The Deans' Bible. Angie Klink
Читать онлайн книгу.
Klink has embedded their efforts in the larger tale of women’s changing role in American society in the twentieth century. She places these women—from Missouri, Indiana, Virginia, Tennessee, and West Virginia—in the national events influencing women’s experience as well as the service of three of them in the military during World War II.
This is a book for Boilermakers to remember some of our most impressive leaders. I am fortunate to have known and admired all of the deans as a child in West Lafayette and as a Purdue student (BS, 1955; MS, 1958; Litt. D., 1980). Additionally, it is a book for those who have not had the privilege of a Purdue education to learn about this dedicated group who sought and achieved improvements, both in women’s opportunities and in university education.
—PATRICIA ALBJERG GRAHAM
Charles Warren Professor of the History of Education EmeritaHarvard University
FOR NEARLY A CENTURY, six Purdue women deans passed down a secret Bible. The Bible was the clandestine emblem of their shared profession and a symbol of their sisterhood. The many-layered story of their interwoven lives and their pursuit of equity for all people rings of fiction, but because it is true, the tale is relevant and inspiring today. We hunger to learn from women like Dorothy Stratton, Helen Schleman, Beverley Stone, Barbara Cook, and Betty Nelson. I was privileged to channel these women’s astonishing lives into this book.
Over the course of several years when I attended a University “women’s event” in the Purdue Libraries Archives and Special Collections, I saw the same photo of five women striding shoulder to shoulder in a grassy meadow. Repeatedly, the photo was printed on programs or posters to signify “women of Purdue.” It was as if this image was the representation of powerful women in Purdue’s history. The photo became iconic. I didn’t know much about the five, but every time I saw the picture, the women walked toward me, and I thought, “There’s a story.”
Then I was told of the secret Bible, originally held by Carolyn Shoemaker who became Purdue’s first part-time dean of women in 1913. When I heard of the hand-me-down Testament, I knew—there is a story, and I would love to write it.
While not all of the women were devoted churchgoers, each dean passed the Bible to her successor. The book remained tucked in the acting dean’s desk drawer where it emitted a quiet, formidable reminder that when the dean on duty met with obstacles, injustice, or good fortune, the deans were always there for one another in presence and in spirit, shoulder to shoulder in forward momentum.
The story of the five deans is a tale of women helping other women. The deans abetted each other, female students, faculty, and administrators. These women of great substance aided minorities, people with disabilities, and any student—male or female—who needed a good listener and a word of hope.
The Deans’ Bible spans one hundred years of women’s rights, women at Purdue University, and women in America. The book is about equality for all people. Dorothy, Helen, Bev, Barb, and Betty were cut from the same progressive, broad-minded cloth and wore the same mantel of parity and integrity throughout their lives.
Dorothy and Helen were friends with Amelia Earhart and Lillian Gilbreth. The aviatrix and engineer were profound influences on Dorothy and Helen who, into the twentieth century, carried forth the famous women’s philosophies that females can accomplish great feats.
Dorothy, Helen, and Bev enlisted to serve during World War II. Captain Dorothy Stratton was the founder and director of the women’s reserve of the United States Coast Guard, which she named the SPARs. Captain Helen Schleman was Dorothy’s “right-hand woman.” Many who knew Beverley Stone may not have realized that this ultrafeminine woman who wore pearls and fur coats had been a WAVE, a member of the women’s reserve of the United States Navy. Time spent in the SPARs and the WAVES proved to these three that females could accomplish anything; however, when the war ended, women were told to go back home, take care of their men, have children, and forget thoughts of careers. This cultural pressure for women to marry, stay home, and not pursue their dreams was something that the deans challenged on Purdue’s campus for decades.
Throughout her lifetime, Dorothy Stratton was honored as the director of the SPARs. Her contribution to America’s women and minorities spanned from her association with Eleanor Roosevelt, beginning in the 1940s, to her posthumous association with Michelle Obama in the 2000s, when the first lady christened and commissioned a United States Coast Guard cutter in Dorothy’s name. The USCGC Stratton protects America’s shoreline today.
I thank the staff of the Purdue University Virginia Kelly Karnes Archives and Special Collections for their steadfast assistance during my research for The Deans’ Bible. University Archivist and Head of Archives and Special Collections Sammie L. Morris was most helpful in opening the “vaults” for me to peer inside. A special thank-you goes to Stephanie Schmitz, the France A. Córdova Women’s Archivist, and Jonathan K. McConnell, graduate assistant, for their prompt attention to my many queries to find a particular letter or newspaper clipping.
Each dean has her share of papers and ephemera housed in the Purdue Libraries Archives and Special Collections, but Helen was the queen saver of them all. I read through thirteen archival boxes filled with Helen’s papers. She saved every letter she received and carbon copies (written back in the days of carbon paper) of the correspondence she sent. It was as if Helen knew that she must document the continual battles to bring women equal opportunities at Purdue and in the country, and that I would come along sixty years later to write down her trials for the world to see and learn from her efforts and fortitude.
Often, when I left the beautiful research area of the Purdue Libraries Archives and Special Collections, where I had been cloistered for an afternoon surrounded by the rich wooden cabinets housing every Debris yearbook since the 1800s, I would feel the weight of Helen’s struggles. The continual oppression that she and the female students endured weighed heavily upon my shoulders; however, I also went away with such awe for her persistence and that of her sister deans. They never gave up. Even in retirement during the early 1990s, Helen, in her eighties, handwrote a four-page letter to the president of Purdue expressing her concern that there were not enough women in administration at the University. She then listed potential candidates and their qualifications.
I thank two very special women for their immeasurable help in writing The Deans’ Bible. Dean of Students Emerita Betty M. Nelson is the dean “holding down the spiritual fort” here on earth for her predecessors. The deans considered themselves a “chosen family,” and Betty’s stories of her lineage of deans gave much insight to the tapestry of their connections, the challenges they faced individually and collectively, and the fun they had in the journey. To know Betty is to know a woman of class, depth, and energy. She’s funny, intuitive, and brilliant.
I thank another member of the “chosen family,” Captain Sally Watlington. Sally was the daughter Helen Schleman never had. Sally was equally close to Dorothy Stratton. Dorothy, Helen, and Bev influenced Sally in her decision to join the navy. Sally and Betty cared for the deans as they aged. (Sally affectionately called them “the Deanie Weenies” and “the Girls.”) In the spirit of the Bible’s symbolic undertone of women advocating for one another, Betty and Sally were there for the deans, to the end. Most recently, the two cared for Barbara Cook until her passing in April 2013.
The day after Barb passed away, I was at Betty’s house to interview Purdue alumna Teresa Roche, who knew all of the deans and is especially close to Betty. As Teresa and I sat at the kitchen table, Betty headed for the front door to leave for an errand. As if something came to her suddenly, she stopped, turned her head to the side, and said rather cryptically, “Be prepared for your life to change.” Then she opened the door and scurried off. Her words wafted prophetically in her wake.
People have asked me if my books change me during the process of writing. They all have left their marks, even the children’s books with their sparse number of words. But The Deans’ Bible has transformed me the most, for these distinguished women have “removed the scales from my eyes.”