indestructible part of American life."
In the lobbies of the delegate hotels, celebrities turned out to be easily accessible. Jean Stapleton seemed genuinely pleased when fans told her it was comforting to see a familiar face at the meeting. Gloria Steinem insisted on getting the autographs of the women who asked her for hers. "It's not feminist," she explained, "if it's not an equal exchange." A young admirer saw Elizabeth Holtman "standing in line just like eveyone else—and she's a congresswoman!" Gail Sheehy, author of the best selling book Passages, took furious notes on everything her neighbors said.
Women who knew one another only by reputation greeted each other with hugs and smiles. The scene reminded the Washington Post's Sally Quinn of "registration day at a woman's college, with people lugging their suitcases, waiting for room assignments, singing songs, and making new friends. It was nice."
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Nice, but a new experience, Steinem described the delegates as "so exposed, so vulnerable out there on the edge of history. No one will go away unchanged." Delegates and observers talked worriedly about the predicted showdown in Conference sessions between women who wanted change and those who did not. Ever more worrisome were reports that men and women outside the meeting had come to Houston to stop it.
Women's rights advocates worried as much about divisions within their own ranks as they did about disagreement with the antichange forces. Not all of the women who favored change agreed on all of the 26 planks in the National Plan of Action. Some didn't want to jeopardize the ratification of ERA by linking it with controversial social issues that affect both sexes (though women more so), such as full employment, a national health plan, or help for battered children. And almost everyone had a deeply felt issue she hoped to advance.
Commissioner Liz Carpenter, former press secretary to Lady Bird Johnson, warned that it wasn't going to be like a "white-gloved meeting of the colonial dames." But some delegates were praying for unity—literally. Barbara Conable and Ann McKay of Rochester, New York had composed a prayer entitled "Women Praying for Women," which they reproduced on small lapel tags secured by red, white, and blue ribbons.
FRIDAY: NOVEMBER 18, 1977
Press Conferences, Caucuses, and Coalition On Friday morning, Tom Brokaw of NBC's "Today Show," interviewed Liz Carpenter and Margaret Mealey. Although the two IWY Commissioners disagreed on a number of issues—for instance, Commissioner Mealey opposed the ERA and Reproductive Freedom planks—both emphasized their mutual interest in supporting the majority of recommendations in the National Plan of Action. Brokaw noted their unity and enthusiasm.
Meanwhile, in the cavernous and drafty basement of the Hyatt, other Commissioners and former IWY Presiding Officer Jill Ruckelshaus joined Bella Abzug in briefing the press. Abuzug didn't think that the opponents of the ERA had any right to call themselves "Pro Family," since the ERA would actually strengthen the rights of women who work in the home. "No one has a monopoly on the family," she added. "Only 14 percent of American families have the traditional one breadwinner and one non-breadwinner. Most of the women here have filled or are filling both roles." She promised that all views would be heard in an orderly way at the plenary sessions. "We have dissent among us," she said bluntly. "We respect, honor, and welcome it. It's the democratic way."
One of the potentially divisive issues most publicized by the press was the plank in the National Plan labeled Sexual Preference. Some delegates weren't sure how they felt about supporting the civil rights of lesbians, but the lesbians were accustomed to being a controversial minority. Right after the Commission briefing, reporters rode up the Hyatt's glass elevators to a small room on the top floor where a lesbian caucus had scheduled a press conference of its own.
Presiding was Commissioner Jean O'Leary, a former nun and co-executive director of the National Gay Task Force. She estimated that perhaps 60
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O'Leary held up a half-page ad inserted in both Houston papers by opponents of the IWY. It pictured a little blond girl clutching a bouquet of flowers and asking, "Mommy, when I grow up, can I be a lesbian?"
"This vicious and misleading ad," O'Leary said firmly, "is an attempt to exploit the lesbian issue, to divide women, and to discredit the IWY by making it seem that the Conference is totally focused on lesbians. As well as our own issue of sexual preference, we hope all lesbians will support all 26 resolutions and all women's issue."
Settling In All day Friday arriving delegates and their luggage piled up in the lobbies of the delegate hotels. Many of those who had come on Thursday had been sent to other hotels because their rooms were still occupied by men who had been attending an earlier convention. Roommates who arrived later had trouble finding them.
Tension mounted as hotel clerks tried to untangle the mixup and accommodate the rush of women arriving on Friday. Overloaded switchboards meant that friends and colleagues had to search through crowds to find each other in person. Roomless travelers had to line up for food, for toilets, for phones, and even for newspapers.
Delegates wondered whether the mixup was deliberate. Later, a Commission inquiry disproved rumors of sabotage and concluded that there were no "bad guys," only lots of problems. Hotels had overestimated the number of "no shows." underestimated the number who would arrive early; and they did not have the staff to handle inquiries from all the people who needed to find each other.
Women were tired, hungry, and grimy from travel, but surprisingly good-humored as they waited for rooms. They exchanged life histories and philosophies while standing in line. Commissioner Audrey Colom gave up her room to a delegate who walked with a cane. Florynce Kennedy, a black lawyer and lecturer famed in the women's movement for her verbal karate, slept on a hotel floor. Those who had rooms shared them with others. Betty Friedan bunked in a suite assigned to Bella Abzug. A white woman activist, discouraged about the progress of race relations in the South, got a pep talk about black feminism from roommate Libby Koontz without ever recognizing that the lively black woman who had taken her in was the former director of the U.S. Women's Bureau.
Women improvised systems. A Conference aide in a red T-shirt handed out numbers so that people
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Communications networks were improvised. A Chicana delegate walked slowly back and forth in a crowded lobby between orange sandwich boards bearing notes addressed to women with Hispanic names. Notices of meetings sprouted in elevators, on pillars in the lobby, on bathroom doors—everywhere a woman had to wait or even pass by.
The Torch Arrives At noon on Friday a steady rain did not stop a thousand women from gathering in front of Albert Thomas Convention Center to welcome the torch. A total of more than 2,000 women runners had carried it in relays to Houston every step of 2,610 miles from Seneca Falls, New York, where the first women's rights conference was held in 1848.
For the dramatic last mile, three young Houston athletes ran together, accompanied by scores of delegates. A shout went up when the waiting crowd spotted the bronze torch being held aloft by the pale arm of Peggy Kokernot, marathon runner; the golden arm of Sylvia Ortiz, a senior at the University of Houston; and the dark-skinned arm of 16-year-old high school track star Michele Cearcy. "ERA! ERA! ERA!" the crowd chanted. "Hey, Hey, What Do You Say? Ratify the ERA! ERAERAERAERAERA."
News photographers could not resist snapping pictures of well-known feminists, including Bella Abzug in a hat, skirt, and high heels, jogging arm-in-arm with the young torchbearers in their bright blue T-shirts emblazoned with the words "Women on the Move."
The photos were so striking that they appeared on the front pages of newspapers in which the Conference was otherwise ignored.
The rest was equally great theater. Maya Angelou, an actress as well as a poet, delivered the dramatic Declaration
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"Some of us run with a torch," said Bella Abzug. "Some of us run for office. Some of us run for equality—but none of us runs for cover." People laughed, feeling more cheerful as they huddled beneath coats and umbrellas. The three Houston runners then presented the torch to Billie Jean King, the tennis star, who passed it to Susan B. Anthony, namesake of the famous suffragist, who repeated her great-aunt's famous words: "Failure is impossible."
The crowd roared. Well-wishers mingled with celebrities, hugging and kissing each other. Gloria Steinem's glasses misted as she stood with an observer from India and a trade unionist from Detroit. Few people noticed the fundamentalist preacher who announced his candidacy for Governor of Oklahoma by raising two provocative placards: "Equal Rights for Christians" and "IWY Means Immoral Women's Year." Wisconsin members of NOW carried their own sign: "Women's Rights: American as Apple Pie."
The torch symbolized women on the move. To Peggy Kokernot, the woman athlete, it symbolized that women were indeed capable of getting to the finish line in an Olympic marathon. To Lenore Hershey, it was a lesson: "The one thing you can't do is to run backward."
Presidents for Era After the arrival of the torch, women streamed back to see about hotel rooms, plan strategy, and exchange bulletins about the counter rally Phyllis Schlafly had said she would hold across town at the Houston Astro-Arena. Her followers called an ad hoc "hearing" at which speakers denounced the goals of the IWY Conference and ERA as "sick," "immoral," "unGodly," "unpatriotic," and "antifamily."
Most supporters of ERA were wives and mothers and even grandmothers, and all of them deeply resented the charge that they were somehow working against the family. "They are antifamily," retired congresswoman Martha Griffiths exploded. "I have sat on legislative bodies for 25 years, and I've never seen any one of these people testifying on anything for the family."
SPIRIT OF HOUSTON
Griffiths, who had shepherded ERA through Congress, had come to Houston specifically to take part in a day-long Equal Rights Amendment Ratification Assembly, organized far in advance by the National Federation of Business and Professional Women's Clubs. The BPW had marshalled the presidents of six major women's organizations who had promised political and economic support for ratification.
"Our combined memberships number in the millions," BPW President Piilani C. Desha told a news conference. In addition to herself, the presidents were Dr. Marjorie Bell Chambers of the American Association of University Women (AAUW); IWY Commissioner Ruth Clusen of the League of Women Voters; IWY Commissioner Eleanor Smeal of the National Organization for Women (NOW): IWY Commissioner Mildred Jeffrey of the National Women's Political Caucus; and Marty Hatwood Futrell of the Virginia Education Association, representing the National Education Association (NEA).
The Panel of Presidents reported that more organizations were joining the boycott against
States that had not ratified ERA by refusing to hold conventions in them. According to Ellie Smeal, Chicago
had already lost more than $15 million in convention business, and both Miami and St. Louis had suffered
substantial losses due to cancellations. "We're hitting
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Early in the evening more than a thousand women who had contributed at least $15 each to ERAmerica rallied under the glass chandeliers of the Hyatt's Imperial Ballroom. They came to pledge their resources to speed up ratification in three more States. It was an extraordinary gathering; women of every age and style came dressed in what each considered her best. For some it was pearls and furs. For others, embroidered jeans and boots.
The speakers were introduced by Commissioner Liz Carpenter, co-chair of ERAmerica with Elly Peterson, former assistant chair of the Republican National Committee. Congresswomen Elizabeth Holtzman and Margaret Heckler promised to support laws that would sweep away barriers to equality for women.
Then came two First Ladies, Betty Ford leading the way to the platform. Rosalynn Carter spoke first. Standing straight and very slim, the President's wife assured the audience that Jimmy was for the ERA also. To those "who are wavering because they are ill-informed or confused or because of shrill voices," she had a firm message: "Think of yourself!"
Betty Ford said that ERA was "the first step in guaranteeing that every woman can be what she aspires to be." She ended with a message from her daughter: "Okay, let's go for it, girls."
Coretta Scott King linked the fight against sexism with the fight against racism. "We have a very great struggle ahead of us," she said, "but we women of this Nation, with the support of the brothers who believe in equal rights, can make this happen … I challenge you to continue to struggle, my sisters, and not get weary."
Liz Carpenter had the last word, "If I should die, don't send me flowers. Just send me three more States."
The party was a high that came just at the right time. Most of the women who poured out of the glittering ballroom struggled past the crowds in the lobby to a night of caucusing before the opening session on Saturday morning.
Pro Plan There was little fear that the ERA plank itself would be defeated. According to a pre-Conference telephone survey made by ERAmerica, the National Women's Political Caucus and the Women's Action Alliance, only 20 percent of the delegates actually opposed the amendment. This turned out to be a remarkably accurate reflection of the population at large. While the Conference was being held, the results of a new Roper Poll were aired on the MacNeill-Lehrer report: only 19 percent of those polled identified with Phyllis Schlafly and her anti-ERA stand. But delegates experienced in politics knew that majority support did not ensure clear sailing. The minority could not win, but they could paralyze the Conference in a shower of disruptive parliamentary maneuvers and discredit it with the nationwide audience that would be watching on television.
The possibility worried every woman who had witnessed the tactics of some of the organized opposition at State meetings. Several weeks before the national Conference began, delegates who favored all or most of the National Plan of Action had been asked to take part in a Pro Plan Caucus that would meeting in Houston. The invitation was issued by the chairs of 11 State delegations: Arizona, California, Iowa, Kentucky, Maryland, Minnesota, North Carolina, New York, Vermont, Washington, and Wisconsin.
As delegates checked in on Friday, the most popular button in sight was the green one that
said "PRO PLAN." And all day long, Commissioner Koryne Horbal of Minnesota, head of the Democratic National
Committee Women's Caucus, had been meeting with special-interest caucuses, State delegation chairs, and
delegates-at-large to ask about their concerns and to assure them that they would be part
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After the ERAmerica party, more than 500 women jammed into the room where the Pro Plan Caucus was scheduled.
Carol Bellamy, newly elected president of the City Council of New York, called the Pro Plan Caucus to order. She announced a long list of organizations whose delegates had pledged to support the National Plan of Action in advance of the Conference. They included the American Association of University Women (AAUW), the National Organization for Women (NOW), the National Council of Jewish Women (NCJW), Women's Action Alliance, Coalition of Labor Union Women (CLUW), and the National Gay Task Force (NGTF).
A majority of delegates wanted to support the Plan as a minimum, but many had come to Houston with the hope of making some improvements in it. Some feminists wanted stronger legal protection for victims of rape. White ethnic groups wanted to be mentioned specifically. Artists wanted safeguards against discrimination, and there were a number of personal causes, such as the movement by some women from Puerto Rico to obtain the release of nationalist Lolita Lebron from a U.S. prison.
The disabled women were the first at the Caucus to win approval for change in the Plan. A woman in a wheelchair at the back of the room was close to tears when Bellamy recognized her. "We're in a moral dilemma," she said. "We want to beat the right wing. We agree with the Pro Plan Caucus that if everyone made amendments we'd never get finished, but as it is, we don't feel part of this group. We can't even get to the podium." Before she was through, many others were in tears, too.
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Older women complained that the recommendation, as voted by State meetings, ignored their positive contributions and treated them as if their only problem were better nursing homes. "We are to be counted in," Dr. Elizabeth Welch, a retired college professor from Winston-Salem, told the caucus. "If you don't, there will be others who will latch on to our productivity."
But changes had to stop somewhere. Dr. Allie Hixson, chair of the Kentucky delegation, pleaded for restraint. "We can hand down this National Plan of Action to our daughters and granddaughters with everything crossed out, marked up—some tattered old piece—or we can join together behind it, as it is, for victory!"
In the end, the Pro Plan meeting agreed to support substitute planks written by the caucuses of minorities, welfare advocates, and disabled women. Other changes were to be deferred in the hope that they could be brought up as new business in the last session on Monday morning.
Very few women slept that Friday night. There was plenty to do before
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SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 19
First Plenary Session At dawn observers began standing in line to get nondelegate tickets for the Coliseum where the first plenary session was due to begin at 9 o'clock. There were good-natured about it. "We've been waiting for over 100 years," said a member of the Church of God who had come to support the ERA. "I've been waiting all my life for this," a black woman said.
While they waited, they talked and sang and hoisted signs and banners. "ERA, Yes." A man carried a sign that he said his wife had given him: "Liberated Men Are More Fun." Her sign said, "Call me Ms., not Mrs. Him."
Anti-feminist pickets waved signs of their own. "Women's Lip: Follow Jesus Christ and Your Husband and Your Pastor … REPENT." Men with bullhorns heckled the waiting women: "You're not solving problems, you're causing trouble."
The women stayed calm, however, and the Houston police said it was the most orderly crowd they had seen. Later in the day there was a nastier street confrontation when a score of people representing the Christian Defense League tried to get into the Coliseum to "confront the enemy." They carried Confederate flags and anti-Semitic and racist placards.
Inside, the Coliseum had the familiar look of a national political convention. But instead of "Republican" or "Democratic Convention," the word "WOMAN" was spelled out in enormous letters on the blue curtain behind the officials on the stage. On the floor below, the delegates were seated by States, with delegates-at-large in the rear. On a huge platform straddling the center aisle, the TV cameras swiveled to monitor audience or stage.
There was plenty for the cameras and writers to see. Missouri delegates held up red "Stop ERA" signs next to New York delegates with green "ERA-Yes" signs. Delegates wore their State identifications on their heads: "jibaro" sugarcane worker hats for Puerto Rico; "Free D.C." tricornes for the District of Columbia. Wisconsin delegates were in red cowboy hats with a white "W" and yellow neckerchiefs. New York delegates held up apples in honor of the Big Apple. California delegates waved golden bandanas.
When the bleachers were nearly full, there were 10,000 people inside, waving, carrying, or wearing a kaleidoscope of slogans and buttons, ribbons, T-shirts, hats, shopping bags, signs, banners, and balloons. Some of the signs seemed to talk to each other. On the floor, "Equal Rights for the Unborn"; in the bleachers, "If Men Got Pregnant, Abortion Would be Sacred."
A man wearing a button that said, "A Man of Quality Is Not Threatened by a Woman for Equality" seemed to be agreeing with the ERA button, "Human Rights Begin at Home. ""Every Mother Is a Working Mother," said another button. "I own my own body," one T-shirt read, "but I share."
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Signs advertised coalitions. A disabled woman hoisted her ERA sign on her crutch. Non-Hispanic delegates wore "Viva la Muier" buttons, having learned from Hispanic delegates that it meant "Long Live Woman." Middle-class clubwomen supported civil rights for lesbians by wearing a button linking two female signs.
Ribbon colors proclaimed allegiances. Lavender for gay rights; green for giving the Plan a green light; gold for anti-change delegates whose daisy-topped gold ribbon said "Majority" in defiance of the national polls' findings.
The sounds of the Conference floor were as lively as its sights. The roar of thousands of conversations, chanting, shouting above the din, official walkie-talkies, a stentorian public address system, and singing. Someone had written new words to the tune of "Alexander's Ragtime Band:" "Come on along, come on along. Come to Houston and we'll see. What can be done, what can be done, to promote equaliteee." And in honor of the host State, people sang, "The Yellow Rose of Texas."
When it was time to begin, commissioner Gloria Scott, national president of the Girl Scouts of America, brought the opening ceremonial session of the Conference to order with the gavel presented to Susan B. Anthony by the National American Women Suffrage Association in 1896. It had been lent for the occasion by the Smithsonian Institution's Division of Political History.
The San Jacinto Girl Scouts presented the colors and pledged allegiance to the flag. Shirley Baines of the Houston Opera Company sang the National Anthem.
A moment of silence reflected the commitment of the Conference to the right of each individual to ask for guidance in her or his own way.
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Houston's Mayor Fred Hofheinz welcomed the Conference, and Commissioner Scott introduced the presiding officer. Bella Abzug's introduction welcomed the three First Ladies. Their sheer physical presence was more moving than many women expected. To Rosalynn Carter, it was "significant that the three of us are here in Houston together on this platform today to affirm the continuity of our Government's efforts to improve life for all." It was the first time all three had shared the same platform.
Equally moving was the statement each First Lady made about herself as a woman, not only as a ceremonial wife.
"Jimmy asked me to be his personal emissary today and to talk to you briefly about his concerns and his goals. He and I have been partners for a long time—working together and separately," Rosalynn Carter said, praising the goals of the Conference. "Of course I am here for myself, too."
Of her own marriage, Betty Ford said, "We have both found a great deal of respect and appreciation in knowing that each of us can speak our own minds as we feel necessary."
Betty Ford ended her remarks with a confidential wink that somehow took in the thousands in the Coliseum and the millions watching on television: "Let's keep it all together."
Lady Bird Johnson, accompanied by her feminist daughter, Lynda Johnson Robb, confessed that she once thought the women's movement belonged more to her daughters than to herself, "but I have come to know that it belongs to women of all ages."
Next came the torch. It was formally presented to the Conference by runners who rushed it down the long aisle to a fanfare provided by an all-woman Drum and Bugle Corps wearing golden helmets with deep red plumes, that made them look like storybook Amazons. Tears welled up unexpectedly in the eyes of many delegates at this symbol of women's courage and endurance. With the torch, the runners presented the parchment scroll containing Maya Angelou's Declaration of Sentiments, which had been signed by all the runners. The First Ladies and the Commissioners signed it, and later the scroll moved around the Coliseum so that delegates could sign it too.
Then Bella Abzug explained the task of the Conference. "The mandate under which we
meet does not tell us to consider whether women should seek to end discrimination or should
seek full equality, full citizenship, and full participation in society," she remined
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"Our purpose is not to tell women how to live or what to do. It is simply to say that women must be free to choose what they do. Whatever women choose to do with equalit, it must be ours as a matter of simple justice."
And she added, "Let us agree to disagree, if we must. It would be a dull weekend if we didn't feel free to state our beliefs."
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Commissioner Liz Carpenter introduced some of the less well-known delegates who had come to Houston and who represented the diversity of the group:
"Sixteen-year-old Dorothy Arceneaux of Houma, Louisiana, Girl Scout leader, honor student, headed for college and anxious for women to learn how to walk hand in hand with life.
"Eighty-five-year-old Clara M. Beyer, retired Government worker, one of the valiant women who helped push the reform of child labor.
"Twenty-four-year-old Mariko Tse from California, leader of Chinese Women in Action, world traveler, graduate in anthropology, leader in Upward Bound programs for blacks, Chicanas, Indians, and the American Chinese."
She singled out other delegates: Sister Mary Agnes Drees, Director of Continuing Education at Marymount College, Kansas, who returns 60 percent of her salary to the college; Marge Jindrich of Illinois, a United Auto Worker member supporting an invalid husband and five children on a paycheck of $8,500; farm women Marianne Bruesehoffe, who is putting three of her four children through college by raising poultry; Georgia McMurray, social welfare activist and former head of the Agency for Child Development in New York.
"America, look at us!" Carpenter concluded. "Listen to us. Have faith in us. Help us. Love us as we have loved you."
Lady Bird Johnson introduced keynote speaker Barbara Jordan, Congresswoman from the Houston area, and noted that she and her husband had watched Jordan's star rise from the time of her debut in the Texas legislature.
Jordan's acknowledgment of this praise delighted everyone. "Thank you, Lady Bird Johnson, for an introduction of which I am worthy." And the delegates roared approval when she said, "Human rights apply equally to Soviet dissidents, Chilean peasants, and American women. Women are human. We know our rights are limited. We know our rights are violated. We need a domestic human rights program.
"This Conference could be the beginning of such an effort, an effort which would be enhanced if we would not allow ourselves to be brainwashed by people who predict chaos and failure for us.
"Tell them they lie—and move on."
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Second Plenary Session When the delegates came back after lunch, eight microphones were placed at intervals around the floor. Deliberations—and the test of women's ability to work together—were about to begin. In the chair was Commissioner Ruth Clusen, national president of the League of Women Voters, familiar to many of the audience as the moderator of the Carter-Ford debates on television sponsored by the League during the 1976 campaign.
Two speakers set a tone of humor and cooperation. Judy Carter, the President's daughter-in-law, charged that in spite of lip service honoring the family, laws and attitudes do not adequately value women who are mothers. Jill Ruckelshaus, former member of the Republican National Committee and past presiding officer of the IWY Commission, pleaded for unity in support of the National Plan of Action.
"By a recent Gallup Poll," she said, "63 percent of all of the people in this country, male and female, young and old, support the goals of the women's movement. Yet the press and many politicians claim that women cannot agree on what they want. Why is total unanimity suddenly demanded on women's issues?"
Commissioner Harry T. Edwards explained the rules. Under the law, the rules for conducting
the meeting had been adopted by the Commission after they had been published in the Federal Register
and amended in response to public comment. The parliamentary procedure to be used was a combination of Robert's
Rules of Order and Congressional procedures, designed to get a lot done by a large b6dy in a short time.
Speeches were limited to two minutes. Debate could be closed by majority vote. The chair could decide
whether voting was to be by voice, standing, or the count of tellers, depending on the closeness,
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Under the regulations, the Commission's decisions on the credentialing of delegates and the agenda were also binding on the body, having been published for public comment and amended before the Conference.
In spite of the concern and anger over the takeover of some State conferences by the ultraright—especially the overwhelmingly white delegation that resulted from an allegedly Klan-dominated conference in Mississippi—the IWY legal counsel had ruled that only election fraud was grounds for challenging a delegate's credentials. Since the law had provided that delegates-at-large could be used to balance the national delegate body, the counsel held this was a sufficient remedy.
The first voice from the floor was an objection to the seating of the Mississippi delegation by C. Delores Tucker, former Secretary of State from Pennsylvania. She was registering the indignation of the delegates at the election of a white delegation from a State that was more than a third black.
While ruling the objection out of order, the chair noted that the Commission had formally stated its "dismay and indignation" at the election results of the Mississippi meeting. The delegates hissed and booed their disapproval on behalf of their black sisters in Mississippi. It was an emotional moment and one that might have broken the Conference had the black delegates not had faith in the good will that had produced an unusually representative Conference.
The reading of the preamble to the National Plan of Action came next.
"We are here to move history forward," Commissioner Coretta Scott King began.
"We are women from every State and Territory in the nation," Commissioner Jean Stapleton continued.
Lupe Anguiano, a founder of the National Women's Political Caucus, was the third voice: "We are women of different ages, beliefs, and lifestyles."
The entire body joined the readers in the pledge at the end of the Declaration of American Women: "We pledge ourselves with all the strength of our dedication to this struggle ‘to form a more perfect Union.’ "
When debate began, delegates lined up at the eight microphones, some to raise procedural questions on how amendments could be made, others to call the question before debate about procedures could begin. Each microphone was recognized in rotation, and microphone monitors raised color-keyed cards to tell the chair what kind of motion the next woman in line at that mike was requesting: blue to speak for the motion; green against; orange for amendments or substitutions; yellow for points of order; white for moving the question; and red for any disorder requiring a sergeant at arms.
There were problems. Since procedural questions had to be dealt with first, some delegates tried to use the yellow card to get the floor for speeches, amendments, or motions to end debate and vote. The chair urged them not to raise points of order so that the time could be used for substantive debate. Other delegates tried
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In that first afternoon, however, ground rules were established, delegates learned how to use the color code, and it became clear that a comfortable majority favored the Plan. Reliance on procedural questions emerged as the tactic of anti-change forces.
The first plank on Arts and Humanities, urging equal opportunities for women in federally funded cultural institutions, was read by Commissioner Connie Plunkett of Georgia, a member of the Democratic National Committee. As one of the least controversial items, it passed without debate by voice vote.
Then the plank on Battered Women, which said elimination of violence in
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The recommendation on Business, calling for an end to discriminatory practices against women entrepreneurs, was moved by Commissioner Ersa Poston, member of the U.S. Civil Service Commission, and after a short speech by a delegate opposing the involvement of the Federal Government in the problems of women in business, it passed by a standing vote. The "nays" were on their feet in the sections reserved for Missouri, Indiana, Mississippi, Ohio, Oklahoma, and other States that had elected delegates who had joined the anti-Plan coalition.
The plank on the prevention of Child Abuse was moved by Commissioner Ruth Abram, executive director of the Women's Action Alliance. Alice Ward of Ohio spoke against it. "Did you know spanking is now called child abuse? There is big publicity to turn in child abusers." Anti-IWY literature had argued that the Federal Government should not be allowed to intervene in family affairs, that anti-abuse legislation would interfere with the rights of parents.
Myrtle Pickering of Louisiana spoke in favor: "I say to you, two children in my own town were found dead last month."
A motion by Mary Gigandet of Ohio to "include those one million preborn children killed by abortion last year" was ruled not germane and out of order. An amendment that would have strengthened the resolution by calling for an urban system of "drop in" centers, operated fulltime for women and children in crisis, was also defeated. The Pro Plan network had not agreed to it and rural women thought it too limited. The resolution passed by a big majority, including some "yes" votes from anti-IWY delegates.
The plank on Child Care, recommending federally funded low-cost
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Debate was limited to 10 minutes as it had been on preceding votes, and there were speeches on both sides. Among them were:
Elizabeth Koontz of North Carolina, former director of the U.S. Women's Bureau: "The issue of child care is no longer one of choice for wealthy women; it is a matter of necessity for all women."
Christine Marsten, a low-income delegate from Washington with four children, spoke in favor of the resolution "on behalf of children who need quality care and parents who worry about children while they are at work or training."
Gerri Madden of Hawaii spoke against: "The similarity between Hitler's camps and these youth camps might produce the same consequences."
A substitute recommendation that preschool child development programs should be controlled by the private sector was voted down, and the original recommendation was passed by a standing vote. Some of the opposition broke ranks to vote for it too.
The plank on Credit was moved by Commissioner Eleanor Smeal, head of the National Organization for Women (NOW). Not a single delegate rose to vote "nay."
"The critics who said we could never all agree on anything—we have just proved them wrong," chair Clusen announced.
Commissioner Bernice Frieder of the National Council of Jewish Women read the original plank on Disabled Women. Vera Prearin, president of the American Coalition of Citizens with Disabilities, moved the substitution of the plank that the disabled women themselves had worked all night long drafting. It called, among other things, for funds to let disabled women live independently if they choose, inclusion of the disabled in the Civil Rights Act of 1964, and full coverage under Medicaid and Medicare. Furthermore, the definition of the word "woman" throughout the National Plan of Action was to be read as including women with disabilities.
The substitute plank was adopted by an overwhelming standing vote. It was a triumph for disabled women who had been courageous enough to participate in the State conferences and for the national delegates who had made an eloquent plea to the Pro Plan Caucus the night before.
On the emotional high of seeing women in wheelchairs cheer and move close enough to each other for celebratory hugs, the session adjourned for dinner.
Third Plenary Session The evening session, chaired by Lieutenant Governor Mary Anne Krupsak of New York, opened with encouraging words from Patsy Mink, former Congresswoman from Hawaii; Margaret Heckler, dean of incumbent Congresswomen; and Helvi Sipila, Assistant Secretary General of the United Nations.
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The plank on Education was read by Commissioner Alice Rossi, board chair of the Social Science Research Council and author of The Feminist Papers. Deborah Benzil of Maryland spoke in favor of the plank because "truly nonsexist equal opportunity education" would promote equality in all other areas. Ellen Gay Detlefsen of Pennsylvania spoke for it because it would help women school librarians attain administrative posts now held by men. Geraldine Rinehart of Ohio spoke against it, urging delegates to "consider very carefully before we allow our freedoms to be taken away and given to the Federal Government."
Three changes were voted down, including a substitute offered by Barbara Zapotocky of Nebraska to teach respect for a republican form of government, the free enterprise economic system, parents, all authorities, and absolute values of right and wrong.
The plank was passed by a standing vote with two additions. On the motion of Faith Mayhew, an American Indian from Oregon, school systems were asked to move against stereotyping on the basis of race as well as sex. The addition to the "maledefined" curriculum of "programs of study that restore to women their history and achievements" was moved by Amy Swerdlow of New York, and adopted.
The plank on Elective and Appointive Office, outlining ways to increase significantly
the number of women in political office, judgeships, and Government policymaking positions, was moved by
Commissioner Mildred Jeffrey, chair of the National Women's Political Caucus. It was passed by an
overwhelming vote after defeat of an amendment, offered by Peggy Christensen of Montana, which would
have restricted efforts to increase women in public life to
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While the plank was being debated, some women in the back of the hall raised signs saying "Abortion Exploits Women;" "Rescind ERA;" and there were shouts of "We Want Phyllis!" But it was not Phyllis Schlafly, the Stop ERA leader, who had inspired the demonstration. It was Dr. Mildred Jefferson, the black Boston physician and leader of the anti-abortion forces at Houston. She had been appointed a delegate-at-large, but had not appeared until this moment.
"ERA now! ERA now!" Pro Plan delegates shouted as she walked slowly down the aisle. The nearest microphone monitor raised a red card. But photographers were disappointed. The chair asked "visitors" to "refrain from walking in the center aisles." Dr. Jefferson withdrew as unexpectedly as she had arrived.
If there was to be a dramatic confrontation between women who were for and against change, it would come when the Equal Rights Amendment was considered. Delegates and photographers began positioning themselves in anticipation.
The detailed plank on Employment, including a call for a Federal policy of full employment, was moved by Commissioner
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The Coliseum was tense and well filled when Commissioner Claire Randall, general secretary of the National Council of Churches of Christ, read the seven-word plank: "The Equal Rights Amendment should be ratified."
Pandemonium broke out. There were signs, chants, songs, and microphones jammed with women impatient to be heard.
Ann Richards, a county commissioner in her State of Texas, spoke for the ERA on behalf not only of "those few of us who are fortunate enough to be in the positions we are in but also for those who are speechless and voiceless, the divorced who may not get credit, the widows who are incapable of making a living … my own daughter, who cannot find women in the history texts of this country in the elementary schools."
Dianne Edmondson of Oklahoma moved to amend the resolution by adding that the ERA should be ratified "only if done within the original seven-year period," a move against the extension legislation that had already been introduced in Congress.
Norma Paulus of Oregon yielded her place at the microphone to Betty Friedan of New York to speak for the Edmondson amendment, a surprise move since some people believed that defeating an extension would lessen the chances of ERA passage. But Friedan, an appointed delegate-at-large, supported the proposal for a different reason. "If the ERA is not ratified in the next year and three months," she argued, "it will be the signal to take away all that women have gained. If the President and his politicians do not pit their own power against the Far Right in the 15 Democratic States that have not ratified it, women will have been ‘had’ by the Government's $5 million." However, the delegates regarded the intent of the amendment as anti-ERA and voted to defeat it.
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Susan B. Anthony of Florida, grandniece of "Susan B. Anthony the Great." spoke for the resolution, "the fulfillment of her lifetime work, her 51 years spent living and dying for women. Failure is impossible."
The audience echoed, "Impossible! Impossible!"
Evelyn Pitschke of Indiana, chair of the National Association of Lawyers Who Oppose the Equal Rights Amendment, spoke against the ERA because "section 2 of the amendment gives great power to the Federal Government." (Section 2 reads: "The Congress shall have the power to enforce, by appropriate legislation, the provisions of this article." Constitutional lawyers point out that it does not give Congress any powers that it does not already have under the Constitution.)
"I am a Mormon woman speaking in favor of ERA," a delegate said when she was recognized by the chair. The hall went wild. When the hubbub died down, she continued, "I grew up in Utah, where women had the vote when it was a territory. They had the vote as a State, and in 1896, with the help of the Mormon Church, Utah passed in their Constitution an amendment which said, ‘Women shall have equal civil, political, and religious rights with men.’ I have devoted my life in politics to seeing that this privilege is extended to all women."
The unidentified woman was Jean Westwood, former chair of the Democratic National Committee, and the first woman ever to have held that position.
Rosemary Thomson of Illinois, chair of the IWY Citizens Review Committee, tried to introduce an amendment that would oppose ratification, but when it had been submitted to the chair in writing as the rules of the Conference required, it was incomplete.
After several unsuccessful attempts to write it properly to submit it to the Conference, chair Krupsak gave up and ruled it out of order.
The ERA resolution was adopted by an enthusiastic and noisy standing vote that appeared
to be almost five to one. "Ratify the ERA!" women chanted. "Three more States." They sang "God Bless
America," and "The ERA Was Passed Today" to the tune of "The Yellow Rose of Texas." Karen DeCrow, former
president of NOW.
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Women from Ohio, a State where the antichange forces had prevailed at the local conference, sat silent. They had voted against the ERA and some were in tears. Other delegates tried to explain to them that the ERA would not destroy their families, or integrate bathrooms (women's and men's), or force women out of their homes, as they had been told by anti-ERA literature and leaders, but they were not persuaded.
For several minutes, the chair did not even try to restore order. It was clearly impossible. When the delegates finally settled down, it was nearly midnight. Some wanted to continue with the agenda, others felt adjournment was necessary. After a standing vote looked too close for decision, it was necessary to ask for a teller's count on the motion to adjourn.
The motion carried, 927 to 341.
It had been a long and productive day for the delegates, and Presiding Officer Abzug dismissed the delegates gently.
"Good night, my loves," she said, after announcing the adjournment vote.
SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 20
Fourth Plenary Session Sunday morning, some delegates went to the peace and disarmament hearings, others went to religious services, still others continued to caucus and work on resolutions. Many were so exhausted from the hard work on Saturday and the postmidnight meetings that they were glad to sleep late. The plenary session convening at noon faced a nonstop agenda of 14 more planks, including the charged issues dealing with reproductive freedom (which included women's right to choose abortion), and protection for the civil rights of lesbians. Anne Saunier of Ohio, a leader of NOW, personnel executive and daughter of a woman parliamentarian, was to be the chair.
The opening ceremonies were brief. To honor the contributions of Hispanic women, they began with a bilingual dialogue between Commissioner Carmen Delgado Votaw, president of the National Conference of Puerto Rican Women, and Commissioner Cecilia Preciado-Burciaga, a Chicana and the assistant provost of Stanford University.
"Sisters, hermanas," Preciado-Burciaga began.
"Amigas, Compañeras," Votaw added.
Preciado-Burciaga: "We want equality."
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Votaw: "Buscamos la igualdad."
Their issues, they went on to say, "are the same as yours—empleo, educaci6n, salud, vivienda." They seek, "nay demand, your recognition and respect for our cultural and linguistic heritage."
"We believe that blacks, whites, Chicanas, Cubans. Puertoriquenas, and Native and Asian Americans can join hands, and we urge you to join hands with your neighbor now."
They ended by repeating with the audience, "¡(Que Viva la Mujer—Que Viva!"
Next came Margaret Mead. The audience greeted her with great warmth and applause, but the world-famous anthropologist was her usual no-nonsense self.
"I'm only allowed 10 minutes to speak," she said, "so let's not waste any of it in demonstrations … demonstrations about me, I mean." She had come to urge women to work for peace.
"This Conference may well be the turning point, not only in the history of the women's movement but in the history of the world itself." Women were attaining political power, she explained, at a moment in history when the United States was "endangering the world" and at the same time "has the greatest chance to save the world" from nuclear proliferation, the arms race, and war.
"It has been women's task throughout history to go on believing in life when there was almost no hope," she concluded. "If we are united, we may be able to produce a w6tild in which our children and other people's children will be safe."
The audience stood and sang, "Happy Birthday, Dear Margaret," in honor of her 75th year.
Commissioner Gloria Steinem, an editor of Ms. magazine and a feminist organizer,
read the Health resolution, which advocated a national health security system. Cheers punctuated the
delegates' reception of this lengthy plank, particularly, the sections
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The plank was overwhelmingly adopted as soon as the question was called.
Commissioner Lenore Hershey, editor of the Ladies' Home Journal, moved the plank on Homemakers, a resolution that said marital property, inheritance, and domestic relations laws should be based "on the principle that marriage is a partnership in which the contribution of each spouse is of equal importance and value." The plank was adopted after the chair ruled on questions about access to the microphones. "I am not a chairman," Anne Saunier replied to an anti-change delegate who insisted on using the masculine form, "and I don't plan to become one."
Commissioner Cecilia Preciado-Burciaga moved adoption of the resolution on Insurance, which advocated the Model Regulation to Eliminate Unfair Sex Discrimination of the National Association of Insurance Commissioners.
Betty Wilson of New Jersey spoke in favor of it. "The current system of insurance is one where women pay more and get less."
Geraldine Rinchart of Ohio spoke against it as an impersonal Government-regulated system of providing help in which "the character building value which attends the voluntary response to the cry of the needy is lost." Nonetheless, the Insurance resolution received a large majority.
In the urging that procedural motions be limited so that the time could be spent on debating the proposal, the chair complained that "some people get recognized on yellow cards to raise points which not only can I not answer, but God above cannot answer. She just doesn't have the answer." The delegates laughed and applauded understandingly.
The various sections in the long resolution on International Affairs were read by five commissioners in turn:
Koryne Horbal, U.S. delegate to the U.N. Commission on the Status of Women, read the section on Women and Foreign Policy.
Jeffalyn Johnson, former associate director of the Federal Executive Institute, read the section on Women in Development.
Coretta Scott King, founder of the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial Center, read the section on Human Rights Treaties and International Conventions on Women.
Ethel Taylor, national coordinator of Women Strike for Peace, read the section on Peace and Disarmament.
Mildred Persinger, representative to the United Nations for the Worldwide and National Board of the Young Women's Christian Association of the U.S.A., read the section on International Education and Communication, and moved the adoption of the entire plank.
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A motion to divide the question was defeated, and the International Affairs resolution was adopted.
At this point in the deliberations, a storm of points of order was raised by delegates from Nebraska, Kansas, Alabama, Missouri, Illinois, and Arkansas, who felt that they were not being heard. When a Puerto Rican delegate wanted to be able to speak in her own language, an interpreter was found. Evelyn Pitschke of Indiana, one of the antichange delegates, finally acknowledged that "the chair has been very fair and has acted as fairly as possible, which we greatly appreciate."
Commissioner Sey Chassler, editor of Redbook, moved the resolution on Media, calling for "appropriate action to improve the image and employment of women in the communications industries." In response to a question from Rosemary Thomson of Illinois, Commissioner Chassler said the resolution intended women "of all viewpoints" to be included in policy-making positions in the media.
When it came time to vote on the Media resolution, reporters and photographers had to be cleared from the aisles as they had been on earlier votes. "We are all women on the move," the chair said in an effort to hurry reluctant reporters. "Now what we want to see is media on the move." The Media resolution carried easily. Delegates were anticipating the next resolution.
The, air was electric when Commissioner Jane Culbreth, former president of the National Federation of Business and Professional Women's Clubs, rose to the podium to read the next plank, the original, three-paragraph Minority Women's resolution.
Many delegates knew about the diverse caucuses that had been meeting before and during Houston, and some didn't think that a coalition of all minority groups could happen. After all, Spanish-origin groups had not yet felt adequately represented or united by the title "Hispanic"; the black delegates covered the full range from conservative Republican to radical nonvoter; the Asian Americans included women whose countries had historic antagonisms (China, Japan, and the Philippines, for instance); and most American Indians had not had the opportunity to work together across tribal lines before. In addition, some antichange delegates had been predicting trouble with a hint of anticipation. "If you think women are divided," said one stop-IWY activist to the press, "wait until you see these black people and the Mexicans. The Conference will either fall apart or blow apart."
All through Saturday, while the plenary sessions were in progress, a drafting coalition composed of representatives of all the minority caucuses had worked in a long, windowless coatroom, the only available room backstage at the Coliseum. (See section on Minority Caucus.)
When it was time to read the substitute resolution on the floor, even the delegates who knew about this drafting were not sure it had been completed. It had taken an early Sunday morning meeting to arrive at a final draft, and that left very little time to type it in triplicate for submission to the chair (as the rules required), distribute it to the various caucus members, and decide how it was to be introduced from the floor.
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Up to the last cliff-hanging minute the drafters were unsure whether they would be allowed to have representatives of the largest groups take turns at reading the different sections (until then, one speaker each had been recognized for amendments and substitutions), and if so, at which of the many floor mikes they should gather.
As Jane Culbreth finished reading the original plank, the clear, strong voice of Maxine Waters, a young black assemblywoman from California, was heard demanding recognition from the back of the hall.
The noisy floor grew quiet as she began to read the umbrella statement applying to all minorities, an honor for which she had been chosen in recognition of the no-sleep energy she had put into helping the women come together in Houston.
"Minority women share with all women the experience of sexism as a barrier to their full rights of citizenship," she read slowly. "But institutional bias based on race, language, culture, and/or ethnic origin … have led to the additional oppression … and to the conditions of poverty from which they disproportionately suffer." Reporters began to gather in the aisle where a rainbow of women waited their turn. When the next speaker was ceded her place at the mike, it was clear that something special, almost mystical, had begun.
"American Indian/Alaskan Native women have a relationship to Earth Mother and the Great Spirit," read Billie Nave Masters, one of the spokeswomen who had helped her American Indian sisters prepare for this meeting, "as well as a heritage based on the sovereignty of Indian people." Delegates began to stand on their chairs to see the source of this language, more poetic than had been heard in any other resolution.
Then MarikoTse, a young Japanese-American actress, took her turn: "Asian/Pacific American women are wrongly thought to be a part of a ‘model minority" with few problems. This obscures our vulnerability due to language and culture barriers, sweatshop work conditions with high health hazards. …"
She finished and turned the mike over to Sandy Serrano Sewell, president of the Comisión Femenil Mexicana, who stood in symbolic unity
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The press now filled the wide aisle in front of the speakers and flashbulbs lit the faces around the mike as more and more reporters caught the historic importance of this moment.
Standing with a bodyguard at her side, a reminder of past tragedy, Coretta Scott King read the statement of black women that had been placed at the end, out of alphabetical order, in honor of her symbolic presence. "The President and Congress should provide full quality education, including special admission programs … The President and the Congress should immediately address the crisis of unemployment which impacts the black community, and results in black teenage women having the highest rate of unemployment…."
When she ended by urging "the enthusiastic adoption of this substitute resolution on behalf of all the minority women in this country," the floor seemed to explode in applause and cheers and shouts. As the chair gaveled the delegates to order, however, there were some indications of opposition.
A delegate from Nebraska wanted to know if the minority delegates were going to support abortion, though an affirmative answer should have been clear from the resolution itself. The chair ruled the inquiry out of order. Delegates from Nebraska and Oklahoma stood up to object and to call for a "statement of monetary need" and "a price tag" for this resolution, but many other delegates booed these requests. An emotional tide of support had begun to surge through the hall, and no amount of objection or questioning could hold it back. A Missouri delegate requested that the resolution be read again, but a District of Columbia delegate, clearly wanting to get on with the voting, objected even to that. Nonetheless, the chair reread the resolution, and the floor grew quiet in anticipation of the vote.
When the delegates stood up to vote "yes," there was a moment's hush, and then shouts
of joy. It was almost unanimous, and there were many surprises. Women from the almost totally white,
anti-ERA delegation of Utah were also standing. So were members of the all-white delegation from
Mississippi: one man and one woman reached across their seated, disapproving delegation
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A line of celebrating women began to form in the aisles and across the space in front of the stage. Others sang "We Shall Overcome," holding hands as they swayed in place. The readers of the resolution were swept off the floor to meet with the hundreds of media people who had been surrounding them.
At the impromptu press conference, speakers hailed the recognition of minority women, who had always been on the frontlines of the struggle for equal justice but had often been treated as "invisible women" by the press and sometimes by white women themselves. This victory belied the tired myth that only "white middleclass women" cared about equality. Even some of the toughest men among the reporters and TV camera crews were visibly moved.
The audience gave Anne Saunier a standing ovation when she temporarily
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"Procedures are the same, rules are the same," chair Koontz announced. "Only the color of the presider up here has been changed."
The crowd roared appreciatively.
The spirits of celebrating delegates remained high as Commissioner Elizabeth Athanasakos, a former presiding officer of the IWY Commission, began to read the plank on Offenders.
There was some hint of the suffering of many women in prison in even the dry phrasing of requests for facilities within visiting distance of families, an end to sexual abuse inside prisons, and an end to the practice of calling young women delinquent for behavior that would not be punished in young men. Alice Travis of California, a former member of the California Council on Criminal justice, spoke for the recommendation: "The criminal justice system provides cruel and unusual punishment for women who have committed crimes."
"Does this word ‘discrimination’ mean that our penal institutions will have to be coed?" a delegate from Illinois inquired, raising an issue that would not be affected by this resolution, since the right to privacy would prevail. The chair ruled her out of order and the plank was adopted.
Commissioner Carmen Delgado Votaw read for adoption the plank on Older Women, calling for improved services and funding, liberalized Medicare, continued efforts to hold down drug costs, efforts to promote a positive image of women in middle and later years, and an end to mandatory retirement.
An inquiry on the meaning of the word "discrimination" in this and every other plank of the National Plan was ruled out of order.
Priscilla Tuncap of Guam spoke in favor of the plank in her native language, which an interpreter translated for the delegates. She spoke in behalf of the many older American women who do not have enough food, shelter, clothing, and the right kinds of services.
Betty Hamburger of Maryland, a 73-year-old member of the Gray Panthers, an activist organization for the aid of older people, also spoke for the resolution: "What we want most is life with dignity and respect and an income on which we can live without having to hold out our hands and beg. We want to be part of the mainstream of life and not be put in golden playpens."
Elizabeth Welch of North Carolina introduced a stronger, more explicit substitute resolution which had the backing of the Gray Panthers and Elinor Guggenheimer, New York City Commissioner of Consumer Affairs. "The older woman should be recognized and acclaimed not only as a recipient of needed support and legislation." she said, "but as a doer of a breadth and variety of creative productivity which will enrich not only her own personal life but the quality of life of her society, and I would like to remind the convention of one thing: We belong to a generation that doesn't have the time to wait. Take us now and make us a part of you."
Geraldine Rinehart of Ohio spoke against the substitute proposal: "Do we want to pay the bill directly and take care of our own and take care of those who are not able to take care of themselves, or do we want to send the money to Washington, D.C., and have them do it?"
Faire Edwards of Vermont spoke for it: "The elderly are the fastest growing poverty group in this county. More than half are widows, and a sizable proportion of them are trying to exist on much less than $200 a month. Please … at least let us earn a living."
In response to a point of inquiry, the chair ruled that including legislation to help displaced housewives was germane to the resolution, since a large proportion of older women were in that category.
Irma Donnellon of Ohio spoke against the substitute resolution: "If a woman has the right over her own body in her early years, then why do we have to provide for her body in her later years?"
There were a few exasperated "boos" from the audience.
Gerri Madden of Hawaii spoke against the resolution: "I shall be 83 next month, the 6th of December, and I don't want any old folks' home, and I think the Government should not interfere with us."
The substitute resolution on Older Women was adopted by an overwhelming standing vote that included some antichange delegates as well.
Commissioner Margaret Mealey, retiring executive director of the National Council of Catholic Women, moved the resolution on Rape.
The plank, which proposed detailed revisions of criminal codes and case law dealing with rape and related
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Next on the agenda was Reproductive Freedom, a strong emotional issue because it included a woman's right to choose abortion, as upheld by the U.S. Supreme Court. The resolution also opposed the exclusion of childbirth, pregnancy-related health care, or abortion from federally funded programs, a reference to the ban on Medicaid coverage of abortion.
Photographers jockeyed for position; Delegates scrambled to line up at the microphones. Other groups caucused, readied signs and banners, or rushed through the aisles to confer on tactics.
After chair Saunier restored relative quiet and order, the Reproductive Freedom resolution was read by Commissioner Gerridee Wheeler, a Republican committeewoman, past president of the National Association for Mental Health, and mother of eight children.
As she spoke, enlarged color photographs of fetuses were raised around the hall by antichoice activists. So were signs on both sides: "Protect the unborn," "Keep Abortion Safe and Legal," and the coathanger symbol proclaiming the determination of women to provide legal, safe alternatives to this dangerous method of self-abortion.
The chair asked that all signs be put down "because people can't see me and that's critical." She announced that in the interests of fair debate, there would be two speeches for and two speeches against the motion.
The first speech for the resolution was made by Sarah Weddington of Texas, general counsel for the Department of Agriculture. She was the lawyer who had argued before the U.S. Supreme Court the landmark case resulting in the January 22, 1973, decision that a woman had the right to choose abortion as part of her constitutionally protected right to privacy.
"We would all agree that the best way to prevent the problem of unwanted pregnancies is contraception …" she said. "We do stress that we are for sex education; we are for the availability of family planning information and services … [but] there are some who refuse to continue pregnancy and … we save our support for their choice."
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Bea Kabler of Wisconsin, the wife of a doctor, was the second speaker favoring the resolution. She urged its adoption for the sake of the rising proportion of teenagers exposed to the high health, medical, and social risks of pregnancy. She pointed out that teenage mothers are more apt to have premature babies and babies with birth defects and that pregnancy is the main reason teenage girls drop out of school.
Opposition speakers were raising points of order, but none signaled a desire to speak on the substance of the resolution. In order to ensure debate, the chair called for speakers in opposition.
When the microphone monitor made a mistake and raised a white card calling for the close of debate, the outcry came not from the anti-abortionists who would be cut off, but from the Pro Plan delegates. "These people have a right to be heard." Bella Abzug cried, leaving the platform and striding down the aisle to the microphone.
Despite her insistence that opponents be given an opportunity to speak, no green cards were raised. The chair had to appeal for speakers against the motion.
Ann O'Donnell of Missouri was the first to respond. "It is the antithesis of the feminist movement to oppress the less powerful," she said. "It therefore has to be absolutely ridiculous for people who call themselves feminists to suggest that they kill their unborn children to solve their social problems."
Jo Ann Medeiros of Hawaii wanted to know whether the resolution meant that teenage girls could get an abortion without telling their parents.
The chair ruled that she was asking a question rather than making a speech, so when Commissioner Wheeler answered the question with a single word "yes," the chair recognized Mary Fran Horgan of Missouri as the second opposition speaker. She maintained that abortion abused "another minority in this country, the unborn children."
After the speeches, the resolution on Reproductive Freedom was adopted by a standing vote that appeared to be about five to one, the same division as in national public opinion polls.
The celebration was quieter than the demonstration for ERA the night before, with pro-choice delegates letting the songs and chants of the anti-choice minority go unanswered. They seemed to recognize how deeply those opposing them felt about the resolution and respected their feelings.
Commissioner Beverly Everett, a farm woman and Iowa State president of the American Association of University Women, moved the adoption of the plank on Rural Women,
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"There are 80,000 people living behind the 'cane curtain' on sugarcane plantations," she said, "Their mail is opened. They must get a permission slip to go to the doctor. Only a few years ago they were paid by tokens instead of United States currency."
Rowena Gamble of Kansas moved to amend the resolution to include "blacks, migrants, Native Americans, Alaskans, Asians, Hispanics, and all isolated minorities" in any programs adopted for rural women.
The plank was adopted with these two amendments before the Farm Women's Caucus had a chance to introduce a more detailed resolution which they had drafted in their caucus. Conservatives were split on the issue. Utah voted for the amended resolution; delegates from Missouri were against it.
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It was long past the dinner hour, but tired and hungry delegates sat still and silent while Commissioner Jean O'Leary, co-chair of the National Gay Task Force, read the recommendation on Sexual Preference. Non-delegate lesbians watched from the bleachers. The television cameras were poised at the ready.
Elimination of discrimination on the basis of sexual and affectional preference had not been one of the recommendations originally submitted by the National Commission to the States for action at their pre-Conference meetings. But over the long months, lesbians and other women who also believe in their rights had succeeded in getting sexual preference resolutions adopted by 30 State meetings. In response to this showing, Commissioners attending their pre-Conference meeting in Washington in October had voted overwhelmingly to add to the National Plan a resolution barring discrimination on the basis of sexual preference.
During interviews, many delegates said they had never met a declared lesbian face to face before they came to Houston. Women who thought that lesbians had a right to their choice of private sexual behavior worried about lesbian teachers. Some who had not thought about the subject were outraged by Anita Bryant's campaign against them in Florida. "After all, these people are women too," an observer from Louisiana said. "They have the same problems as straight women. They have reasons for their own feelings and philosophies."
Speakers pro and con explored many different aspects of the issue presented in the recommendation.
Speaking as "the president of the largest and strongest feminist organization in the world"
and also as "a woman who has spent the last 14 years of her life as a homemaker and the mother of two,"
Eleanor Smeal of NOW declared that lesbianism was not only an issue of human rights but
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The first "con" speaker was Catherine East, retired coordinator of policy and planning for the IWY Commission. "In the interest of the future of the women's movement," she said, "we must limit ourselves to areas in which women are discriminated against vis-à-vis-men, or in which our services are undervalued, as they are in the home. I have no trouble distinguishing between gender and sexual preference."
Dorris Holmes, a leader in the fight for ratification of the ERA in Georgia, spoke against the resolution as an "albatross…. The States that have not ratified are conservative." And, she added, "it is not a unique woman's problem."
Charlotte Bunch, a leading feminist theoretician and editor of Quest, who described herself as being from "the not yet sovereign State of Washington, D.C." argued that the resolution would help "all women, all women whose choices in life are in fact constrained by the fear and threat of being called a lesbian."
Winnie Matthews of Oklahoma was for keeping lesbians in the closet. "We would never advocate a stoning or a burning at the stake or throwing stones at a homosexual as long as homosexuals keep their sexual preference private, the same as adulterers and adulteresses."
The most unexpected support came from Betty Friedan. "I am known to be violently opposed to the lesbian issue," she began. "As someone who has grown up in middle America and as someone who had loved men too well, I have had trouble with this issue, Now my priority is in passing the ERA. And because there is nothing in it that will give any protection to homosexuals, I believe we must help the women who are lesbians." Delegates cheered her remarks.
Among those who stood up to vote for the resolution were many women of conventional lifestyle and middle-of-the-road politics.
When the plank passed with a more than comfortable majority, the lesbians in the bleachers shouted, "Thank you, sisters," and released hundreds of pink and yellow balloons that said, "We Are Everywhere." Supporters of the resolution snakedanced across the front of the arena.
Meanwhile, at a whistle from Joan Gubbins, the opposition women and men from Mississippi turned their backs to the podium and bent their heads as if in prayer. "Keep them in the closet," their signs protested.
Adoption of the resolution on Statistics was moved by Commissioner Rhea Mojica Hammer, publisher of El Clarin. It called upon
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Commissioner Rita Elway of Washington, a public opinion research consultant, moved adoption of the original resolution on Welfare. It called for a Federal floor on aid to dependent families, job training to help women get off welfare, and a minimum guaranteed wage.
Advocates for welfare recipients wanted much more. They raised signs saying "Wages for Housework" and "Welfare is a Women's Issue." A substitute resolution prepared by the welfare caucus was introduced and read by three delegates who were or had been welfare recipients. To make its emphasis clear, they retitled it, "Women, Welfare, and Poverty."
Christine Marsten of Washington read the first three paragraphs, which called for recognition of the fact that poverty is a women's issue and must be attacked by eliminating discrimination against women in employment and in the home.
Frankie Jeter of Pennsylvania, chair of the National Welfare Rights Organization, read the paragraph which opposed the Carter administration's welfare bill, and also "workfare" proposals that would require women on welfare to work off their payments without getting any of the benefits of employment.
Beulah Sanders of New York, a past president of the Women's Welfare Rights Organization, read the concluding portion of the resolution which asked for specific action to give poor women alternatives to the dead-end, low-paid jobs that keep them in poverty.
The substitute resolution was adopted by an overwhelming vote after delegates defeated an amendment to eliminate censure of the Carter administration welfare reform bill. Delegates who had worked straight through without a supper recess were tired and restless after the welfare plank was passed.
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Before adjournment, it was announced that any resolution to be offered as New Business the following day had to be submitted in writing before delegates left the hall. The plank to create a Cabinet-level Women's Department, and New Business were left for Monday morning, as was discussion of the implementation of the Plan of Action.
Presiding Officer Bella Abzug took the floor to make a few announcements. As she finished, some delegates good naturedly broke into song, to the tune of "Good Night, Ladies." "Good night, Bella, good night, Bella … we're going to leave you now."
"I'll see you in the morning bright and early," Abzug said, and the session adjourned. It was past 10 p.m.
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 21
Final Plenary Session After three days of talk and excitement and mindchanging, the major recommendations had been agreed upon. Monday morning came with the inevitable letdown—checking out of hotels and worrying about catching planes and buses back to jobs and families.
Delegates drifted into the Coliseum. Those who had deferred their own proposals hoped to bring them up at the final session during New Business. The meeting opened late.
Chair of the session was Commissioner Addie Wyatt of Chicago, former President of the Coalition of Labor Union Women. She commended the delegates for their orderly dispatch of the long agenda Sunday and invited each one to shake hands with the sister next to her by way of congratulation.
Midge Costanza, assistant to the President, promised that "the response from Jimmy Carter will be sensitive." She urged the delegates to go home and defeat elected officials who do not share that same sensitivity.
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Substituting for Commissioner LaDonna Harris, who was ill, was Billie Nave Masters, a Cherokee Indian and teacher of American Indian studies at the University of California at Irvine. She called on delegates to save Indians from termination of Government responsibility for protection of their traditional lifestyle.
Then Mary Keegan, chair of the Houston Committee, presented roses to Bella Abzug on behalf of the Houston volunteers. Brenda Parker, the 17-year-old national president of Future Homemakers of America, assured the Conference that young women were not afraid of the changes they face in the future.
Presiding Officer Abzug gave thanks to the IWY Commission staff, who had worked for months with little rest or reward, and called them up individually to the stage. She asked also for a round of applause for the Houston volunteers.
By the time these ceremonies were over, it was 11 o'clock, only an hour and a half before the mandated adjournment time.
After some altercation about the right of the Commission to change the order of business, the increasingly restive and time-pressed body of delegates voted down the 26th plank of the proposed National Plan of Action, which had recommended establishment of a Cabinet-level Women's Department to coordinate social policy affecting women. Some delegates feared that a new Department would isolate women's concerns in a single agency. They approved a moderating amendment to make clear that the new Department was to "coordinate" not "consolidate" the work of advocates for women in existing Departments. But then on a standing vote, they rejected the entire proposal.
Voted down, too, was a NOW-sponsored resolution from the floor proposing that the
Plan be implemented by a "Congress of Women" consisting of two women elected from each State. They then
voted to approve a National Commission resolution to establish a continuing Committee of the
Conference to "assess the
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Although the Commission had voted to extend the session until 3 p.m., a motion to adjourn carried before New Business could be considered. "I think we accomplished more in this meeting than we could possibly have hoped for," Presiding Officer Bella Abzug said in parting. She promised that the Commission would deal with the New Business resolutions the delegates had left behind them. More than 100 resolutions on implementation and New Business had been submitted.
As delegates began to leave, Joan Gubbins, leader of the anti-change forces, tried to end the Conference on a note of protest. She marched out of the hall followed by delegates from Mississippi, Alabama, and Nebraska, singing "God Bless America." But many of her former supporters from Utah and unratified States like Georgia refused to join in, and rather than concede patriotism to the opposition, some feminists stood and sang "God Bless America" with them.
Many delegates held hands and sang along with Margie Adam, a California feminist songwriter, who sat at a grand piano on stage and sang her song: "We Shall Go Forth."
Delegates and observers drifted away from the Coliseum with a mix of emotions. Some were frustrated that there had not been time to take up their particular concerns under New Business. Others shed unashamed tears at the final moments of sisterhood that had touched them so much. Still others were overwhelmed by a sense of history in the making, and of personal growth and achievement. And many felt all these emotions.
The dire predictions that the Conference would fall apart in conflict had proved false. Even the anti-change delegates had walked out only after the Conference was over, not during it, as some had threatened.
As the great hall emptied out, the last sounds were the voices of stragglers singing "We Shall Go Forth" and "We Shall Overcome."
It was a life-changing and history-changing event. Neither individual women nor the country would ever be quite the same again.
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