Peak
That beckoning peak
May be too tall,
Too dangerous,
Not worth the climb.
Clouds obscure it,
Boulders block the way,
And what do I know, anyhow,
About climbing?
Well, I’m starting up.
Carefully reckless.
I’ve had my share of falls.
I can handle another.
What I can’t handle
Is boring safety.
Faced with that,
I’d do a wild poem:
About a beckoning peak.
Excerpt
Anita and I have taken a circuit northwest from Knoxville and back around to the northeast. We’re canvassing as many legislators and their key supporters as we can track down. Finding them is the tricky part. Sometimes we go as far as the road goes and finish the journey to an isolated farmstead on foot, with our dresses trailing in the dust. We’ve been drenched by rainstorms, chased by watchdogs, and even had to change a flat tire, which isn’t that easy in a long dress, but we find our men.
Some seem to be avoiding us, like Representative Cletus Jacobs. He keeps barely visible off in his woodlot. We mark him as a “no.” Senator Phil Gridley graciously, really graciously, says we are communists betraying our gender, our state, and the country. Fortunately, the next two are warm and positive. However, Sen. Billy Broadus says he is nervous the women’s vote will support that anti-American League of Nations. He seems mollified when we point out it would first have to go through a vote in the U.S. Senate, where it is sure to fail.
“Anita,” I ask, back in the car, “why is there such a fear of communism here?”
“Well, with the recent Russian Revolution and the widespread unrest in European countries after the war, people are nervous, especially people with property. You may not realize that Communism seemed on the verge of sweeping across Europe after the war, with uprisings all over. I guess women are considered softies who might vote communists in or go easy on them. Maybe they’re especially sensitive in the South on the loss of property since their human property, slaves, were ‘taken’ at the end of the Civil War.”
“I guess big business is hyping the fear for their own purposes, against labor unions.”
“You’ve got it, Honey! That started before the Russian Revolution, as a way to smear and foil labor unions.”
“I don’t guess we could ever reach people so concerned about communism, however they got concerned!"
“ ’Not bloody likely,’ to use a term Alice Paul picked up from a friend over from England. (The shocking phrase was uttered by Eliza Dolittle in George Bernard Shaw’s new hit play, Pygmalion. Alice loves throwing it out.)”
Driving east from Livingston, on a dim overcast day, we have a scare. Three white-robed riders and horses are moving into position as if to stand astride the road and block our path. Behind us, we see three more horsemen trotting out of a grove we had just passed and following us. We look at each other and gulp. It doesn’t look good, even if their robes look rather shabby. A lonely road doesn’t seem ideal for a twilight chat with six mounted Klansmen. Luckily, they hadn’t reckoned how fast our Blue Knight moves or how well Anita can handle it. Just as the ones in front are getting into position, Anita swerves far over onto the left edge of the road and races onward. The nearest horse nervously dances back, then rears and throws his rider as we roar around them.
“I thought the Klan was dead,” I say.
“Apparently, that Birth of a Nation propaganda film of a few years back is reviving them. Next, they’ll burn a cross.”
“Well, they’re eating your dust. Great driving!”
“I hope we’ve seen the last of them. How’d they know where we were?”
I think and respond, “Was Senator Broadus actually less friendly than he seemed?”
“I wondered why he spent so long in idle chatter before he let us go,” offers Anita.
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