The 19th Amendment: Women’s Right To Vote

 

By Kristy McCaffrey

The 19^th Amendment was passed into law on August 26, 1920, when the U.S. Secretary of State certified that it had been ratified by the required 36 states.

It stated: “The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of sex. 

The true meaning of this amendment, however, was less clear. Laws reserving the ballot for men became unconstitutional rather than guaranteeing any woman the vote.

When women appeared in the fall of 1920 to register to vote they faced many obstacles, racism being the biggest. Although the 15^th Amendment prohibited states from denying the vote based on race, by 1920 such practices as poll taxes, literacy tests, and grandfather clauses had kept many Black men from casting their ballots. Added to that were the less obvious tactics of intimidation and threats of lynching.

Still, many Black women showed up to vote in 1920, but were turned away when they “failed to comply with the constitutional tests.” In some places such as Savannah, Georgia, officials enforced a rule that women couldn’t vote because they were not “entitled … because of state law which requires registration six months before an election.” This ruling meant that no women in the state of Georgia could vote in the 1920 election, Black or white.

But there were successes. In St. Louis, Missouri, a teacher named Fannie Williams set up a “suffrage school” where women could teach one another how to pay poll taxes and pass literacy tests. It was reported that nearly every woman in the city, Black or white, registered to vote that season. In California, Illinois, and New York, where women’s suffrage had become law before the 19^th Amendment was ratified, many Black women were able to cast their vote.

Today, however, despite the 15^th and 19^th Amendments, many American women aren’t able to vote. A woman’s access to the polls is still largely determined by where she lives, and due to past segregation policies, this still affects lower income women of color.

 

 

Can a Girl Get a Drink (in 19th century America)?

by Patti Sherry-Crews

Could a woman on her own get a drink in a restaurant before the 20th century in America? Could she order a meal? Could two female friends meet up in a hotel to catch up over lunch? The answer is no, no, and no.

Restaurants were the purview of men. Lunch hour business meetings or stepping out for a quick meal when running home was inconvenient was part of a man’s world. A woman could go into a restaurant but only accompanied by a man who wanted to show her off.

It’s an interesting reflection on the mindset of men at the time that they thought women dining alone could invite unwelcome attention, be subject to unwholesome ogling, or heaven’s forbid, she might be a prostitute drumming up business.

Some hotels had what was called a Ladies’ Ordinary. A women-only room set aside in a restaurant or hotel for respectable ladies to dine.

But fear not! There was a fun place for ladies to meet up. Behold the Ice Cream Saloon! These havens of purity didn’t serve alcohol, knowing women abhor liquor (what!?). Ice cream saloons were placed near stores because after a hard day of shopping a group of ladies could relax with light fare. The fare being ice cream and oysters (who is thinking these things on behalf of 19th century women? Oh, yeah, 19th century men). 

The ice cream saloons were decorated to look like the parlors the women had in their homes (so as not to distress or confuse the ladies by placing them in unfamiliar settings, I suppose). Hence the later term ice cream parlors.

Ironically, these ice cream saloons did take on the unsavory reputation that excluding women from restaurants tried to avoid. Because the ice cream saloons were not restricted to ladies only, they became a handy place for unchaperoned young people to meet on the sly, or worse yet, a trysting spot for adulterous couples.

This changed in the early 20th century thanks to women activists, calling for other reforms, challenged the restaurants. This was at a time where women were joining the workforce and becoming more visible in society at large. And ultimately, the restaurant industry recognized it was profitable to them to serve women diners.

I like ice cream. I like oysters too, but I prefer to pair my oysters with a chilled bottle of Pinot Grigio while sitting at a sidewalk cafe. Or if I’m day-drinking, a Bloody Mary over an oyster bar brunch.

In my new release, His Unexpected Companion, my hero who is dining with an old friend first sets eyes the heroine. The girl only wants a decent meal and a drink before hitting the trail. Here's how she handles the situation:

“I don’t plan on being a bachelor forever, but when I meet the right girl, I’ll...” Henry’s eyes lit up and his jaw slackened like the incarnation of his every hope and dream had just stepped into the room wrapped in ribbon and carrying a birthday cake. Kit turned in his seat to see what had caused such a reaction. A vision. A woman with hair the color of mahogany piled in curls on top of her head and large eyes set in an intelligent face, where all features rested in perfect proportion. Her creamy skin had a hint of rose across the cheeks. Her dress was almost the same shade of brown as her hair, only iridescent, with a silver panel on the bodice filled with pink seed beads and narrow ribbons of light green and pink. She stood in the doorway, looking from side to side. “That’s her. That’s the woman I’m going to marry,” said Henry, his Adam’s apple rising and falling above his stiff collar. “Hang on, sport. She’s probably looking for her husband. A lady wouldn’t be here on her own.” Just then, a waiter approached the woman and said something in a low whisper. Kit turned back around. “Beautiful...” muttered Henry. The lady’s voice carried sure and clear across the room. “No, I will not sit in the lounge until my husband gets here. As I am not married, that wait could put me well beyond any dinner time in the foreseeable future.” Kit turned sideways and cocked an ear in the direction of this unseemly display. “Madame, I’m sorry we cannot serve unaccompanied ladies in the restaurant. Perhaps you’d like dinner sent up to your room?” said the waiter, still speaking in a quiet voice. “I don’t think I would like that. Do you know how long the evening can be when you’re trapped in a room? Hmmm? Thought not. No, I’m going to sit at a table right here.” The waiter bent and said something so low, Kit couldn’t hear him. Henry was staring, his face frozen. “I have one particular talent. Do you want to know what that is?” She continued to the waiter, her voice louder now. Kit and Henry exchanged wide-eyed looks. Faces turned as other diners honed in on the conversation taking place. And though he hadn’t been aware of it until it's deafening silence, the chatter of silverware on bone china ceased. The waiter must have asked her what her one talent was, because she answered with her voice very loud, now. “I can shout longer and louder than anyone else in my family. Came in handy when Ma wanted everyone called in from outdoors. Want to hear me? No? Thought not...” she leaned toward the man whispering in her ear. “Yes, get the manager, by all means. The service here is appalling.” Kit spun around again to get a glimpse of this trouble- making woman, who must surely be ashamed of herself. She stood tall and straight, her chin tilted upward. In the dim room, lit only by candles and gas lights on the walls, she shimmered from head to toe. The image of a rainbow trout of many hued scales stilled in a mountain stream came to his mind. Oh, he knew this was not the most romantic description, but seeing her now, he could almost smell the pine trees and hear the tinkling of water running down a brook. Wild, yet majestic. Holding its own against an opposing current. She looked at her audience with an unflinching countenance. The maître d’ made his way toward her, and all prepared for the next act in the drama. Henry leaned in. “Oh, here we go. It’s time someone put her in her place.” Though not his concern, Kit blushed with shame on behalf of the woman. Sometimes, a person could get them-selves into a situation that was hard to dig out of. He under- stood that. He wanted to look away, but he was riveted to the unfolding scene. The maître d’ tilted his head sideways as he quietly explained something to the woman. She sucked in her cheeks. “I see. Thank you for explaining why a woman traveling alone cannot sit down to a nice meal.” Her voice raised as if addressing the room. “However, though you haven’t exactly voiced this, what I infer from your explanation is you appear to take a dim view of your fellow beings. Either my presence is likely to result in the gentlemen here to behave in base ways—which I very much doubt, since as you say yourself this is a respectable establishment, not a saloon—or, I am here to procure more than a meal. Rest assured, I am not a prostitute.” The sound of cutlery hitting plates filled the room. Someone choked on their food. She met the flustered maître d’s eyes. “I have money of my own and intend to spend it lavishly in your establishment. Now, if you will kindly see me to a table... You may tuck me in a corner if that makes you feel better, and we shall see how well everyone behaves themselves.” He thought she was going to get shown the door for sure. But, instead, the maître d’ gave a slight bow from the waist and led the way to a table. When she passed their table, Henry ducked his head and put up a hand to shield his face, but Kit couldn’t look away. She turned her face to him as if deigning to acknowledge his presence. His mouth went dry and his chest expanded, holding a deep breath when their eyes met. She raised her eyebrows in surprise.

About the book:

Olivia Darling is her own woman—self-sufficient, intelligent, and wise to the ways of the world. She’s also beautiful enough to rile other women and garner unwanted attention from men, which could bring more danger down on her than living the outlaw life she’s taken to. Headed home to Colorado, she’s ready to put her past behind her—but what kind of reception will she get?

Kit Traver is headed home to Colorado, giving up his law practice back East to return to the place he loves—and the woman he intends to marry. His life neatly planned, this journey will give him the time he needs to be alone with nature before he takes on the responsibilities of practicing law again and being a married man. 

When Kit and Olivia meet in Denver, it’s not the best first impression—for either of them. But, they are traveling the same trail, so it’s only natural they ride along together. It’s obvious to Kit that Olivia needs his protection—if only from herself!

But traveling together ignites a fire between them that can’t be ignored, especially once they arrive, only to discover that everything has changed while they’ve been away. With her father mysteriously murdered, Olivia has her hands full trying to keep the big ranchers from pushing her off her family’s small spread. Can Olivia and Kit make a home together? Will Kit walk away from his socialite family for the love of HIS UNEXPECTED COMPANION?

 Available now

Oregon Suffrage Movement

by Shanna Hatfield

While researching my soon-to-be-released book Quinn (Pendleton Petticoats Book 9), I looked into the suffrage movement in Oregon in 1912.

This was a pivotal year for the cause because the suffrage issue had made it on the ballet in four previous elections and faced defeat each time. 

Many were determined the November election would bring success. One of those women was Abigail Scott Duniway. 

Born in 1934 in Groveland, Illinois to John and Anne Scott, Abigail was one of nine children who survived infancy. She grew up on the family farm and attended school intermittently. 

In March 1852, despite Anne's health concerns, John organized a party of thirty people and five ox-drawn wagons to emigrate to Oregon. Anne died of cholera near Fort Laramie on the Oregon Trail in June. Willie, the youngest of Abigail's siblings, died in August along the Burnt River in Oregon. In October, the emigrants finally reached the Willamette Valley in Oregon. 

Abigail taught school then married Benjamin Charles Duniway, a farmer from Illinois. They had six children and farmed in Clackamas County until Benjamin moved the family to a farm near Lafayette, Oregon. They lost the second farm after a friend of Benjamin's defaulted on a note endorsed by Benjamin. Soon after, Benjamin was permanently disabled in a wagon accident involving a runaway team, leaving Abigail to support the family. 

She opened and ran a small boarding school in Lafayette, then moved the family to Albany where she taught in a private school for a year. She then opened a millinery and notions shop that she ran for five years. Stories relayed to her by married patrons of her shop about the injustice and mistreatment they received at the hands of their husbands left her angry and determined to do something.

In 1871, with Benjamin's support, they moved to Portland and founded The New Northwest, a weekly newspaper devoted to women's rights, including suffrage. She continued publishing the paper for sixteen years.

Abigail encountered personal setbacks such as poor health, money problems, and opposition to her efforts from her brother, Harvey, who also edited a Portland paper, The Oregonian. Reportedly, her brother opposed woman receiving the right to vote and wrote many articles on the subject. Abigail persisted in her suffrage efforts despite political opposition.

Abigail Scott Duniway signs Oregon's

 Equal Suffrage Proclamation on 

Nov. 30, 1912 as Governor Oswald West 

and Viola M. Coe watch. 

(Image courtesy Library of Congress)

 Her tenacious endeavors paid off in 1912 when Oregon became the seventh state to pass a women's suffrage amendment.

Governor Oswald West asked Abigail to write and sign the equal suffrage proclamation. She was the first woman to register to vote in Multnomah County.

You can find the proclamation here.

After years of fighting for the right to vote, women in Oregon finally received it, in no small part thanks to the efforts of Abigail Scott Duniway. 

Women around the state had formed suffrage leagues, joining the efforts made around the country.

In 1912, Elizabeth Arden (yes, that Elizabeth Arden of skincare and cosmetics fame) participated in the suffrage movement and supplied red lipstick to the suffragettes. The striking shade (that was often shunned before), became part of a standard rally uniform and a symbol of female anticipation.

Women wore buttons proclaiming Votes for Women. 

This particular button boasted 10 stars representing the 10 states in which women had the right to vote at the time the button was created: Wyoming (1869), Colorado (1893), Utah (1896), Idaho (1896), Washington (1910), California (1911), Kansas, Oregon and Arizona (all 1912), and Montana (1914).

Women also donned sashes that reminded everyone who saw them to consider Votes for Women.

In my story, Quinn, the local seamstress creates sashes for the women of the Pendleton suffrage league to wear. The women proudly donned them, along with their red lipstick and buttons, to march around town, singing suffrage songs.

As I tried to imagine the songs they might sing, I searched for some tidbits from the past and found an old songbook published in Kansas. 

 The songbook contains 28 songs (set to common tunes, many hymns) that express the perspective of women's rights. Titles include "Dare You Do It?" and "Three Blind Men." The lyrics to the songs touch on the issues of the women's rights movement in America at the time. The songs were written by Henry W. Roby, a prominent medical doctor, and published by Crane and Company in Topeka, KS. 

To learn more about Quinn and the fictional account (peppered with historical tidbits) of the Oregon suffrage movement shared in my story, join us April 12 for the 4th annual Petticoat Ball!

~*~

USA Today Bestselling Author Shanna Hatfield writes character-driven romances with relatable heroes and heroines. Her historical westerns have been described as “reminiscent of the era captured by Bonanza and The Virginian” while her contemporary works have been called “laugh-out-loud funny, and a little heart-pumping sexy without being explicit in any way.”

Convinced everyone deserves a happy ending, this hopeless romantic is out to make it happen, one story at a time. When she isn’t writing or indulging in chocolate (dark and decadent, please), Shanna hangs out with her husband, lovingly known as Captain Cavedweller.

Shanna loves to hear from readers. Follow her online at:

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