Gloria Steinem was a role model for many of us as young women and continued to be as she helped usher women’s rights into the mainstream political and cultural arena. Among other things, she showed that marriage and child rearing weren’t the only viable paths for women.
I was in my early 20s when the Equal Rights Amendment passed both houses of Congress with a two-thirds vote, the National Women’s Political Caucus was born, and Ms. Magazine sold out on its first day on the stands. Back in the ‘70s we thought that we were turning the corner on sexism and the patriarchy.
One of my first encounters with sexism on the job:
I had just wrapped up my position as office manager for the Tunney for Senate campaign in Alameda County. That experience had sparked an interest in public affairs. I liked the issues and wanted to be part of the public policy debate.
Two women of substance who mentored me on that campaign asked me to work with them on a pilot project to advance reproductive rights before the California Legislature. Elizabeth Gatov had been the Treasurer of the US under President JFK, the highest ranking woman in his administration and Nancy Jewel, Chief of Staff to two California State Attorneys General.
We opened our office in Berkeley in
1971, with Libby, as we called her, writing personal notes to her friends on both sides of the aisle to finance the three-year pilot program. I became Planned Parenthood’s first advocate in Sacramento.
On the eve of my maiden trip to the Capitol, I listened closely as Libby, a full-figured, older woman who was the personification of gravitas, warned me to be careful. “They’re horny up there,” she said.
I drove to Sacramento, nervous and excited to sit in on some committee hearings and introduce myself to key staff. I was dressed for power — a mini skirt and vest and pastel blue suede high heel boots. I carried a powder blue briefcase Nancy had given me. A feminist, I was dead serious about the cause and ready to get to work. Unbeknownst to me, Sacramento was years behind the Bay Area in terms of attitudes, culture, and fashion.
I took a seat near the back of the Senate committee room where a bill having to do with contraception was being heard. Nine men in suits held court on a raised dais focused on a witness table below where the author was presenting his bill.
A man in a dark jacket and badge — the Sergeant at Arms —stood below the dais. He would pass notes between lobbyists and members, I assumed, asking for an up or down vote.
The Chairman was an older fellow with a sluggish demeanor who didn’t seem very interested in what the author had to say. Or maybe he had just finished a leisurely lunch at Frank Fat’s, a local watering hole. This was several years before the Fair Political Practices Commission was enacted and lobbyists could still pop for lunch and drinks for Senate and Assembly members.
About 15 minutes into the hearing the Chairman summoned the Sergeant and handed him a note. “This should be interesting,” I thought, “a member sending a note to some big whig in the audience.” I watched as he walked briskly toward the section of the committee room where I was sitting.
“Why is he heading my way?” I felt sick and slid down in my seat as the Sergeant handed me the note.. With hands shaking, I read: “Would you kindly join me for dinner tonight?” It was signed “Senator Song.”
My heart pounded as I tried to figure out what to do. Dinner with the Chairman was out of the question. If I don’t go I’ll never get access to him. If I go, I’ll put myself in a potentially risky situation. As aprofessional woman, I did what any first time lobbyist would do — I high-tailed it out the door and into an open elevator not noticing what direction it was headed. I had no plan. An older fellow was standing alone as the door closed.
“Well hello,” he said. “What are you doing in the Capitol today?”
“I came to attend the Senate Judiciary Committee,” I said between clenched teeth.
“Well, what’s a cute little thing like you doing attending a legislative hearing?” he asked with a smile.
“You chauvinist!” I thought. Outraged, I blurted — “I’m not a cute little thing. I’m a woman, and I have every bit a right to be here as you do!” I flew out as the doors opened. I was pumped and didn’t wait to see his reaction.
As I hit Interstate 80 for home, I realized that I may have over reacted. Perhaps, I needed to be more skillful with my speech if I was to get the results I wanted. This was the beginning of a very long dance over the next 25 years of legislative advocacy. Set your boundaries, work harder than the men, tell the truth, protect your reputation, and keep a sense of humor.
Thanks Gloria.
Letters From Benicia 