It appeared that the whole thing started in that college class, the year after the reporter had left it, being suddenly forced to drop education and take to earning a living. In the senior class was a group of girls of markedly different types, and yet so similar in their basic beliefs and ultimate purposes that they had grown through the four years of college life into a little ‘sorority’ of their own. They called it ‘The Morning Club,’ which sounded innocent enough, and kept it secret among themselves. They were girls of strong character, all of them, each with a definite purpose as to her life work.
There was the one they all called ‘Mother,’ because her whole heart and brain were dominated by the love of children, the thought of children, the wish to care for children; and very close to her was the ‘Teacher,’ with a third, the ‘Nurse,’ forming a group within a group. These three had endless discussions among themselves, with big vague plans for future usefulness.
Then there was the ‘Minister,’ the ‘Doctor,’ and the far-seeing one they called the ‘Statesman.’ One sturdy, square-browed little girl was dubbed ‘Manager’ for reasons frankly prominent, as with the ‘Artist’ and the ‘Engineer.’ There were some dozen or twenty of them, all choosing various professions, but all alike in their determination to practice those professions, married or single, and in their vivid hope for better methods of living. ‘Advanced’ in their ideas they were, even in an age of advancement, and held together in especial by the earnest words of the Minister, who was always urging upon them the power of solidarity.
Just before their graduation something happened. It happened to the Manager, and she called a special meeting to lay it before the club.
The Manager was a plain girl, strong and quiet. She was the one who always overflowed with plans and possessed the unusual faculty of carrying out the plans she made, a girl who had always looked forward to working hard for her own living of choice as well as necessity, and enjoyed the prospect.
‘Girls!’ said she, when they were all grouped and quiet. ‘I’ve news for you — splendid news! I wouldn’t spring it on you like this, but we shall be all broken and scattered in a little while — it’s just in time!’ She looked around at their eager faces, enjoying the sensation created.
‘Say — look here!’ she suddenly interjected. ‘You aren’t any of you engaged, are you?’
One hand was lifted, modestly.
‘What does he do? pursued the speaker. ‘I don’t care who he is, and I know he’s all right or you wouldn’t look at him — but what does he do?
‘He isn’t sure yet,’ meekly answered the Minister, ‘but he’s to be a manufacturer, I think.’
‘No objection to your preaching, of course.’ This was hardly a question.
‘He says he’ll hear me every Sunday — if I’ll let him off at home on weekdays,’ the Minister replied with a little giggle.
They all smiled approval.
‘He’s all right,’ the Manager emphatically agreed. ‘Now then girls — to put you out of your misery at once — what has happened to me is ten million dollars.’
There was a pause, and then a joyous clapping of hands.
‘Bully for you!’
‘Hurrah for Margery!’
‘You deserve it!’
‘Say, you’ll treat, won’t you?’
They were as pleased as if the huge and sudden fortune were common property.
‘Long lost uncle — or what, Marge?’
‘Great uncle — my grandmother’s brother. Went to California with the ‘forty-niners — got lost, for reasons of his own, I suspect. Found some prodigious gold mine — solid veins and nuggets, and spent quiet years in piling it up and investing it.’
‘When did he die?’ asked the Nurse softly.
He’s not dead — but I’m afraid he soon will be,’ answered the Manager slowly. ‘It appears he’s hired people to look up the family and see what they were like — said he didn’t propose to ruin any feeble-minded people with all that money. He was pleased to like my record. Said—’ she chuckled, ‘said I was a man after his own heart! And he’s come on here to get acquainted and to make this over before he’s gone. He says no dead man’s bequest would be as safe as a live man’s gift.’
‘And he’s given you all that!’
‘Solid and safe as can be. Says he’s quite enough left to end his days in peace. He’s pretty old... Now then, girls—’ She was all animation. ‘Here’s my plan. Part of this property is land, land and water, in California. An upland valley, a little port on the coast — an economic base, you see — and capital to develop it. I propose that we form a combination, go out there, settle, build, manage — make a sample town — set a new example to the world — a place of woman’s work and world-work too.... What do you say?’
They said nothing for the moment. This was a large proposition.
The Manager went on eagerly: ‘I’m not binding you to anything; this is a plain business offer. What I propose to do is to develop that little port, open a few industries and so on, build a reservoir up above and regulate the water supply — use it for power — have great gardens and vineyards. Oh, girls — it’s California! We can make a little Eden! And as to Motherhood—’ she looked around with a slow, tender smile, ‘there’s no place better for babies!’
The Mother, the Nurse, and the Teacher all agreed to this.
‘I’ve only got it roughly sketched out in my mind,’ pursued the speaker eagerly. ‘It will take time and care to work it all out right. But there’s capital enough to tide us over first difficulties, and then it shall be just as solid and simple as any other place, a practical paying proposition, a perfectly natural little town, planned, built, and managed—’ her voice grew solemn, ‘by women — for women — and children! A place that will be of real help to humanity. — Oh girls, it’s such a chance!’
That was the beginning.
The woman reporter was profoundly interested. ‘I wish I could have stayed that year,’ she said soberly.
‘I wish you had, Jean! But never mind — you can stay now. We need the right kind of work on our little local paper — not just reporting — you can do more than that, can’t you?’
‘I should hope so!’ Jean answered heartily. ‘I spent six months on a little country paper — ran the whole thing nearly, except editorials and setting up. If there’s room here for me I can tell you I’m coming — day before yesterday!’ So the Woman Reporter came to Herways to work, and went up, o’nights, to Beewise to live, whereby she gradually learned in completeness what this bunch of women had done, and was able to prepare vivid little pamphlets of detailed explanations which paved the way for so many other regenerated towns.
And this is what they did:
The economic base was a large tract of land from the sea-coast hills back to the high rich valley beyond. Two spring-fed brooks ran from the opposite ends of the valley and fell steeply to the beach below through narrow canyons.
The first cash outlay of the Manager, after starting the cable line from beach to hill which made the whole growth possible, was to build a reservoir at either end, one of which furnished drinking water and irrigation in the long summer, the other a swimming pool and a steady stream of power. The powerhouse in the canon was supplemented by wind-mills on the heights and tide-mill on the beach, and among them they furnished light, heat, and power — clean, economical electric energy. Later they set up a solar engine which furnished additional force, to minimize labor and add to their producing capacity.
For supporting industries, to link them with the world, they had these: First a modest export of preserved fruits, exquisitely prepared, packed in the new fibre cartons which are more sanitary than tin and lighter than glass. In the hills they raised Angora goats, and from their wool supplied a little mill with high-grade down-soft yam, and sent out fluffy blankets, flannels and knitted garments. Cotton too they raised, magnificent cotton, and silk of the best, and their own mill supplied their principal needs. Small mill
s, pretty and healthful, with bright-clad women singing at their looms for the short working hours. From these materials the designers and craftswomen, helped by the Artist, made garments, beautiful, comfortable, easy and lasting, and from year to year the demand for ‘Beewise’ gowns and coats increased.
In a windy corner, far from their homes, they set up a tannery, and from the well-prepared hides of their goats they made various leather goods, gloves and shoes,— ‘Beewise’ shoes, that came to be known at last through the length and breadth of the land — a shoe that fitted the human foot, allowed for free action, and was pleasant to the eye. Many of the townspeople wore sandals and they were also made for merchandise.
Their wooded heights they treasured carefully. A forestry service was started, the whole area studied, and the best rate of planting and cutting established. Their gardens were rich and beautiful; they sold honey, and distilled perfumes.
‘This place is to grow in value, not deteriorate,’ said the Manager, and she planted for the future.
At first they made a tent city, the tents dyed with rich colors, dry-floored and warm. Later, the Artist and the Architect and the Engineer to the fore, they built houses of stone and wood and heavy sheathing paper, making their concrete of the dead palm leaves and the loose bark of swift-growing eucalyptus, which was planted everywhere and rose over night almost, like the Beanstalk — houses beautiful comfortable, sea-shell clean.
Steadily the Manager held forth to her associates on what she called ‘the business end’ of their enterprise. ‘The whole thing must pay,’ she said, ‘else it cannot stand — it will not be imitated. We want to show what a bunch of women can do successfully. Men can help, but this time we will manage.’
Among their first enterprises was a guest house, planned and arranged mainly for women and children. In connection with this was a pleasure garden for all manner of games, gymnastics and dancing, with wide courts and fields and roofed places for use in the rainy season.
There was a sanitarium, where the Doctor and the Nurse gathered helpers about them, attended to casual illness, to the needs of child-birth, and to such visitors who came to them as needed care.
Further there was a baby-garden that grew to a kindergarten, and that to a school, and in time the fame of their educational work spread far and wide, and there was a constantly increasing list of applicants. For ‘Beewise’ was a Residence Club; no one could live there without being admitted by the others.
The beach town, Herways, teemed with industry. At the little pier their small coast steamer landed, bringing such supplies as they did not make, leaving and taking passengers. Where the beach was level and safe they bathed and swam, having a water-pavilion for shelter and refreshment. From beach to hill-top ran a shuttle service of light cars; ‘Jacob’s Ladder,’ they called it.
The broad plan of the Manager was this: with her initial capital to develop a working plant that would then run itself at a profit, and she was surprised to find how soon that profit appeared, and how considerable it was.
Then came in sufficient numbers, friends, relatives, curious strangers. These women had no objection to marrying on their own terms. And when a man is sufficiently in love he sees no serious objection to living in an earthly paradise and doing his share in building up a new community. But the men were carefully selected. They must prove clean health — for a high grade of motherhood was the continuing ideal of the group.
Visitors came, increasing in numbers as accommodations increased. But as the accommodations, even to land for tenting must be applied for beforehand, there was no horde of gaping tourists to vulgarize the place.
As for the working people — there were no others. Everyone in Herways and Beewise worked, especially the women — that was the prime condition of admission; every citizen must be clean physically and morally as far as could be ascertained, but no amount of negative virtues availed them if they were not valuable in social service. So they had eager applications from professional women as fast as the place was known, and some they made room for — in proportion. Of doctors they could maintain but a few; a dentist or two, a handful of nurses, more teachers, several artists of the more practical sort who made beauty for the use of their neighbors, and a few far-reaching world servants, who might live here, at least part of the time, and send their work broadcast, such as poets, writers and composers.
But most of the people were the more immediately necessary workers, the men who built and dug and ran the engines, the women who spun and wove and worked among the flowers, or vice versa if they chose, and those who attended to the daily wants of the community.
There were no servants in the old sense. The dainty houses had no kitchens, only the small electric outfit where those who would might prepare coffee and the like. Food was prepared in clean wide laboratories, attended by a few skilled experts, highly paid, who knew their business, and great progress was made in the study of nutrition, and in the keeping of all the people well. Nevertheless the food cost less than if prepared by many unskilled, ill-paid cooks in imperfect kitchens.
The great art of child-culture grew apace among them with the best methods now known. Froebelian and Montessorian ideas and systems were honored and well used, and with the growing knowledge accumulated by years of observation and experience the right development of childhood at last became not merely an ideal, but a commonplace. Well-born children grew there like the roses they played among, raced and swam and swung, and knew only health, happiness and the joy of unconscious learning.
The two towns filled to their normal limits.
‘Here we must stop,’ said the Manager in twenty years’ time. ‘If we have more people here we shall develop the diseases of cities. But look at our financial standing — every cent laid out is now returned, the place is absolutely self-supporting and will grow richer as years pass. Now we’ll swarm like the bees and start another — what do you say?’
And they did, beginning another rational paradise in another beautiful valley, safer and surer for the experience behind them.
But far wider than their own immediate increase was the spread of their ideas, of the proven truth of their idea, that a group of human beings could live together in such wise as to decrease the hours of labor, increase the value of the product, ensure health, peace and prosperity, and multiply human happiness beyond measure.
In every part of the world the thing was possible; wherever people could live at all they could live to better advantage. The economic base might vary widely, but wherever there were a few hundred women banded together their combined labor could produce wealth, and their combined motherhood ensure order, comfort, happiness, and the improvement of humanity.
‘Go to the ant, thou sluggard, consider her ways and be wise.’
A COUNCIL OF WAR
THERE was an informal meeting of women in a London drawing room, a meeting not over large, between twenty and thirty, perhaps, but of a deadly earnestness. Picked women were these, true and tried, many wearing the broad arrow pin, that badge of shame now turned to honor by sheer heroism. Some would qualify this as ‘blind’ heroism or ‘senseless’ heroism. But then, heroes have never been distinguished by a cautious farsightedness or a canny common sense.
No one, not even a one-ideaed physician, could call these women hysterical or morbid. On the contrary they wore a look of calm, uncompromising determination, and were vigorous and healthy enough, save indeed those who had been in prison, and one rather weazened working woman from the north. Still, no one had ever criticized the appearance of the working women, or called them hysterical, as long as they merely worked.
They had been recounting the measures taken in the last seven years, with their results, and though there was no sign of weakening in any face, neither was there any lively hope.
‘It is the only way,’ said one, a slender pretty woman of over forty, who looked like a girl. ‘We’ve just got to keep it up, that’s all.’
‘I’m willing enough,’ said one
who wore the arrow badge, speaking with slow determination. Her courage was proved, and her endurance. ‘I’m willing — but we’ve got to be dead certain that it’s really the best way.’
‘It’s the only way!’ — protested Lady Horditch, a tall gentle earnest woman, with a pink face and quiet voice.
‘They’ll ruin us all — they’re after the money now.’ This from a woman who had none of her own.
‘They’ll simply kill our leaders — one after another.’ One of the working women said that with a break in her voice. She could not lead, but she could follow — to the very end.
‘One thing we have done, anyhow — we’ve forced their hand,’ suggested Mrs Shortham, a pleasant matronly woman who had been most happily married, the mother of a large and fine family, now all grown and established— ‘we’ve made the men say what they really think of us — what they’ve really thought all the time — only they hid it — owing to chivalry.’
‘Another thing is that we’ve brought out the real men — the best ones — we know our friends from our enemies now,’ said a clear eyed girl.
‘It begins to look like war — in this country, at least,’ Lady Horwich remarked.
Little Mrs Wedge suggested:
‘It’s a sort of strike, I think — begging your Ladyship’s pardon. They’re willing to have us — and use us — on their own terms. But we’re on strike now — that’s what we are! We’re striking for shorter hours,’ — she laughed a grim little laugh, intelligent smiles agreed with her, ‘and for higher wages, and for’ there was a catch in her breath as she looked around at them— ‘for the Union!’
‘Ah!’ — and a deep breath all around, a warm handclasp from Lady Horditch who sat next to her, ‘Hear, Hear!’ from several.
Miss Waitress, a sturdy attractive blonde woman of about thirty, well-known for her highly popular love stories, had been sitting quite silent so far, listening to every word. Now she lifted her head.
‘When men began to strike they were in small groups — fiercely earnest, but small and therefore weak. They were frequently violent. They were usually beaten on legal grounds, because of their violence; they were supplemented by others who took their places, or they were starved out — because of their poverty. Why do they so frequently succeed now?’
Complete Works of Charlotte Perkins Gilman Page 160
