Women, Our Books, Our History

Once upon a time, there were many women's bookstores in the U.S.  In Other Words, the spacious Portland, Oregon space pictured above, is one of the few remaining.  Self-described as a "community center,"  it lives up to that with a remarkable range of offerings --performance, book readings, Spanish classes, childbirth education--and a DIY (do-it-yourself) section. 

"Eco-friendly personal products" also have shelf space; I'd heard about but never before seen GladRags, reuseable, cotton menstrual pads.

As I walked around, explored the extensive zine selection, sat comfortably to read and daydream, I was reminded of the halycon days of the 1970s and '80s when enthusiasm for women's literature and women's space led to feminist bookstores coast to coast.  There were brave, small places like the tightly-packed storefront in Beloit, Wisconsin, where I once presented a workshop--now gone.  And bigger ones, especially Amazon Books in Minneapolis, founded in 1970, still "fostering the strength, wisdom, beauty, diversity of women, girls and their families."   

In the heyday of the second wave, I'd drive to Waverly, the left-of-center Baltimore community, to 31st Street Books, a non-profit collective.  It was begun by women who thought its street location was a safer name choice than its purpose.  Baltimore, sleepy little rusting industrial city, famously racist, was a curious location for feminist thought and action.  But there it was in the late 1960s, 1970s.

Women: A Journal of Liberation started there and The Feminist Press..  In 1969, Florence Howe bought a large house in Mt. Washington, another Baltimore neighborhood where housing prices had dropped sharply after the riots following the death of Martin Luther King in 1968.  Her partner, Paul Howe, was denied  tenure at his university as a result of his anti-war activity.  The two of them took The Feminist Press to New York where it thrives to this day a a unique publisher of books by and about women's.

Though we did not know them, Ron and I were told the house was for sale by a friend in the alternative education movement.  Even cheaper two years later, 5504 Greenspring Avenue became ours in 1971--all leaky pipes and antique wiring, and more space than we needed.  But we found ways to make it our own, raise our children.  In 1976, I began my practice as a feminist therapist.

The history of 31st Street Books seems lost but I might have to search more deeply into an online resource I've just found, Women & Social Movements in the U.S.  If you or I have our own remembrances of events/people to add, it seems to be possible to do so in the section on The Second Wave & Beyond.  We have the women's movement and women's studies programs in high schools and universities to thank for our progress so far.  Supporting women's bookstores is an important way to sustain voices not heard elsewhere on issues still unresolved--control by us of our bodies, for example. Readers here can add others--spouse and elder abuse, among many.

And Baltimore, once dubbed, "Charm City," continues to surprise.  Red Emma's Bookstore Coffeehouse  (a hat tip to Emma Goldman, famous anarchist of the early 20th century) opened in Waverly a couple of years ago.   Like Bluestockings in New York City, it' s  not on the current list of feminist bookstores, self-describes as "radical," with an emphasis on cultural events.  Just as in my recent visit to In Other Words, where I reconnected with Off Our Backs, the feminist journal that once was a newspaper, Red Emma could offer other unexpected small publications and zines.  Have to check it out the next time I visit.

Comments

[doulicia]

Just stopping by to catch up. I like the idea of feminist bookshops. Do I show my age by saying i had no idea such things ever existed?

I do know about Glad Rads, as I have a drawer full and love them. It's a harder sell for other members of my family, though, who prefer they get their own wash rather than be thrown in with the darks. Honestly.

[MotherPie]

Glad rags? My great-aunt said they used flannel. I've never seen much written, other than cattails used as diaper fill in the papooses of the Plains Indians.

[M.E.]

I loved Amazon when I lived in Minneapolis in the early 90s, and I remember the collective outrage when the big online bookseller swiped their name. I forget how they worked it out, but Amazon Books kept their name, except they are amazonbookstorecoop.com on the web, and the other one is amazon.com. hmph. We've been through a couple of women's bookstores here in DC since I arrived, and they're both gone.

I got my first period in 1950 at 9:30 p.m., hours after the drug store was closed and the neighbors had all gone to bed. My mother no longer had periods, and all my other siblings were boys, so there were no sanitary napkins on hand. She took a clean, pressed, older sheet, tore off a rectangle, and folded it up into a sanitary napkin, which she showed me how to pin to my underpants. In the morning, my father went out very early before work and brought back a box of Kotex and a sanitary belt. I have no idea where he got those things at that hour. I was too mortified to ask any questions.