Tuesday, April 05, 2022
A scene from my most recent book has stuck with me, gotten under my skin, made me reflect a lot. I have taken to researching my ancestors and trying to write biographies that make them seem like stars, and I've started with the ones who were stars. I wrote about Frank Leverett the geologist, and this last book was about Elizabeth Mansfield Irving, the elocutionist.
She was an elocutionist at a time when women generally didn't speak about worldly matters like politics or evolution; at least they didn't go on the lecture circuit and deliver orations of interest. So she found a niche reciting war poetry to Civil War veterans, who came to encampments and reunions mostly to reminisce about the most gruesome war ever. They had been lucky to survive it as so many hadn't; they tended to appreciate life, and a toast, and a good time in the company of friends who had shared their nightmare.
The scene was 1884, in Minneapolis. It was the annual reunion of the Grand Army of the Republic, a veteran's lobbying organization that had become very important in elections in that era. The G.A.R., that year, had taken the step of inviting the women's auxiliary, the Women's Relief Corps, to participate with them in their reunion. Elizabeth was well known in the Women's Relief Corps; it had been started by her friend the poet, Kate Brownlee Sherwood, and Elizabeth had read Kate's poems many times at W.R.C. events. She already had a name for herself as a performance poet before she ever got on the stage in Minneapolis.
In Minneapolis, people were stunned at the hugeness of the crowd; some said 50,000-75,000; some even said 100,000. It was called "largest crowd ever in the northwest" and such things and tested their ability to count people in crowds. It was a huge amphitheater, and she had to use a strong voice to reach everyone, but she did. She read one of Kate's poems and then, as an encore, read another. Often the generals who the poems were about were in the audience; that was the case for the first encore. But then she was asked to read a second; that general was also in attendance, and again, she did. She was clearly at the top of her game; people were impressed.
But the moment that stuck with me was this: when it came time for a prayer for the main program, they asked her to lead it. That's because she was well known as an elocutionist, and the G.A.R. was making a concerted effort to integrate women into their program.
But having women lead prayers in large amphitheaters was a new experience for most journalists and veterans. Women were never ministers; they rarely spoke in public events; it just didn't happen. She had a clear, beautiful, well-practiced voice. She was religious herself. Her prayer filled the amphitheater and people were moved.
Their reactions showed in the newspaper accounts. 138 years later, that's all that's left of the moment, but it's still very clear. The journalists were not the only ones moved by the moment. "Not soon to be forgotten" were the words most often repeated.
So I'll repeat them again. She's my great grandmother, and it moved me to look back at that moment in time.
She was an elocutionist at a time when women generally didn't speak about worldly matters like politics or evolution; at least they didn't go on the lecture circuit and deliver orations of interest. So she found a niche reciting war poetry to Civil War veterans, who came to encampments and reunions mostly to reminisce about the most gruesome war ever. They had been lucky to survive it as so many hadn't; they tended to appreciate life, and a toast, and a good time in the company of friends who had shared their nightmare.
The scene was 1884, in Minneapolis. It was the annual reunion of the Grand Army of the Republic, a veteran's lobbying organization that had become very important in elections in that era. The G.A.R., that year, had taken the step of inviting the women's auxiliary, the Women's Relief Corps, to participate with them in their reunion. Elizabeth was well known in the Women's Relief Corps; it had been started by her friend the poet, Kate Brownlee Sherwood, and Elizabeth had read Kate's poems many times at W.R.C. events. She already had a name for herself as a performance poet before she ever got on the stage in Minneapolis.
In Minneapolis, people were stunned at the hugeness of the crowd; some said 50,000-75,000; some even said 100,000. It was called "largest crowd ever in the northwest" and such things and tested their ability to count people in crowds. It was a huge amphitheater, and she had to use a strong voice to reach everyone, but she did. She read one of Kate's poems and then, as an encore, read another. Often the generals who the poems were about were in the audience; that was the case for the first encore. But then she was asked to read a second; that general was also in attendance, and again, she did. She was clearly at the top of her game; people were impressed.
But the moment that stuck with me was this: when it came time for a prayer for the main program, they asked her to lead it. That's because she was well known as an elocutionist, and the G.A.R. was making a concerted effort to integrate women into their program.
But having women lead prayers in large amphitheaters was a new experience for most journalists and veterans. Women were never ministers; they rarely spoke in public events; it just didn't happen. She had a clear, beautiful, well-practiced voice. She was religious herself. Her prayer filled the amphitheater and people were moved.
Their reactions showed in the newspaper accounts. 138 years later, that's all that's left of the moment, but it's still very clear. The journalists were not the only ones moved by the moment. "Not soon to be forgotten" were the words most often repeated.
So I'll repeat them again. She's my great grandmother, and it moved me to look back at that moment in time.
