At the Loss of a Wilson Sister

Most of you have followed me this past year as I have been working to reverse the decision to make Wilson College, an historical women's college in Chambersburg, PA, into a ho-hum co-ed school in a mecca of first-class co-ed institutions. Some of you have been sympathetic to the cause, others just roll their eyes and ask why or say "oh that's Beth."

I did not graduate from Wilson, but my closest friend Sharon was my roommate at Wilson and we have traveled many roads together. In the 1980s after the college was almost closed, I became active with activities on campus and was elected to the alumnae board. It was while I was on the board that I came into my own as a strong adult woman, and I became a full member of the Wilson Community accepted as an equal.

As my life took a couple of twists and turns (divorce, remarriage, cancer, major surgery), my connection with Wilson became more typical of an alumna--reunions and annual giving. I fell away from the Baltimore Wilson Club where I had many friends.

Last fall when the first rumors of financial crisis and major changes started floating around about Wilson, I reengaged. In this new world of social media, I became part of a whole new community of Wilson Sisters. I can’t count the number of women who are my friends, although only a few of us have met in person.

Via FaceBook, we have learned about each other, learned to care about each other, pray for each other, commiserate with each other, laugh, tell stories, and work together for our Wilson. And occasionally, we are called to mourn with each other.

Today is a day of mourning. A young woman from the class of 2000--Andrew's age--died very suddenly yesterday. Jen and I have been FB friends for almost a year; I got to meet her and her husband last year at reunion at Wilson. It was a brief encounter in the college bookstore when Erin introduced me. It took me a moment to realize that this was that "Jen", but I was thrilled to meet her.

We each have our own memories of Jen. I think the luckiest women are those who have known her since her Wilson days. But I know I too am blessed by knowing her.

Last spring, Jen surprised us all by getting a unique Wilson tattoo. Talk about gutsy and loyal.

I am deeply sorrowed by Jen's death; there is a huge hole in the universe where this young woman once walked, played, and loved. (There is also a huge lump in the bottom of my stomach.)

I originally joined FB because my kids were on FB. I never imagined that "social media" could be a catalyst in forming new, deep friendships. But today as I mourn Jen, I am so grateful to be blessed with such a wide family of friends and sisters brought together by FB.

Jen Moyer-Damian, I miss you.

I didn't notice...

Let me begin with a story.
In 1979, I went to  Ankara, Turkey, with my husband, who was on a business trip. I was the only wife on the trip.

While the men were at their seminar, I explored the city--mostly walking, but occasionally taking a cab. I was intimidated by the unfamiliar culture, so I didn't venture into  the market or a mosque. I did find the old citadel of the city and wandered the ancient streets. I also found the Roman baths, which I had to myself. I was motioned off the far wall of Ataturk's tomb by a rifle-carrying soldier while I was trying to get a picture of the city. And I  negotiated the purchase of Turkish rug for a friend at home.

Our first night in Ankara, we were wined and dined by a NATO general and his wife at the Officer's Club. There were three women at the table that evening: the general's wife, a young American translator, and me. It was a multicourse meal with all the accompanying silver and crystal served by young soldiers in crisp, white uniforms. I was seated next to the general. And I was terrified. This was the stuff of Upstairs/Downstairs, not dinner at the Wardlaws and definitely not dinner at the Ashbys. But the general and his wife were kind, and I don't think I embarrassed myself or our country.

The next evening, the Turkish soldier who had been assigned to the visiting scientists took us out for an authentic Turkish meal. The restaurant was full, and the owner asked us to wait at a small tea shop nearby. Sure enough when they were ready for us, a boy came and tapped on the window of the shop and escorted us back to the restaurant.

It was a huge place, filled with men eating, drinking, and smoking. As we were led down the length of the room, up some stairs, and across the upstairs room to our table, I  became acutely aware that there were no women in the entire place. None! I was in shock. Was I violating some deep-seated cultural tradition? Should I be in this place? Where were the women!

With each step, I grew more and more self-conscious and intimidated. By the time we were seated at our table, I was in a panic. I gasped to my neighbor, a gentle English scientist, "There are no women in here." He looked around and said very casually, "I didn't notice."

This story has been a metaphor for me for the past 34 years.

After the hard-fought battles for women's equality and for our place at the table, I naively thought that we had made sufficient progress that women had earned their place and were welcome at the table. We aren't there in great numbers, but we do have seats on the Supreme Court and other courts; there is a record number of women in Congress [still not very many, but more]; we have had two female secretaries of state, as well as other Cabinet members; and there are more women in management positions in business.

But no, we aren't even close to sufficient progress. Women are still being offered crumbs from the Head Table; we are token members of the leadership club of American society. And in most countries of the world, women are still struggling to make it into the dining room.
http://www.nytimes.com/2013/01/27/opinion/sunday/kristof-shes-rarely-the-boss.html?smid=fb-share&_r=0

The board of trustees at my alma mater, Wilson College, a women's college in south central Pennsylvania, decided two weeks ago to make the college co-ed. The school is in serious financial trouble, and guess what, Men are the answer to all those woes. Women's education is no longer necessary in this country; only 2% of high school girls are interested in a women's college; and without men, the college will fail.

In 1979, the same year of my trip to Turkey, the board of  trustees voted to close the college. The alumnae of the college said "No," took the board to court, won the decision to keep the school open, and raised more than $1 million to allow the school to open in September. In the subsequent years, the alumnae did everything for the college: they mowed grass and weeded flower beds; they taught classes; they raised money;  they recruited new students, and much, much more. The alumnae, aka Wild Wilson Women, raised our alma mater from the ashes.

This time there don't seem to be any legal issues that can be used against the board, but many of the alumnae are not ready to give up on the college as a women's college. We are passionate about the value of a women's college. This story is not done.

The pain of the crisis at Wilson is almost unbearable. But as I look around me in January 2013, I am discouraged. I just attended the Mere Anglicanism conference in Charleston, SC, and my heart is weighed down by all the white men dressed in black, wearing dog collars, by a Eucharist led only by men facing East [that means the congregation gets to see their rear ends], by a program led only by men and attended overwhelmingly by white men.

The program this year was excellent; all five speakers were top-notch scholars teaching good solid Christian theology. But where are the women? There were maybe two or three female priests, in cognito.

Women were not invited to and are not welcome at this table, which should represent our Lord's table.