So I’m flipping through an issue of the National Enquirer from 1979, as I’m wont to do — don’t look at me like that, you’d do it too if you had some.

Women Born From 1905 to 1909 Had The Fewest Children

Anyway, I find this snippet (buried on page 63 of the issue dated February 20, 1979), titled “Women Born From 1905 to 1909 Had The Fewest Children.” And it fascinates me.

You know how I love to read about that feminist stuff — or, as some might say, turn everything into feminist stuff. But there’s just the three scant paragraphs. And it’s the National Enquirer for gosh-sake.

So, being in ‘the library’ (yes, that’s a euphemism for the bathroom) and, still pondering the subject of childless women who were born in the early 1900’s, I reach for whatever other reading material might be laying in the magazine rack.

Through what, again, can only be described as the Serendipity Of The Collecting Gods, my hand finds a back issue of The Keynoter, the Journal of the American Political Items Conservators published by the American Political Items Collectors.

On page 42 of that Winter, 2007, issue is an article titled “I Am For Playgrounds” by Steve Baxley. It describes the story behind the William Howard Taft celluloid button bearing the same slogan.

Taft: I Am For Playgrounds

You, like political memorabilia collector Steve Mihaly, might wonder why this would be a political slogan — after all, who could possibly not be for playgrounds?

Baxley explains how back in the 1890’s urban areas were opening play lots where children could play within urban areas. Baxley writes:

Many women involved in the women’s suffrage movement also became involved in the Mother’s and Children’s Movement, which tried to influence state and local legislators to pass legislation protecting women and child laborers and create schools, kindergartens, and playgrounds to keep children off the street. Though these women could not vote, they were very successful in influencing stare and local government officials in achieving these goals. By 1905, many of the larger cities were providing appropriations for the maintenance of playgrounds.

In 1906 the Playground Association of America was founded. President Taft supported the group’s work as well as appropriations for playgrounds; this is where the button comes from.

What’s all this got to do with the low birthrate among women born between 1905 and 1909 — the very girls who would have played on those playgrounds?

I don’t know. Not really.

But the historian in me must make (educated) guesses.

The women born between 1905 and 1909 were the same young girls who grew up during the years of the women’s suffrage movement in the US. They would have seen the struggle, heard the talk, and knew they could have greater freedom of choice in living their lives. They too would see, if not quite be, part of the flapper movement. Activism and parenting being almost completely at odds with one another, some may have opted not to have children — and at this time, birth control, thanks to Margaret Sanger, was becoming a realistic option.

And, just as these young women were perhaps thinking of starting a family…

Along comes The Great Depression — the one of that started about 1929, not the one some say we are approaching now — and the birthrate fell about one-tenth globally from the rate during the “prosperous” 1920’s. In America, the birth rate dropped below the replacement level for the first time in history.

Pretty good guesses, huh.

But then I have all my ephemera to thank for that.  And my ‘library’ time.

Eve Arnold is known for her celebrity photographs, and perhaps most known for her photos of Marilyn Monroe.  This is how I, as a woman with an obsession with Monroe, discovered Arnold.  After reading my last book on Monroe, I had decided to swear-off my obsession and stop buying more Monroe stuff — at least books.  But then I discovered Eve Arnold’s book of Monroe photographs…

Full of photos — nearly 100, including 48 previously unseen — yes; but it’s the quality, not the quantity.

Arnold’s photographs of Marilyn are unique.  Unusually benevolent, these intimate photos of Marilyn Monroe expose the icon’s personality rather than her flesh.  In these photos we see a person, not a sex object; a human, not any kind of object at all.  And while I could go on and on about them, the important thing to know here is that these photos are different for several key reasons.

One is the all important matter of timing — and developing.  The two met at a party and forged a wonderful friendship that would last a decade.  As Arnold says, “We were both at the beginning of our careers, and I believe that neither of us knew precisely what we were doing.”

At the risk of more bad-pun-making, I’ll say what allowed the friendship to develop was the chemistry between the two.  While many dismiss Marilyn’s intelligence, Eve didn’t.  Both women knew what effect being a woman had on the world around her, and as Eve says, “We could make use of it, or we could let it be.”

Arnold would later say, “I didn’t want to be a ‘woman photographer’. That would limit me. I wanted to be a photographer who was a woman, with all the world open to my camera.” (And more recently confirms this belief, saying in a BBC interview, “No, I am a photographer. And you don’t say, a man photographer. So it seems likely that I am a photographer.”) This certainly puts the the two women on decidedly different paths, at least in appearance; yet it would stop neither’s success.

Arnold was the first woman to be nominated for membership in Magnum in 1951, and became a full member in 1957.  In 1995 she was made fellow of the Royal Photographic Society and elected Master Photographer, the world’s most prestigious photographic honor, by New York’s International Center of Photography; and in 2003, she was awarded an honorary O.B.E. (Order of the British Empire) by the British Government.

Looking at her photographs, you can see why.

Through her photos of celebrities, we see more than famous people, more than a time capsule of “us” or “society”.  Even with such famous & familiar faces, we see something — someone — new.

If the mark of a really good novel is that you think of the characters long after the book ends, then photographs of people ought to do the same. Eve Arnold’s photos do that.  Even if you think you know the people in the portraits.

And when you don’t know the people in the photographs?  You long to…

In fact, if I have one complaint about Arnold’s works, it’s that I can’t find out enough.  I know that photographers believe that a photo is worth a thousand words, but often they do not seem to document the details which I long to know…  A perpetual problem for me, I know; but still, why can’t I find out more about Charlotte Stribling aka ‘Fabulous’?  Or Girl Holding Head, Insane Asylum, Haiti 1954?

The titles are stark, in such contrast to such compassionate, deep, rich images.  Perhaps this is by design, so that I, we, move past words and labels into what seeing and feeling.  But I still want to know more about Charlotte and Girl Holding Head.  For now, all I can do is stare at the photos and wonder.

Along with her famous celebrity protraits, there are a few others we can learn more about. Such as the Veiled woman, Muscat, Oman 1969.  She, and others, can (presumably) be seen in Arnold’s 1969 film about Dubai, Behind the Veil. This film is said, not only to capture “a traditional Muslim society just as it begins to become modernized, but also the antagonism between Islamic and Western societies that has been the stuff of news stories throughout the first years of the 21st century.”

I bet it’s amazing.

If there’s one thing I’ve read which seems to sum up the brilliance of Arnold’s photos, it’s this quote from the artist herself: “If a photographer cares about the people before the lens and is compassionate, much is given. It is the photographer, not the camera, that is the instrument.”

This is the gift of this talented photographer.  A gift no doubt noticed & appreciated by Monroe, allowing such a friendship, but by all who were before Arnold’s camera.  Indeed a gift she shares with all who see her photographs.

So now I’ll collect Eve Arnold works — likely in books, due to my modest means.  Not because she knew Marilyn; but because she knew how to take pictures of her.  And of everyone she photographed.

PS  Through June 14, the David Gallery exhibits All About Eve, the single largest collection of vintage and period Eve Arnold prints available for acquisition.  I wish I were close enough to see it.  If you go, I’m accepting souveniers.

Sometimes we go hunting for collectibles with empty pockets.  No, we don’t shoplift!  We go with just a few dollars or less just to see what there is to be seen.  Kind of like visiting a museum.

Not too long ago we took one of these field trips to a local antique mall and I took photos of things I was intrigued by, but was too cheap to buy, like this antique postcard.

The concept of a woman proposing due to leap year — via a postcard, yet — had me intrigued.

Clearly, the best way to get a man interested in the notion of marriage was to promote your womanly ways — with a needle. (Darn-it!) I have no idea if this postcard proposal worked, but the cute buttons and socks didn’t move me to spend $5… I’m so cheap, I figured the photo was enough to remind me to research the notion of women prompted to proposing during leap year.

That it did.

According to About.com:

The first documentation of this practice dates back to 1288, when Scotland passed a law that allowed women to propose marriage to the man of their choice in that year. They also made it law that any man who declined a proposal in a leap year must pay a fine. The fine could range from a kiss to payment for a silk dress or a pair of gloves.

Like most About.com articles, this info isn’t documented, or all that fascinating. But this article, The Leap Year Proposal, by Dorothy Dix, published in 1904 by The New York Times, is much more interesting.

In it, Dix begins by saying this:

That woman labors under a great matrimonial disadvantage in not being able to pop the question no one will deny. It forces her to take what is offered to her instead of the thing for which she would ask if she had the privilege, and even when leap year removes the bar against her speaking out in meeting it does her little good, for it finds her with no precedent to guide her, no experience to be a lamp to her feet.

…Of course people will say that this makes no difference, that a woman’s leap year prerogative, like most of her liberties, is merely a glittering mockery that she does not dare to put to the test, but how does any one know this?

The past is no criterion. Women do many things now that they did not do forty or even four years ago. It is not at all impossible that many a discouraged spinster, worn out with waiting for her steady beaux to speak, and many a love-lorn maiden who has heretofore let concealment prey upon her damask cheek, will take matters into their own hands and propose matrimony to the man they love, in this year of grace 1904, so a few suggestions to the leap year girl may not be amiss.

The first one must necessarily be a warning. No one knows as yet just how a woman should propose, but it is to be hoped that when she does undertake to be a lovemaker that she will do it more romantically and poetically than man does. It is true that man’s way works, but this is because he has a monopoly of it. We all burn Standard oil because there is no other kind of oil. Woman have had to take the kink of proposal offered them or do without, and those who have suffered from this — who have seen their dreams shattered and their ideals smashed — who have had love made to them between the jolts of a street car, or across beef steak and onions at a restaurant table or in any other old place, ought to know enough to render their proposals a romance that a man will be glad to remember to the longest day he lives.

This so contradicts the actions of the dear lady who sent this postcard. And it gets worse.

Several paragraphs later, under “Avoid the Fatal Mistake”, Dix continues:

The first impulse of the Leap Year girl will be to propose by letter. This is a fatal mistake, because in the first place her billet doux will reach the man with his business letters, and thus pass over to the cold consideration of his stenographer. No American man is sentimental in banking hours, and during that sacred period of the day no woman may hope to compete in heart interest with the price of stocks or wheat, or lard. Moreover, the long-distance proposal, whether it be made by man or woman, seldom hits the bull’s-eye. It lacks the magnetism of personal appeal, of trembling hands, and anxious eyes, and quivering lips. Besides it is always easier to write “NO” than it is to say it, and the woman who wants a husband instead of somebody to be a brother to her will have to face the music, and make her proposal viva voce.

I now wish I had paid the $5, simply to see the date sent so I would know if the lady could have possibly read Dix’s advice… And maybe research the names on the back of the card to see if I can discover if the lady ever did marry…

I may never know any of that.  But I do know I should have spent the $5 that day.

Few things can rile a feminist more than images of repressed atomic 50’s females. One icon of such repressed domesticity is the apron, with its literal ties that bind women forever to the most dreary work imaginable: cooking and cleaning.

It’s easy to view aprons as gender uniforms; they were so prevalent — and practical. They covered one, protecting clothing from spatters and spots, keeping garments from repeated and daily laundering. This alone prevented clothing from the wear & tear of washings, which was no small thing in days when clothing was more expensive and dresses were worn for a week or more.

Being so practical and vital, aprons were necessary. But they also were socially regulated. In Victorian times, for example, widows and other women in mourning had to wear black ones — any thing else was disrespectful and showed a lack of decorum. As such, aprons are seen as more than ties to home and hearth in terms of cooking and cleaning, but to society and culture as a whole. A woman didn’t just wear an apron for practical reasons, but wore one to express her role. By wearing an appropriate apron, she was showing her conformity to her community’s standards.

Myself, I remember my grandmothers wearing aprons. There were the less appealing aprons which spoke of work not just in the automatic way they were swiftly put on prior to any dirty dead of cleaning or cooking, but in their faded yet stained appearance which spoke of all the work they saw her through.

There were those aprons, yes; but then there were the glorious ones donned like any gay apparel for parties. Those aprons were so unlike their well-worn cousins. They were taffeta stiff, chiffon sheer, and fabulously frilly — and they sparkled & shone like festive jewelry or any ornament on the Christmas tree.

It’s the latter of these aprons which causes such confusion. As do memories and photos of happy, contented, non-drugged women who proudly wore aprons — of any kind.

When I think of my grandmother’s smiling face as she carried her magnificent turkey to the table, or refilled glasses, there was a pride not only in her hostess skills, but in looking the glamorous part. Her party apron was as carefully selected as her pretty dress, the shoes which matched her handbag, her matching rhinestone earrings and necklace, the style of her hair, and all the items applied as she sat at her vanity.

Like any feminist, I may bridle at what I believe to be conformity & repression; but like many a woman, I thrill at her aura of glamour. I want to be liberated — but look so fabulous.

I tell myself that putting on stockings, high-heels and a dress isn’t dressing ‘the part of woman’, but is a choice — a choice I am free to make. That’s the difference. I am free to be as girlie as I’d like, when I like; and stop when I choose.

Many modern women opt for such old-fashioned fashion alternatives, such as corsets & stockings, declaring our rights to express our femininity and expect equality. Can aprons be equally reclaimed?

Like any intelligent adult, the proper starting place is to take a look at the real history and role of aprons. Thankfully, along with the Internet opinions, there are books and even museum exhibits with which to do some research — and it seems there is more to aprons than the perceived ties which bind in a ‘bad way’.

Aprons were practical & somewhat culturally controlled (as are men’s pants), but aprons were also a means of self-expression. Women used them to showcase their creative skills by being thrifty, making them out of everything from fed sacks to sheets, and to solve unique problems, like this combination apron & sunbonnet.

And they made them & decorated them to be be beautiful.

Be it original apron creations, or those made from patterns, all were stitched with pride. Aprons were often embellished with embroidery and other needlework. Even those black Victorian mourning aprons were adorned with delicate crochet, lace and other needlework — in black, of course.

The most elaborate, artistic aprons were the ones put on for serving. Be it family or guests, the old working apron would come off, and a fancier apron would be put on to serve. It wasn’t just to be kind to the people being serve, but to acknowledge & honor the important work & personage of the one wearing the apron.

Being the guardian and caretaker of home and hearth was respected work — at least by the woman doing it. And that’s why she created (and was creative with) her ‘uniform’. In this sense, aprons are really textile folk art.

The practicality of the apron is something to be admired. I must admit that I myself have longed for more pockets while doing housework — and an apron with built-in hot pads is nifty beyond belief (where do those hot pads wander off too, anyway?) No wonder some unknown, but likely female, author wrote this…

An Ode to Aprons

The principle use of Grandma’s apron was to protect the dress underneath, but along with that, it served as a holder for removing hot pans from the oven; it was wonderful for drying children’s tears, and on occasion was even used for cleaning out dirty ears. From the chicken-coop, the apron was used for carrying eggs, fussy chicks, and sometimes half-hatched eggs to be finished in the warming oven. When company came, those old aprons were ideal hiding places for shy kids; and when the weather was cold, grandma wrapped it around her arms. Those big old aprons wiped many a perspiring brow, bent over the hot wood stove. Chips and kindling-wood were brought into the kitchen in that apron. From the garden, it carried all sorts of vegetables. After the peas had been shelled, it carried out the hulls. In the fall, it was used to bring in apples that had fallen from the trees. When unexpected company drove up the road, it was surprising how much furniture that old apron could dust in a matter of seconds. When dinner was ready, Grandma walked out on the porch and waved her apron, and the men knew it was time to come in from the fields for dinner. It will be a long time before anyone invents something that will replace that old-time apron that served so many purposes.

And aprons sure are pretty…

But now that you see aprons in a different light, perhaps their true beauty lies in the accepted importance and grace of being the homemaker rather than the one who does the housework.

No wonder there are so many fans.

Additional apron fans, not already linked to:

The Apronistas.

Amy’s Tie One On.

Betty Ninja on vintage aprons.

Joyful Abode for ideas on how to display your apron collection.

Gail Claytor Johnson’s Apron Threads.

The definition of the word ‘bust’ can encompass many things. When implemented as a noun, we’re either referring to ‘a sculpture representing a person’s upper body’, or simply ‘the human chest’. In the case of DC Direct’s Women of the DC Universe sculpture line, we’ve pretty much got ample quantities of both.

Based on the artwork of Adam Hughes, the Women of the DC Universe series showcases some of the most well-known heroines in comics in miniature form, including Wonder Woman, Poison Ivy and Catwoman. Adam Hughes is known for his classy, art nouveau take on comics, but more notably, rendering more-than-respectable bosoms on his female characters. Within comic fandom, you can basically draw a wobbly stick figure with a couple of watermelons glued to it and you’ll be hailed as ‘an amazing talent!’ by at least one industry magazine. Some of us are more discerning, but some of us also have had girlfriends that weren’t imaginary Drow Elf princesses. Adam Hughes is a talented artist though, his produce-aisle women included. The busts themselves are sculpted by John G. Mathews, and while they’re not entirely true to Hughes’ original artworks, they’re still effective pieces of sculpture.

More than being an excuse to make a bunch of statues with slammin’ racks, the Women of the DCU line is another example of an artist-centric line of products by DC Direct, who are giving more respect and honor to comic artists than has ever been given before. They’ve been giving fairly consistent kudos to original ideas and interpretations of their valuable character properties, and I commend them for it. But mostly, slammin’ racks. When the identity and recognition of their characters is what can make or break their success, it’s a bold move to allow so much freedom to their artists and writers.

This series of busts is cast in porcelain, and hand-numbered in quantities of about 3000 each. Each bust measures about 6 inches tall, and that includes 2 inches of base. For being in such a miniature scale, roughly about 1/8th of actual size, the busts have consistently exceeded my expectations. It’s a rare case when the box art, which features imagery of professionally painted prototypes, pales in comparison to the actual product. The busts are cleanly painted, well-packed and lightweight. They only measure about 2 or 3 inches across also, so there’s plenty of room for them on your collectible shelf. Who doesn’t like strong, empowered women? Who doesn’t like them when they happen to be easy on the eye? I don’t hear any guys complaining about feeling emasculated by the perfect fantasy physique of Superman!

Beginning this past January, DC has been releasing a bust every two months, beginning with Wonder Woman, Poison Ivy, and just released this week, Catwoman. The rest of the year will be filled out with Hawkgirl, Harley Quinn and Supergirl, each arriving every two months. They’re all still fairly available for roughly 40 bucks each, and if you can justify them to your girlfriend or your mom, they’re really worth it. You know what? Don’t even justify them, because girls never listen about this stuff. Just tell them that you’re paying homage to a literary character, and if she can’t respect books, then you don’t need her. Catwoman will keep you safe and warm, and she’s clearly rich, with that diamond she’s smuggling into her… uh… safe deposit box.

Forget I said anything.